Making 2026 Meaningful

At 33 years old, I consider myself moderately risk averse. I still take chances and participate in somewhat risky activities, CrossFit being one of them, but I am nowhere near the daredevil I was growing up. Sometimes I imagine what it was like trying to parent me as a child, and it does not take long before I start wincing, partly in remembrance of a few close calls, and partly in remorse for what I put my parents through.

While I was always a bit of a wildcard, the frequency and severity of the risks I took increased dramatically the day I turned 16. As soon as I could get an appointment at the DMV, I got my license and a set of wheels. After a few months of driving, I realized the power dynamic between my parents and me was shifting, ever so slightly. Sure, they still maintained ultimate authority, but we were both realizing I was turning from their child into a young adult with agency over my own decisions. Nothing makes that clearer than driving your parents around.

Having my mom in the passenger seat was stressful. She would grab your arm if you did not brake when she would have, alert you every time a light changed or someone turned on a blinker, and continuously provide unsolicited driving advice that may or may not apply to the current situation.

My stepdad, Wynn, on the other hand, was cool as a cucumber. He almost never spoke up unless it was an emergency, and most of the time he just sang along to the radio. It was almost as if he was thinking, if it is my time, it is my time. The one time I remember him giving me driving advice has stayed with me for the past sixteen years.

We are driving on Highway 99 between Oregon City and Canby, a route I had taken hundreds of times on the way to my grandma’s house. It is a four-lane highway, two lanes in each direction, with a thin yellow line dividing the inner lanes.

The speed limit increases to 55, and I move into the left lane to start passing people. I smirk as the road opens up in front of me, knowing I have won a race the other cars do not realize they are running. A minute or two goes by without another car in sight, and Wynn asks, “Just curious, but why are you in the left lane?”

“In case I need to pass someone.”

“In this lane, you are about six inches from death. In the right lane, you are a good ten feet away. You have to know when to ride the line and when to play it safe.”

We ride in silence for a moment before I turn on my blinker and merge into the right lane.

Wynn’s words have come to mind countless times over the last sixteen years, and I am certain now he was not just talking about driving. That small moment, one Wynn may not even remember, changed how I approach risk and evaluate reward in my life.

It also reminds me that much of life’s meaning is found in small moments.

2026 has the potential to be a special year, but that will not happen on its own. We have to recognize the impact of small moments and create intentional space to reflect on them.

The practice is simple. Every Sunday, ask yourself, “What small moment from this past week changed what I think, do, or believe?” Write it down in a note on your phone.

By the end of the year, you will have a list of more than 50 meaningful moments that made 2026 special.

Too often, we wait for something monumental to happen to prove our life matters. This coming year, focus on the small things, and remember that we do not find meaning in life, we make it.

Fact

Studies in positive psychology show that people who regularly reflect on small meaningful moments report higher life satisfaction than those who only track major achievements.

Action

Every Sunday, write down one small moment from the week that shifted how you think, act, or see the world.

Question

What moment from this past week are you underestimating the impact of?

Quote

“We do not remember days, we remember moments.” - Cesare Pavese