That thought has been fucking with me.

Because we’re good at recognizing the good old days approximately fifteen years after they happen.

We miss the old house after we move.

The dog after his spot by the couch is empty.

The kids being little after they stop needing us to reach the top shelf.

The noise around the dinner table after the chairs start spreading across different houses.

We miss people after we can no longer call them.

And suddenly all those completely ordinary days become sacred.

Funny how memory works.

It rarely preserves the Tuesday when everybody was home, somebody was bitching about what was for dinner, laundry was sitting in the dryer for the third damn day, and you were irritated because you couldn’t find the remote.

But lose enough Tuesdays…

and you’d trade almost anything for one more.

That’s the trap.

We keep waiting for life to become significant enough to appreciate.

The vacation.

The promotion.

The retirement.

The house finally paid off.

The magical future Thursday when everybody has their shit together.

Meanwhile, life keeps happening in sweatpants.

I’m not saying “live every day like it’s your last.”

That sounds exhausting.

If today were actually my last day, I’m definitely not cleaning the garage.

I’m saying something smaller.

Notice it.

Notice who still calls.

Notice whose shoes are by the door.

Notice the laugh coming from the other room.

Notice the person beside you who has heard the same story seventeen times and somehow still lets you finish it.

Notice your body carrying you through another day, even if it complains about the warranty every morning.

Notice the ordinary.

Faith has changed that for me.

I used to think sacred moments needed some kind of announcement.

Turns out a lot of them look suspiciously like dinner.

Maybe gratitude isn’t pretending everything is wonderful.

Some seasons suck.

Some days deserve exactly the amount of gratitude required to get through them and go the hell to bed.

But even inside difficult seasons, there can be things worth noticing.

Because someday, without warning, right now becomes back then.

And there’s a decent chance you’ll miss parts of it.

So take the picture.

But put the phone down afterward.

Stay at the table another ten minutes.

Make the call.

Listen to the boring story.

Pet the old dog.

Let the kid tell you something that takes fourteen minutes and could’ve taken thirty seconds.

You don’t have to turn every moment into a memory.

Just be there while it’s still a moment.

THE GOOD OLD DAYS
ARE HAPPENING RIGHT NOW.

SAINT DIRTY FACE™
Imperfect on Purpose. Faithful with Fangs.