When Was the Last Time You Chased Fireflies? Finding Light in Small Moments

I grew up in a big city. My world was a 500-meter radius of apartment buildings, convenience stores, and tutoring centers. Fireflies were something from picture books and Studio Ghibli films—magical creatures that didn't actually exist.

In third grade, I saw a photograph of fireflies in a science magazine. A dark forest filled with hundreds of tiny yellow lights floating in the air, captured in a long exposure shot. That single image stuck in my mind. "Is this real? Do bugs that glow like this actually exist?" From that day on, I had a secret wish: someday, I wanted to see fireflies in real life.

That Night at Summer Camp

Summer of seventh grade. Our school organized a three-day camping trip to the mountains. Honestly, I didn't want to go. Three days with classmates I barely talked to felt like torture.

On the second night around 9 PM, our teacher asked, "Who wants to go on a night walk?" Most kids wanted to stay in the cabin playing card games. I almost stayed too, but something pulled me to raise my hand. We walked into the darkness without flashlights. The moonlight was enough. After about ten minutes, our teacher said, "Stop here. Look around."

And then I saw them.

First one. Then two. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, dozens of tiny lights began to appear. It looked like someone had scattered small stars throughout the forest. The lights blinked and moved slowly—coming closer, drifting away. I held my breath. As if making a sound would break the spell.

How can I describe that moment? "Beautiful" isn't enough. "Amazing" feels too shallow. It was just... perfect. The scene I'd been imagining for five years was right there in front of me. No, it was even better than I'd imagined.

I felt like I could reach out and touch them. One flew near my hand. I moved my fingers slowly. The firefly circled my fingertips, then flew away. Was it ten minutes? Twenty? Time disappeared. I just chased those lights, laughing. Classmates I'd never spoken to were suddenly shouting together: "Look over there!" "Wow, here too!"

Why Does It Still Stick With Me?

When I think about it now, it's almost funny. They were just bugs. Ordinary (well, sort of) insects doing bioluminescence to survive, straight out of a biology textbook. Yet twenty years later, that night remains one of my clearest memories. Why?

But I think it was more than that. What I felt that night wasn't just awe. It was... pure joy. Joy without conditions, without calculations, without obligations.

• Without thinking "How is this useful?"
• Without worrying "How can I use this later?"
• Without planning "I should take a photo for Instagram"

It just felt good. And that was enough. Like kids giggling as they chase bubbles. Like a dog gleefully running after a thrown ball. Without any reason, I was completely absorbed in the joy of that moment.

What We Lose When We Grow Up

At some point, those moments disappeared. Preparing for college entrance exams, worrying about getting a job, saving money, building a career. Every experience became something that "had to lead to something else."

Even traveling became about "getting good photos for Instagram." Reading books turned into "Will this help my self-improvement?" Meeting friends came with the word "networking" creeping into my head.

Of course, this isn't just my problem. At some point, we all started viewing the world through the lens of "efficiency" and "productivity." Even resting for five minutes brings guilt: "Should I be doing something right now?"

Maybe that's why I haven't seen fireflies since becoming an adult. Actually, it's not that I didn't have opportunities—I just didn't look for them. The very thought of "going to see fireflies" felt... unproductive. Where did that childhood wonder go? The ability to marvel at a tiny light, to laugh for no reason at all. That innocence.

But the Small Lights Are Still There

I've realized something in recent years. Firefly moments still exist. I've just been passing them by without noticing.

For example:

• The steam rising from morning coffee. Before the first sip, I pause to watch the white steam curl up from the cup. In that moment, I think nothing. The warmth just feels good.
• Puddles sparkling after rain. Walking to work, I spot the sky reflected in a puddle on the asphalt. I stop for half a second. It's just pretty.
• The wrinkles at the corners of my friend's eyes when they really laugh. There's a difference between genuine laughter and polite laughter. When the eyes laugh too, I catch that moment. It's warm.
• The 4 AM breeze coming through the window. On a hot, sleepless night, I open the window and cool air flows in. I sit there for five minutes just feeling the breeze. Peaceful.
• A few notes of a song overheard on the subway. Music leaking from someone's earbuds next to me. I know that song. It inexplicably lifts my mood.

These are all fireflies. Small, unexpected, useless, but beautiful moments. The wonder I felt in that firefly forest in middle school wasn't actually about the fireflies themselves. It was because I was completely present in that moment. Without other thoughts, just existing with those lights.

How to Chase Small Lights Again

So how can we experience those moments again?

1. Slow Down

Fireflies move slowly. If we rush past, we won't see them. Even when drinking coffee, pause for five seconds to smell it. Leave one minute early for work to look up at the sky.

2. Don't Ask "What's This For?"

Put that question aside for a moment. Not everything needs to be productive. If watching a pigeon walk is amusing, it's okay to watch for 30 seconds.

3. Don't Expect It

If you go looking for fireflies, you won't find them. You meet them while just walking. Same with small joys in daily life. Accidental moments are more powerful than planned happiness.

4. Have Time Alone

You can't chase fireflies while worrying about others watching. You can't laugh at bubbles while thinking "Does this look childish?" Sometimes you need time just for yourself.

The Dark Night, Finding the Forest Again

Honestly, as an adult, there aren't many opportunities to go to a real forest and see fireflies. No time, and you'd have to travel far from the city. But strangely, I don't miss it anymore.

Because now I know: what I saw in middle school wasn't the fireflies—it was 'a moment of being completely present.' And those moments can be created without traveling far.

Of course, sometimes I do miss it. The dark forest, the moonlight, dozens of tiny lights. That perfect moment. When that happens, I turn off the lights, sit in front of my computer screen, and enter a digital forest.

Maybe this is all we sometimes need. A small light in complete darkness. Unexpected beauty. Joy without reason.

Closing

When was the last time you chased fireflies?

Actually, let me ask more precisely: When was the last time you laughed for no reason, just because it felt good? When was the last time you did something without thinking "What's the use of this?"

If you can't quite remember, maybe now is the time to find that moment again. The small lights are still all around you. We're just moving too fast to notice.

Tonight, turn off the lights and pause for a moment. Look for a small light in the darkness. Whether it's fireflies on a screen, a streetlight outside your window, or the innocence of the child still inside you.

Chase that light. Without reason, without calculation. Just chase it.

Ready to find your moment of calm? Wander through your own Firefly Forest simulation. Move your mouse and let the lights gently follow you.