A Speck of Dust

As I cleaned the living room, a puff of dust stirred into the sunlight streaming through the window, forming delicate crepuscular rays. I reached out, letting my hand pass through the light, feeling a surprising sense of warmth and comfort. How simple, yet beautiful, that tiny specks of dust—so infinitesimal—can collectively create something so striking when illuminated.

Bit by bit, the dust settled again on the floor. I swept it up, and as I did, I thought of James Clear’s Atomic Habits. I should really read that book—it’s been sitting on my shelf for ages. Maybe that’s how progress works, like those tiny specks of dust: not through grand gestures but by small, consistent actions. Each minuscule effort builds over time, like plotting points along a curve, until the accumulation of those tiny moments forms something greater, something with volume and substance.

I took a drag from my vape, exhaling slowly towards the window. Again, the sunlight caught the swirling vapor, revealing its chaotic dance, beautiful in its turbulence yet eerily quiet, almost laminar.

Perhaps that’s how I should move forward—one small step at a time, just like a speck of dust.