Sometimes it arrives early — the way light comes through a window at an angle it only manages once or twice a year. Sometimes it’s a smell from somewhere you can’t quite place but it takes you to another time, or a song you’d completely forgotten that turns out you still know every word to.
Most days contain at least one unexpectedly pleasant moment.
Occasionally it’s something smaller: a perfectly ripe piece of fruit, a green light when you expected red, a stranger’s dog making brief but sincere eye contact, a synchronicity that makes you smile. These things don’t add up to anything in particular. They just happen. And then you carry them with you for awhile.