Sundays have a way of arriving softly. No alarms, no rush — just the world slowing down enough for me to hear my own thoughts again. This morning began with the simple kindness of a familiar gesture: a mug of coffee, warm and steady, placed beside me by my partner. No grand words exchanged, just that quiet act of love that says more than any sentence could.

There’s a sacredness in that simplicity — the kind that reminds me that care doesn’t always need to be loud. Sometimes it’s just the warmth of a mug between your hands, the faint hum of morning silence, the presence of someone who remembers how you take your coffee without needing to ask.

Later, I turned off the TV and decided to rewatch The Greatest Showman. I’ve seen it more times than I can count, yet every time it feels like a mirror held up to a different version of myself. Maybe that’s what art does — it meets you wherever you are in life.

Today, it met me in reflection. It met me in memory.
And somewhere between the songs and the silences, I found myself missing my dad again.

There’s something about that film — its color, its courage, its music — that always tugs at my heart. Maybe because it’s a story about dreams and belonging, and my dad, in his own quiet way, taught me both. He wasn’t a showman. He didn’t chase applause. But he understood what mattered — showing up, loving hard, and finding joy even in the small, ordinary corners of life.

The Lessons That Found Me

1. “It’s everything you ever want. It’s everything you ever need. It’s here right in front of you.”

That line hits differently each time. It’s the anthem of every soul that’s ever looked too far ahead, forgetting the beauty already within reach. I thought of how often I’ve done that — chasing milestones, ticking boxes, rushing forward — and how the film gently reminds me that joy doesn’t live in the “someday.” It lives here. In the mug of coffee your partner hands you. In the morning sunlight spilling quietly across the room.

2. “From Now On” — returning to what truly matters.

That moment when Barnum finally stops chasing validation and runs back home always feels like a gut punch. Because haven’t we all done that? Wandered too far from ourselves, mistaking achievement for meaning? Watching that scene, I realised how often my own life gets caught in doing instead of being. My dad used to remind me that presence — not perfection — is the mark of a good life. And perhaps that’s what faith really is: the choice to return, again and again, to what truly matters.

3. “Never Enough” — the echo of every overworked heart.

This song always gets me. It’s haunting because it tells the truth so many of us avoid — that success, without peace, will never be enough. That applause fades, but contentment endures.

4. “This Is Me” — embracing imperfection.

Every time that anthem begins, I feel a shift. It’s more than empowerment; it’s truth. It’s a call to embrace the parts of ourselves we’ve hidden for too long. I thought of my own journey — the self-doubt, the pressure to always be “enough,” the quiet rebellion it takes to be authentic in a world that rewards pretending.

The song reminds me that scars can be beautiful too — because they prove we’ve survived.

By the time the credits rolled, the coffee was long gone, but its warmth lingered — like comfort that doesn’t ask to be noticed. I sat still for a moment, letting gratitude take shape: for the film, for my dad’s memory, for the steady kind of love that fills the room without noise.

The Greatest Showman isn’t just a movie to me anymore. It’s a mirror.

A reminder that life’s beauty isn’t found in applause or spectacle — it’s found in how we choose to love quietly, to keep going even when no one’s watching, to find wonder in ordinary Sundays.

Because maybe that’s the greatest show of all — not the performance, but the persistence.
Not the spotlight, but the soul that keeps glowing behind it.