Hey there,
Today I had one of those quiet moments where time just slows down for a second. I was packing my suitcase for another work trip and this random thought popped into my head:
I wonder if I’ll remember today 10 years from now.
It wasn’t a big day. Nothing wild happened. I didn’t win anything, didn’t lose anything, didn’t go out, didn’t have an important conversation with someone. I just… packed my bags, just lived. Woke up, made coffee, answered emails, had lunch, folded laundry, packed. The usual stuff. But somehow that question made me feel weirdly emotional. I looked around and at my little son playing on the bed and thought, is this what life is?
I think we grow up thinking we’ll remember the big moments. Graduations, weddings, breakups, vacations, new jobs. And sure, we do. But I also remember the smell of my grandma’s house. The way the sunlight used to fall on my childhood bed. Laughing so hard with a friend in the school hallway that we both cried. Moments no one else saw. Days that didn’t look like anything special. I remember them as if they happened yesterday.
So maybe some part of today will stick with me too. Maybe not the whole day, but a second of it. The sound of my son excitedly screaming at his breakfast in the morning. The joke someone made over lunch. The way the air felt when I opened the window. These tiny things, they’re like little fingerprints on the day. You don’t notice them stacking up, but one day they’re the things that pop back in your mind without warning.
I wonder how memory picks what to keep. Like, why do I remember the exact blue of a T-shirt I wore in high school, but I forget what I ate for dinner last week? Why do some boring days come back to me years later, like little gifts from the past, while big events fade away?
Maybe it’s not about what happened, but where and how it happened, who was with us, how it felt.
There’s something kind of comforting about that. It means that even the quiet, normal days matter. They don’t have to be exciting to be meaningful. They just have to be lived. Fully, or even partly. Maybe you don’t have to do anything big today for it to become a part of you later. Maybe just noticing it is enough.
Like right now, I’m noticing how the light from my screen reflects in the window. I can hear some traffic outside, but it’s not annoying. It’s like the world breathing. I’ve got a cup of coffee that’s just the right temperature. I’m thinking of you reading this and wondering what your day looked like. If you paused anywhere. If anything made you smile, or if it was one of those “meh” days where you were just trying to get through.
Either way, it’s okay. Not every day has to be a GoPro highlight reel video. Some days are just quiet pages in the book. But even quiet pages can hold something beautiful. A little laugh. A kind text. A deep breath.
I think that’s what I’ll remember in 10 years, not the dates or the events, but the feelings. The way I felt safe or loved or curious. Or even the moments where I felt unsure or bored or a little sad, because those count too. They all add up to a full life.
It’s funny how this small question about memory made me pay more attention today. Like, I didn’t want to waste it just because it seemed normal. I caught myself being a little more present. Looking around more. Listening more intently. Maybe wondering about remembering is actually a way to really live the moment. I kind of like that. I guess I’m a bit emotional, especially now that I’m about to travel for work and I won’t see my family for about two weeks.
That’s why I wanted to share this little thought with you. Not because I have some big life lesson. I don’t. But because maybe it’ll make you pause too. Just for a second. Just long enough to look around and take in your own now.
Who knows, maybe years from now, we’ll look back and say that today wasn’t special, but it stayed with us.
And if not? That’s okay too. There’s always another quiet day waiting around the corner. And maybe that one will stick.
Thanks for reading and sharing the newsletter with your friends and family. It helps me grow and reach more people who might find value in what I have to say.
See you next week,
Dobri 🍃