Why Seeking More Glimmers Is A Recipe For A Happier, Calmer, More Connected Life

Many close friends often tell me I'm good at entertaining myself. I had never really thought much about my practice of noticing sunsets, seeking out art, and hugging random animals, for instance, apart from the fact that I enjoy it and it makes my life better.

We spend so much time analyzing and obsessing over the bad stuff in our lives and our pasts, which can lead our brains to notice too much negativity. Or, of course, for our nervous systems to continuously be re-triggered. So it makes absolute sense to use our mental energy to, instead, look for the good stuff that nourishes and heals us—and that's what glimmers are all about.

The term "glimmer" was first introduced by social worker Deb Dana in her book, The Polyvagal Theory In Therapy: Engaging The Rhythm Of Regulation. They're micro-moments that make us feel happier, hopeful, safe, and connected. And the best thing is, we can easily access them by looking for them. 

Seeking out glimmers is a particularly helpful practice in the neurodiverse community, with occupational therapist Bec Secombes describing them as "a satisfying sensory delight that fills someone with fervent ecstasy."

Put simply, glimmers are great for your mental health. On a bad day or when you're moving through a more difficult chapter, glimmers can offer a reset button. And from there, a healthier headspace gives you more energy and inspiration to do the things that might otherwise feel hard. 

This isn’t to say you should lie to yourself about how you’re feeling or pretend a difficult situation doesn’t need work. Rather, sometimes we 're in a headspace where our brains are biased towards remembering and noticing things associated with danger, losses, or anything else negative. And that puts us in a position where we fail to notice the good things, much less interact with the world in a way that creates more positivity.

For instance, when you are feeling isolated, you’re more likely to interpret benign facial expressions as threatening, and that makes you likelier to react to people in hostile way, and vice versa, reinforcing your perception that the world is a dangerous place. 

Are micro-moments of goodness that help our bodies to discharge the buildup of cortisol from previously-stressful situations, so we can return to a calm state where we also feel included. 

For instance, I experience connection as a warm sensation in my heart that radiates through my chest. And that happens when a loved one does something thoughtful, when I see a cat or dog walking by, or when I think of times these happened.

Secombe also gives other examples of glimmers, including the sound of rain, a cat purring, damp springy moss, shiny bubbles, new leaves growing on plants, watching fish, and rainbows.

Sometimes, when we're in the frozen state, it's difficult to look for glimmers. Frozen isn’t just about hiding in bed or on your sofa—sometimes it looks like rampant procrastinating on your phone instead of doing your tasks because everything feels overwhelming.

We often can’t even be motivated to seek glimmers out, much less feel we deserve them, when we're in this place. But in these instances, reflect upon which of the above emotions and their associated glimmers help move you up the polyvagal ladder. 

A common one would be imagining what a kind role model would say to us, even if we couldn’t be kind to ourselves, because they would still be kind to you. And when your nervous system feels safe, it is then easier to experience glimmers. 

One thing I’ve always loved is to go on a "glimmer expedition" by scheduling awe walks. And you can do them in urban settings too—I do them in bookstores and Sephora at times.

For me, using a camera is a good way to focus my mind, and then if I choose to share photos online, it becomes a way of reflecting and a gratitude journal. This makes it feel like the HIIT version of glimmers, where the effects last for a long time, and can easily be reawakened.

As someone with ADHD, I get bored easily. But upon reflecting, it surprised me how I have never been bored of my glimmers for years. Catching the sunset, looking at planets, watching new leaves unfurl—the simplest things that would theoretically bore a brain that needs constant novel stimulation—continue to heal, nourish, and elevate me.