When I was young—long before the invention of things like soup or buttons—I wrote a book called Finding Your Own North Star. In it, I described four “compasses,” metaphorical internal guidance systems that I believe come standard with every human life. If we learn to read these compasses, I said (and still say), we can get highly accurate instructions about how to build the lives we’re meant to have.

In case you’ve never encountered this concept, the four “compasses” are:

The body compass. Our bodies tighten and contract when we move away from our own best interests, and relax and lean forward when we’re headed in the right direction.

The emotional compass. We spontaneously fall into foul moods when we’re off course, and better ones when we’re headed home.

The mental compass. This one does the math: Will this next step get me where I need to go? How can I plan and plot the right path?

The spiritual compass. This is the guidance gizmo I want to talk about below.

When I start talking about “spiritual compasses,” people sometimes think I’m getting a bit woo-woo. They’re wrong—I’m super-duper woo-woo. No, I don’t count every parking space as a manifestation of my higher self. Yes, I keep my mental compass up and running. I check it constantly. But at the end of the day, I’ve found my soul-compass to be the most nuanced, reliable, and accurate guide I’ve got.

However, these compasses don’t always work the way people assume they do.

When a discussion of spirituality heaves into view, people who don’t run away often rearrange their faces into solemn, reverent expressions, as if preparing to hear Heavy Concepts. But to me, there’s nothing heavy about the spirit. It’s made up of many experiences—each slightly different, but all characteristically light, in every sense of the word.

So in this article, I thought I’d follow up on my long-ago first self-help book by describing some of the ways our spirits like to guide us.

1. The Conversational Compass

Small talk is almost impossible for me. I lapse into a kind of conversational hibernation when asked to discuss things that fascinate many people: weddings, hedge funds, fashion. But if someone mentions a newly discovered species of fruit bat, I’m instantly alert. Ditto for tornadoes, Neanderthals, or the history of turmeric.

I’m not saying any of these topics is inherently better than any other. My point is that my deepest self—my primal soul—seems permanently fixated on my own nerdy passions. I can’t change that.

You have your own internal settings: things that fascinate you in defiance of all social pressure. You could be circling the drain of a terminal coma, and if someone mentioned one of these subjects, you’d pop up to ask a few questions. There are things you can talk about all night without noticing the time—conversations you’d enjoy with your leg in a bear trap.

These topics are compasses. They aren’t telling you to go out and do any particular thing, but they are showing you the territory where you can spend your one wild and precious life in a state of happy involvement. Follow them to the people and places connected to them, and you won’t stray far from your best path.

2. The Cuteness Compass

The sensation of being drawn to something cute—as opposed to earthshaking or grand—is unlike any other. There’s something primordial about it. You know your cuteness compass is activated when there’s something you’d protect to your last breath, while also feeling a strange urge to… eat it.

Each of us has our own panoply of cuteness. I know one man—a big, burly weightlifter—who is absolutely slain by any animal with absurdly large feet. Another friend, a sharp-eyed and skeptical genius, loses her mind over the unbearable cuteness of pufferfish.

If you find yourself grinning madly at anime drawings, horse-and-buggies, or tiny houses, indulge yourself. Start collecting cute things. Become a hobbyist. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen this simple practice change people’s lives—leading them into the vicinity where they find jobs, friends, even ideas for a life’s work.

3. The Comfort Compass

Sometimes, when life is just too hard, I find that a blanket can change my whole world. Not just any blanket, mind you. Black Blanket. Black Blanket is a scruffy rectangle of fleece I’ve owned for twenty years. I carry it around when I’m nervous, like a toddler. I don’t intend to stop. There’s a reason some folks call a quilt a “comforter.”

You might find this kind of solace in a special chair, an easygoing friend, or a cup of tea. Whatever your source is, go there. Go there now. Go there often.

This is not just “self-care.” It’s a spiritual practice. At the heart of every wisdom tradition is the human soul’s cry for comfort in a world that can be brutally harsh. If something gives you a sense of safety, rest, and healing, it’s moving you toward the place where your spirit feels at home.

4. The Comedy Compass

“Laughter is the beginning of prayer,” said theologian Reinhold Niebuhr. He saw humor as a joyful acknowledgment of hope and a profound defiance of fear. If spirituality isn’t that, I want no part of it.

I think that’s why my spiritual compass constantly yanks me toward absurd situations, rollicking storytellers, and TV comedies created by writers who seem bent on exploring just how foul a human mouth can get. (Have you seen Deadloch? Buckle up.)

Of all the spiritual compasses I follow, this is the one that gets me in the most trouble. I have been disapproved of by people from all sorts of religious traditions—which is strange, because I love religion. So much of it is utterly hilarious. It’s the hilarity, not the solemnity, that feels like salvation to me.

Anything that strikes me as truly, deeply funny is part of my definition of heaven. Find what’s funny to you, and laugh. A lot. I believe it’s part of your soul’s journey.

5. The Cuddle Compass

I used to think of spiritual states as abstract, almost alien. I imagined that if I ever achieved spiritual awakening, it would be like dissolving into an ether so fine it would be almost theoretical.

Now I don’t believe that.

After many years of following these compasses, I’ve come to think that whatever spiritual truth may be, it’s not aloof. In fact, it’s almost incomprehensibly intimate.

When there’s something you trust so much that you want to cuddle with it—your dog, your beloved, your favorite pajamas—that thing is showing you something about the nature of the divine. Move your life toward whatever brings you that much peace, that much sweetness.

There’s no telling where you’ll end up. But you owe it to yourself to find out.

In Sum: The Comprehensive Compass

I know plenty of people who look for spiritual guidance in paranormal events—visions, prophecies, magical powers. If that’s what you long for, go for it. Follow your compasses, not mine. I wish you all the success and enlightenment in the universe.

But if you ever get tired out there on the road to Nirvana, consider a gentler alternative.

Try the idea that the world is filled with the spirit’s path, hiding in a million ordinary things. Things like an interesting conversation, an adorable cat, a soft place to rest, a hilarious joke, someone to hold—and someone to hold you.

Turn toward these things when you feel even the slightest magnetic pull. The soul’s messages are often so gentle we barely notice them.

But that doesn’t mean they aren’t powerful.

After traveling far and wide—through hell and high water and struggle and strife—I’ve come to believe that the simplest, most ordinary joys are often the ones my spirit uses to call me home.