Just be when joy finds you

Embracing the Unplanned: When Joy Just Appears

There are rare moments in life when something within us exhales—when our masks drop without effort, and we meet ourselves without filters. These are not the moments we plan. They are the ones that gently unfold—like petals opening to the sun, quietly, without any noise. These are the moments of truth. These are the moments of love. These are the moments when we are not performing for the world—we are simply being.

And oh, how rare such moments are.

But when they do come—unexpectedly, unscheduled—it is wise to go with the flow. Because who knows when they’ll return? Or if they ever will?

Over the past few weeks, I was gifted with such moments—each one delicate, luminous, healing. They didn’t arrive with announcements or fanfare. They tiptoed in, and I am grateful I was awake enough to notice them.

Rediscovering My True Self: The Magic of Being with Children

As someone who wears many hats, I’ve come to realize how roles often rise faster than rhythms. As a leader, a head of an institution, a planner, a decision-maker—it’s easy to drift. From the spaces that once lit me up, to places that simply need me to be present. And while every role matters, I have always known this one truth: I am the best version of myself when I am with children.

I write better when I write for them.
I speak better when I speak to them.
And I feel more me when I am among them.

Somewhere along the way, I had been missing that version of myself. And then, without planning, life brought me back.

One morning, I found myself singing my favourite rhyme with my fourth and fifth graders. My voice cracked, my pitch wobbled—but my heart soared. The children clapped along, unbothered by how I sounded. They only saw joy—and so did I.

Finding Freedom in Play: Laughter, Movement, and Pure Presence

A few days later, with my third graders, I danced. No choreography. No mindfulness about who was watching. Just laughter, movement, and little feet following mine. We twirled in freedom.

Then came the real fun.

I did a little jig to “I Put My Left Hand In,” laughing as we spun and hopped with silly abandon.

With the sixth graders, I stumbled through the tongue-twister “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt”—the room echoing with giggles and playful corrections.

And with the kind of unfiltered joy only children can ignite, I transformed into a fast-moving Japanese train as we sang “Do Your Ears Hang Low?”—speeding, swaying, and laughing until our sides ached.

What a joy it was to be that way—to do something purely for fun and feel completely free. To be loved not for what I do, but just for being there in that moment.

And what a joy it was to see those young faces smile and laugh, forgetting that they were with the head of the institution—and instead, simply being with a friend. 

As we danced and sang, many came back with shy grins and heartfelt words:
“Ma’am, you looked cute today.”
“You dressed so well today.”
“I loved dancing with you.”
And a few even said, “Ma’am, don’t think negative about my comment—I think we learnt this song from you last year!”

Those little, unfiltered moments—those honest, wide-eyed comments—bring more joy than the awards and recognitions that come our way.

I am at my best when I am around children. Once I danced with my third grade students. No choreography. No mindfulness about who was watching. Just laughter, movement, and little feet following mine. We twirled in freedom.

Beyond Achievements: The Unfiltered Joy of Simple Connections

And then came the quiet contrast—with my eighth graders. We didn’t do anything. We just sat together, breathing in stillness. A large group of teens, their busy minds momentarily hushed, resting in the luxury of nothingness. It was powerful.

These weren’t big programs. There were no certificates or agendas. Just pure presence. And in those small windows, I found pieces of myself I didn’t know I had missed.

Love in the Ordinary: Spoonfuls of Joy and Family Laughter

But the story didn’t end at school. The magic followed me home.

One evening, I jokingly fed my daughters—who are now 20 and 18—with a spoon, like when they were little. They rolled their eyes, laughed, and let me. It became a ritual—our evening pause. What began with playful resistance turned into moments of soft bonding. Conversations flowed, teasing returned, and I got to cradle their faces again—not with worry, but with warmth.

It reminded me, growing up is not the end of childlike joy. It’s just a new chapter. And in this chapter, love looks like a spoon of rice and giggles over dinner.

A Shared Laugh: Finding Connection in Unexpected Moments

During the spiritual retreat, my teacher Mahatria spoke about how, in most homes, it’s the wives who lovingly clean up the messes created by their husbands. He shared it in his signature, light-hearted way that had everyone smiling. Then he added, “Of course, there are also a few husbands who take care of the mess created by their wives.”

The moment he said that, I felt as though he had peeped into our house, and I just couldn’t hold back—I burst into laughter.

With his cute little smile and natural grace, he looked at all of us and said, “See? When I spoke about husbands creating messes, only a few acknowledged it. But the moment I mentioned wives, I get loud laughter and full acknowledgment!” That made me laugh even harder—and without thinking, I flashed him a little Korean heart with my fingers.

But the story doesn’t end there.

Later, I shared this moment with my younger daughter. In her calm, composed voice, she asked, “Does Mahatria know you?”
With a slightly puzzled look, I said, “Yes, he does.”
She paused, then asked, “Does he know me?”
I replied, “He may know you by name, but He hasn’t met you yet!”
Without missing a beat, she said, “Thank you—and thank God! Even when I meet him, he won’t recognize me as your daughter.”

And just like that, we both burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Isn’t it lovely—those little moments when you forget where you are, what people might think, and simply be? When you let yourself go, laugh out loud, feel light, and just flow with life. Sometimes, it’s in those very moments that joy feels the most real.

The Art of Simply Being: Why ‘Becoming’ Isn’t Always the Answer

In all these moments, I wasn’t trying to be someone. I wasn’t trying to become a better leader, or a perfect mother, or an ideal adult. I was just… being. And it felt like home.

We live in a world obsessed with becoming. Become more successful. Become more skilled. Become wiser, stronger, better. And yes, becoming takes effort. It takes time. It’s valuable. We often think happiness comes from achieving something more. But sometimes, the deepest joy comes from doing something simple—with your whole heart.

Like singing a rhyme. Dancing with children. Sitting in silence. Feeding your grown-up babies with love. And responding in the moment, with love.  

The Extraordinary in the Ordinary: Allowing Joy to Find You

We spend so much energy reaching for the extraordinary, and sometimes we forget that the ordinary—when done with love—is extraordinary in itself.

So, the next time life offers you a small moment—don’t rush past it. Pause. Play. Be. Let joy come in, not because you planned it, but because you allowed it.

Because in the end, you don’t have to become anything to be joyful.
You just have to be you.

And that is more than enough.