The Hummingbird and the Space In Between

I stepped out onto the balcony for a few quiet moments.

No agenda.
No phone in hand.
Just sitting.

There’s a hummingbird who has been visiting lately. Over the past few days, it’s come closer and closer—hovering nearby, moving in and out of the space, as if getting familiar with me being there.

Today, it came within a foot of my face.

It moved back and forth through the balcony railing—there’s a clear fencing there, so it weaves easily between the spaces—coming closer, then drifting back out again. Not in a rushed way. Not startled. Just… present.

And it felt like it was sharing something.

Not in words, but in the way it moved.
In the way it stayed.
In the way it kept returning.

Almost like: Let your joy flow out.
Let your joy be felt.
Your joy is out here—with us, in the experience.

There was nothing I was doing to call it in.

I wasn’t reaching.
I wasn’t trying to interact.
I was simply there.

And that’s the part that often gets overlooked.

Animals don’t respond to what we’re doing as much as they respond to how we’re being.

When there’s no pressure, no expectation, no attempt to make something happen… something else opens.

A space.

A softness.

An invitation.

It reminded me how often we move through our days with our attention pulled inward—toward tasks, thoughts, what needs to be done next.

And yet, just outside of that…

there’s an entire world of life, of movement, of connection, quietly unfolding.

Waiting, not to be managed or controlled,
but simply to be met.

This is something I see again and again with animals.

With dogs on walks.
With cats in their homes.
With those small moments that are easy to miss when we’re focused on the outcome instead of the experience.

The settling.
The softening.
The glance back.
The pause.

It’s all there.

Not because we’ve done something to create it,
but because we’ve allowed ourselves to be present enough to notice it.

The hummingbird didn’t come in because I asked it to.

It came in because the space was open.

And in that moment, it felt like a gentle reminder:

Joy isn’t something we have to go out and find.

It’s already here.

Moving through the air.
Landing for a moment.
Returning again.

If we’re willing to slow down enough to be with it.