I never thought joy could arrive in the form of a lead pencil and a sweaty palm. But there I was—16 years old, wedged between high school lockers, sketching a caricature of my best friend’s latest crush on a wrinkled napkin. She laughed so hard she snorted, and at that moment, something clicked for me: storytelling—whether through words, sketches, or the barely believable anecdotes we crafted during lunch—was my thing. That small, silly realization would eventually guide me to my passion, landing me smack in the center of the wild, wonderful world of writing. But let me backtrack a little because this story deserves more context (and a bit of salsa music).

The “Ah-Ha” Moment: A Party, a Pen, and a Cup of Cuban Coffee

Growing up in Little Havana, joy often looked like an open-door policy at my abuela’s house: overflowing cafecito pots, domino tiles clicking like beats to an unseen rhythm, and neighbors parading through like it was their second living room. Everything revolved around storytelling. My tíos spilled exaggerated versions of their misadventures, while abuela hummed along, occasionally tossing a slipper at anyone who interrupted. It was loud, chaotic, and seared into my psyche. Communication, I learned, wasn't just about saying something; it was about feeling it.

Fast forward to college, when I finally got the courage to embrace writing as “more than just a hobby” after a late-night café con leche-fueled meltdown in my freshman dorm. Miami International University had just humiliated me with a surprise C on my first paper. The feedback? Something like, “Great energy, but you’re writing a novella, not an essay.” Helpful, I know. I felt like the world’s clumsiest salsa dancer, tripping over my ambitions. But it was during one breezy October night at Magic City Books & Brews, while writing my short story for the school newspaper, that joy tiptoed back in.

It wasn’t a grand lightning bolt moment. Instead, it was a realization that emerged slowly, like the way my abuela’s black beans took all day to simmer. I caught myself smiling as I wrote about the love lives of fictional neighbors inspired by Little Havana gossip. I had found a rhythm, the same one I’d heard growing up—the beauty of life told through words.

How to Spot Joy Hiding in Plain Sight

Joy is sneaky. Sometimes you don’t even realize it’s there until you’re neck-deep in a task, wondering why time suddenly feels like it’s taken a siesta. Ever felt that way while talking to someone you care about? Or when the playful banter between you and a first date feels like an expertly choreographed duet? Finding your “joy spark” starts with noticing those moments. Here are a few tools to keep in your joy-finding arsenal:

  1. Pay Attention to the Green Light Moments
    Remember your first crush in middle school? The one who smiled at you, and suddenly it felt like the universe handed you a permission slip to exist? That's what joy feels like, minus the braces. When I sketch out ideas and can’t type fast enough, I know I’m in the joy zone. Your equivalent could be brainstorming, organizing, baking—you name it. Look for moments where saying, “I need a break” feels harder than finishing what you're doing.

  2. Embrace the “Embarrassing” Passions
    I once hid my writing passions behind a laundry list of “respectable” alternatives. Maybe you’ve done the same, claiming to love finance or accounting even though Picasso-level doodles decorate your spreadsheets. Newsflash: the things you love don’t have to make logical sense on paper. If joy feels embarrassing, you’re onto something magical.

  3. Start Small, Stay Real
    My first article? A review of the entire neighborhood’s flan recipes (I got a sugar high and two job offers). Your first attempt doesn’t need to be career-defining; it just needs to share a part of you. Success can come later—joy needs no audience.

What Joy Taught Me About Love and Flirting

Here’s something that caught me off guard—real joy kind of mimics new love. You know that spark when you’re texting someone cute and they use the perfect GIF? Or when their laugh is so contagious, strangers start smiling too? It’s all about flow and connection, and joy happens when you’re in sync with yourself—not trying too hard, not overthinking every word.

The best flirting happens when you’re playful, just as the best dates happen when you ditch the script. Similarly, joy appears when you’re doing you at 100%, without eyeing the audience. For me, it was letting go of the shame attached to writing personal stories, including my grandma’s superstition-fueled nicknames for neighborhood stray cats (El Diablo was a dramatic one). Once I owned that voice, joy sort of rushed in like tidewater.

Relationships thrive when you’re grounded in what brings you joy because that’s how you bring your best self to the table. Whether that self is covered in flour or pouring heart and soul into poetry, it’s only attractive when it’s authentic—like salsa dancing after three mojitos: messy, raw, but undeniably real.

Wrapping It Up (with a Side of Croquetas)

Here’s what I’ve learned: joy has a rhythm. Sometimes it takes the form of salsa beats in a Miami living room, sometimes it’s a quiet November night editing wobbly paragraphs, and sometimes it’s realizing the thing you loved as a kid is the thing you were meant to chase all along.

True joy isn’t limited to one version of you—it grows, shifts, and adapts with each new chapter. It’s not one-size-fits-all, and it isn’t some grand Pinterest-worthy event. Joy sneaks in during mundane moments: while writing, dancing, or bringing someone a cafecito at just the right time.

So if you’re still searching for your version of happiness—whether in your career, love life, or just a hobby—you’re allowed to take time, revisit old sparks, and laugh when you mess up. After all, the best stories are a little messy. Just ask my family back in Little Havana, where the cafecito’s strong, and the storytelling is even stronger.

Now get out there and chase the spark—you’ve got this.