Have you ever experienced a fleeting moment that shifted something in you? Not loud or grand, but soft—a kind of hush that briefly lifted the fog. A moment so subtle, yet so luminous, it gently rearranged the furniture in your soul.

I call these moments lumidipity—luminous serendipity.

They don’t arrive with trumpets. They show up in sideways glances, in accidental pauses. They arrive when you’re not searching. And one such moment found me when I was most tangled in my own thoughts.

It happened during one of my many travels, in a city where I was both an outsider and a silent observer. Late one evening, I sat on a bench near my hotel, watching the night crowd thread itself through neon-lit streets, their laughter rising and falling like tides. The air was thick with the scent of rain, though the skies had yet to cry. I was restless—adrift in memory, in longing, in in-betweenness.

And then, I saw him.

No words. Just yellow shoes stepping into the glow of a streetlamp, carrying the sun beneath them. Our eyes met for the briefest eternity. And just like that, he vanished into the dark.

A few minutes later, I stepped into my hotel—and there he was again, in front of the elevator. A moment, stretched. We shared a smile that said everything and nothing. We laughed over a faulty key card. We exchanged words that dissolved as soon as they were spoken.

There was no romance. No grand story. Just the quiet rightness of two people colliding in a moment. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of grace. And later, lying in bed, I realized: it was never about him.

It was about what the moment gave me.

Proof that even in our solitude, we are never truly unseen. That light finds us in the unlikeliest of places, even when we aren’t seeking it.

Lumidipity.

Before I left that city, I slipped a note under his door. Not to chase. Not to tether. Just to say: thank you. Some encounters are brief on purpose. Some exist only to remind us what we already carry. And sometimes, that is enough.

But lumidipity isn’t always something that happens between people.

One afternoon, while driving home, I saw a single dry leaf standing upright in the middle of the road. Not lying flat. Not curled. Just…balancing. Perfectly. No wind. No string. Just a moment so improbable, it stunned me into stillness. I blinked, thinking it would fall. It didn’t. And I knew—the universe wanted me to see it.

After that, I kept noticing more leaves like it—standing, poised, defying logic. Like quiet little altars. Like love letters from the universe. Not because I was looking harder, but because I was more here. And with each one, my heart opened a little more.

Because even when the moment arrives through a leaf, a sky, a feather—it’s always through your body, your breath, your wonder that the experience takes shape.

That’s when I began to understand what lumidipity truly is.

It isn’t just a moment that soothes you. It doesn’t arrive like a self-help tip or a mindfulness hack. It arrives like a whisper—a small miracle that seems to carry meaning, a message meant only for you. Lumidipity heals not just by calming, but by awakening. It pulls you closer to something unnamed, something more relational with the mystery of the world.

It arrives in songs we didn’t know we needed. In books that fall into our laps. In the hush between heartbeats. In sky-colored mornings that remind us: even darkness can loosen its grip.

It arrives without needing to be understood. It only asks that you feel it.

So I’ll ask you: have you felt lumidipity?

If so, write it down. Capture it. Share it. These are the glow worms of your own soul connected to everything in your existence leading you back to yourself.

These moments didn’t just pass through me—they beckoned me to be. Each one lit a small lantern in places I had quietly wandered away from, each one reminded me I was still here. Still healing. Still becoming.

I’ve been gathering mine—one luminous, accidental piece at a time. Small stories like this one, each catching a different facet of light. Maybe you’ll find yourself in them. Maybe you already have.

May we all keep noticing. May we all keep singing. May we all keep becoming the light inside the tunnel.

~