There was once a fish who spent his whole life asking the other fish where he could find the ocean. He swam in circles, searching for a sign, a current, a wave that would confirm he had finally arrived. He envied the older fish who seemed so certain, so sure they had already found it. He chased whispers of deeper waters and brighter blues, convinced that somewhere far away was the place his life would finally begin. Then, exhausted and disappointed, he realized too late what had always been true: he had never been outside the ocean. He had been swimming in it all along.
When someone asks me what my favorite children’s movie is, I will always say Soul by Pixar Animation Studios. I love introspective movies, the kind that gently reshape your understanding of life without you realizing until the credits roll.
In Soul, Joe Gardner spends his life believing his purpose is music. He defines himself by his dream of becoming a successful jazz musician, convinced that once he lands the gig he has always wanted, everything inside him will finally click into place. And when he does get that long-awaited opportunity, he is startled by the quiet emptiness that follows. The moment he built his entire identity around doesn’t transform him the way he thought it would. The fireworks don’t last, and the ocean doesn’t suddenly appear.
He moves through the film believing that everyone has a singular, defining purpose, a “spark” that justifies their existence. But through an absurd and otherworldly journey, he begins to see life differently. He begins to notice what he had dismissed as background noise—the children he taught and inspired without realizing it, the simple pleasure of wind against skin, the way light reflects off a city street, the comfort of conversation, the taste of food, the miracle of being here at all.
By the end, the lesson feels like an answer to a question I’ve never been able to fully articulate: don’t lose your life chasing the idea of a purpose so intensely that you forget to actually live it. Don’t postpone joy until you reach a milestone. Don’t delay happiness until you feel “worthy” of it.
Your spark is not a trophy waiting at the finish line. It’s not a hobby, a title, a dream job, or even a talent. Those things can shift, and they can be lost. They can be replaced while you and your existence cannot. Your ability to feel deeply, to love, to create meaning in ordinary moments is irreplaceable. The spark is the willingness to live fully—to show up for your loved ones, to endure crises and still soften afterward, to laugh loudly, to sit quietly, to notice the birds overhead, to feel music without needing it to define you, to be present in your own messy, imperfect humanity.
Watching Soul changed the way I move through everyday life. The overlooked details like sunlight on a sidewalk, a shared smile, a small success that no one else sees, feel weightier now. Especially on days that feel mundane, when everything blurs into routine, I remind myself that this is it. This is the ocean; there is no secret door into a more meaningful version of my life waiting somewhere else. And on the days when I struggle to see beauty, I try to create it. I try to be the reason someone else pauses. I try to fuel the spark, not by chasing some grand revelation, but by choosing presence.
In learning to see the beauty around me, I’ve realized something quietly profound: life itself—messy, repetitive, unpredictable, and completely mine—is the spark I had been searching for all along.