She was dancing—alone, outside, unaware that anyone was watching.
Through the lens of my son-in-law’s camera, I saw my daughter Amber twirling to music I couldn’t hear. But I didn’t need to hear it. Her body moved with unfiltered joy.
It wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t for show.
It was joy, pure and untamed.
I watched her, and something inside me stirred. How long had it been since I let myself dance? Since I laughed that loudly? Since I remembered the music of life?
Amber reminded me that joy doesn’t need an audience. It just needs permission.
This week, I pulled out my old playlist—Van Morrison, Alicia Keys, and a little James Taylor for good measure. I danced in my kitchen, alone. And I was glad.
Sometimes, the best medicine isn’t found in a bottle or prescription. It’s in music. In movement. In moments like this.
In Anticipating Heaven, I write about this kind of joy—the kind that lives in the shadow of mortality but still lifts its hands to dance. If you’ve forgotten how to celebrate the little things, consider this your reminder: the music is still playing. Maybe today is the day you dance again.
And if you need a little structure to re-enter joy, check out the Healthy Longevity Guide—a tool to help you live longer, yes, but more importantly… to live well.
Joy is yours for the choosing.
So go ahead. Turn up the music.
