You know that feeling when you’ve been trying something new, unsure if you’re even doing it right, and then one day, it just clicks? Like learning to ride a bike—except instead of pedaling down your driveway, it feels like you’re hurtling full-speed through a golden meadow at sunset, wind whipping your face, triumphant music swelling in the background. That’s what it felt like the first time I wrote something that actually made me happy.

I still remember the moment—not because it happened in some grand, cinematic way, but precisely because it didn’t. It was about as low-key as life gets. I was sitting at an old wooden desk in my first apartment after grad school, a tiny one-bedroom with creaky floorboards and just enough room for me and my secondhand bookshelf. It was late. The kind of late where everyone else has gone to bed, and the street outside is nothing but the faint hum of crickets.

I was writing about something I knew well: the Appalachian town where I grew up, a place that was equal parts grit and grace. I wrote about my aunt’s kitchen, where the smell of biscuits and strong coffee mixed with the twang of a local radio station. I wrote about old mining stories my dad used to share by the fire. And, mostly, I wrote about what it felt like to leave it all behind—to carry your roots with you but also every ounce of doubt about whether you’d done the right thing.

For the first time, I stopped trying to sound “smart” or “literary” or whatever I thought writers were supposed to sound like. I stopped worrying about impressing anyone. Heck, no one was going to read it anyway—I hadn’t even thought of pitching it to a publication. But when I reread that messy, unpolished draft, something happened. It felt real. It felt like me.

And it felt like joy.

Doing What’s Yours to Write

There’s something magical about finding the thing you’re supposed to do—the thing only you can write, draw, bake, build, or create. That night at my desk wasn’t the first time I’d written anything, but it was the first time I’d written with a kind of reckless honesty. I wasn’t trying to emulate anyone else, and I wasn’t holding back parts of myself to make my work more palatable. I was just digging into my own messy truth—Coal Country roots, jazz discovery, and all.

It taught me something I still carry today: The moments when you actually connect with your passion tend to happen when you stop trying so hard to be someone else.

When it comes to relationships, I think this lesson matters just as much. How often do we show up to dates trying to play the highlight reel version of ourselves? The one who loves hiking (even though we can’t remember the last time we actually set foot on a trail) or who’s super into that critically-acclaimed TV show we secretly fell asleep halfway through? We think we’re selling our “best” selves when really, we’re just muffling our real selves.

But here’s the thing: Real connection can only happen when someone meets the realest you. Whether it’s a partner, a friend, or even yourself staring back in the mirror, there’s no faking your way to joy. Joy, unlike middle school crushes or second-date sushi orders, doesn’t want you to “play it cool.” It wants you to get messy—and that’s where the magic lives.

How to Find Your Moment of Joy

This might sound nice and fluffy in theory, but the idea of finding “joy in your passion” can also feel...well, a little overwhelming. Especially if you haven’t found your thing yet—or if you’re not sure where to look. But luckily, it’s not about having your entire life figured out. Sometimes you’ve just gotta look for the small sparks and follow them, firefly style. Here’s how:

1. Stop Waiting for Perfect Conditions

If you’re waiting for the stars to align before you start pursuing your passion, you’ll be waiting a long time. I wrote that story about my Appalachian roots while sitting on a chair I’d found on the curb (because hey, free furniture). The conditions weren’t perfect, but the timing was. Right now, whatever’s in your heart to try? Just do it before you start talking yourself out of it.

2. Follow What Feels Natural

The best kind of passion doesn’t feel like you’ve been dropped onto an unfamiliar planet—it feels like coming home. What’s the thing you do that makes time dissolve? The thing you’d do even if no one was paying you, congratulating you, or double-tapping your Instagram post about it? That’s your fire.

3. Be Brave Enough to Suck

There’s no joy without starting from scratch, and everyone sucks when they start out. Don’t let your fear of “not being good enough” keep you parked in neutral. The first thing I ever wrote worth keeping was surrounded by a hundred things I wish I could burn. (Pro tip: Don’t actually burn early drafts. Fire alarms are touchy.)

4. Find Your People

The inspiration game changes when you connect with others who get you. Not just folks who’ll nod along during small talk—but people who understand you on a soul level. Whether it’s a friend who reads your rambling email drafts, a partner who gets your obscure hobby obsession, or a mentor who gently kicks your butt, find your cheerleaders.

5. Trust the Process, Not the Outcome

I didn’t expect that draft I wrote late at night to go anywhere. In fact, it didn’t—at least, not for a while. But it mattered because it reminded me how happy I was when I wrote like myself. The process will teach you something you didn’t even know you needed, and the rest will follow.

The Joy Is Already Here

That first draft of mine—crooked lines, unpolished metaphors, and all—never ended up as the Next Great American Novel. (Spoiler alert: It took years before I even fully shared it with anyone.) But what it did do was show me who I was: a kid from West Virginia with way too many stories swirling in his head not to tell them.

Years later, that idea—that showing up authentically in your passion creates joy—has made me a better writer, sure. But it’s also made me better at life. Better at relationships. Better at sitting on a porch with someone I care about and saying “This is me, take it or leave it.”

And honestly, that’s been the best joy of all—showing up in my life and my work as 100% me. So if you’re on the hunt for your spark? Show up as yourself—not some watered-down, highlight version, but the messy, full-hearted, “ugly-laughing during a rom-com” version.

Because somewhere, in the middle of all that glorious mess, joy is already waiting for you.