Today’s good came from memories—specifically the silly or unexpectedly fond ones that pop up and tug you back to another version of yourself.

The first hit while I was watching a movie at work. Someone slammed down a phone to end a call, and I felt an immediate wave of nostalgia. I was never the “angry hang-up” type, but there was something satisfying about physically slamming a receiver onto a cradle. It had weight. It had oomph. People today will never know the catharsis of hanging up with authority. Now it’s just… tapping a red circle. Very civilized. Very boring.

The second memory arrived courtesy of an algorithm. YouTube recommended a tutorial series for a video game I barely played—but it transported me straight back to the COVID shutdown, when I spent two months skiing in Utah.

The first month I lived in this great little apartment that overlooked a mountain. End of the block, trailhead right there. On days I didn’t ski, I hiked or biked the trails. I had a nook where I could sit, read, and stare out at the ridgeline. I downloaded that video game and messed with it a little—not much, but enough that it’s braided into the memory of that view, that quiet. I also remembered the Thursday “live” online trivia nights with Bob and Sheila. Something small, but I miss that.

The second month I stayed somewhere less charming—no mountain view—, but it was attached to a coffee shop, which was its own kind of cozy. I’d teach in the mornings, then drive twenty minutes to Snowbasin, where by 12:30 I’d be clipping into my skis. Weekday skiing meant no lift lines. I’d ride down the mountain and ski straight onto the next chair. That kind of solitude-in-motion stays with you.

These were good memories, and I hope I make more like them—not all as goofy as landline-phone theatrics, but still. I’m at the point in life where I look back and think things were better when I was growing up in the ’70s and ’80s. The 90s and early 2000s weren’t bad either.  To be fair to myself, I’ve been able to appreciate and enjoy every stage of my life, though the 50-59 age group has been a lot more challenging.  Still, I’m sure when I’m 70 (if I can hold out), I’ll look back fondly on now, too.

Today, the good was remembered. And being grateful, I’ve had moments worth remembering.

It’s great to be alive.

The last two days, going to work has felt like a chore. I’m over it. Walking into that building has taken more effort than I like to admit, and finding something “good” during the school day hasn’t come naturally. Some days the well feels dry.

But the good for today wasn’t at work.
It was coming home.

Home is peaceful right now. My wife, the pets, the familiar calm of the evening settling in. I’d say the kids, but they’re out of the house these days—though two will be back for a month over Christmas, and that will bring its own kind of good chaos.

Tonight we have ASL lessons early, but after that? We’ll have time. Time to read by the fire, or watch a Christmas rom-com, or play a game. Nothing flashy, nothing huge—just the kind of quiet, comfortable evenings I live for.

After-work nights are where the day finally exhales.
That’s the good for today.

It’s great to be alive.

If I’m being honest, I tend to lean negative. It’s not that I walk around gloomy or cynical, but my brain has a talent for cataloguing what’s wrong, what’s broken, what’s irritating, and what’s disappointing. I even gratitude-journal every morning, and while that helps, I’ve realized I want something that comes after the day has happened—a way to end it on a note that reminds me there is still good everywhere if I pay attention.

So: a new project. “Something Good Every Day.”
Every evening I’ll write about one thing—something I saw, heard, read, or experienced—that was simply good. Not profound, not life-changing, not a solution to the world’s problems. Just something human, something hopeful, something that cuts through the noise.

The idea came to me right before we left for Thanksgiving break. I was walking down the street and saw two friends saying goodbye on the sidewalk. They had clearly just had breakfast or coffee together. They hugged, laughed, wished each other a warm Thanksgiving, and split off in opposite directions still smiling. That tiny moment stuck with me. In a world that feels like an endless scroll of Tumblr-drama, “going no-contact” announcements, and performative takes about everything under the sun, there are people out there who simply live their lives and enjoy each other. It lifted me more than it had any right to.

And then today’s “good” arrived while I was walking the dog.

Two houses down, a kid shot across the sidewalk on a sled like he was at the top of Vail. His dad had shoveled only half the front steps; the other half he had packed down into a tiny makeshift hill. Same with the sidewalk. Near the curb, he built a little snow ramp to stop the kids—not reckless, just thoughtful, and honestly kind of genius. The two kids were having the time of their lives sledding down those stairs. You could tell, even from down the street, that this would be one of those childhood memories that sticks forever.

Meanwhile, the four boys next door were all bundled up, playing in the snow, while their dad loaded them into the sled for a trip to Cricket Hill. Two dads, two sets of kids, a cold afternoon turned into something warm. Memories being made. Screens nowhere in sight. And maybe, just maybe, giving mom a well-deserved break.

That’s today’s good.

If I can find one moment like that each day—something simple, something real—I think it might tilt my perspective a little. Or at least remind me that the world isn’t as bleak as the algorithm wants me to believe.

It’s great to be alive.