Small Moments, Big Reflections
Does this happen to you? After an 8- or 9-hour workday, your partner asks, “How was your day?” At best, you search your memory for about two seconds before responding, “Good.” Otherwise, they’ll hear a reflexive “Fine” or “Yes” the moment they finish their question. Sure, if there’s a noteworthy event—like a promotion or a raise—you might have something more colorful to share. Maybe even a suggestion for a celebratory dinner.
But I don’t like that. I really don’t like how shallow my conversations have become with the people I love most. Yes, the logistics of my day are often mundane. But the emotional terrain I (and I’m sure we) navigate can be dramatic. Yet if you ask me at the end of the week what happened on any particular day, I probably won’t recall that emotional journey. Assuming my day was uneventful, I’ll draw a blank.
That’s why “Storyworthy” by Matthew Dicks has inspired me to improve my micro-journaling practice. Matthew is an award-winning storyteller, and in his book, he shares tips for creating story-worthy moments and crafting them into stories worth telling. One of his key suggestions is a practice he calls “Homework for Life.”
“Homework for Life” is simple: every day, write down one thing that stands out—a moment, a highlight, or something that encapsulates your day. Dicks himself practices this daily, and it’s helped him connect the dots in his life. The stories he records become valuable material for his storytelling classes or competitions.
Inspired by this idea, I decided to give it a try. At first, it was challenging. If I’m honest with myself, I realized I’m emotionally lazy. Too lazy to dig through the details of my day for one story-worthy moment. But that mindset wasn’t helping me with my goal, was it?
So, I took a different approach. I followed advice from a YouTuber I admire—Ali Abdaal. In [this] video, Ali suggests spending 10 minutes freewriting every day. The idea is to write whatever comes to mind without worrying about how it looks or sounds. Following his method, I started with small steps. When I felt stuck, I’d mentally retrace my day: What was my first appointment? Who did I meet? How did it go? I set a timer to build the habit of writing, even if it felt tedious or silly.
When frustration hit, I acknowledged it. If I thought, “This is stupid,” I’d remind myself that the goal was to keep writing. Over time, the act of showing up consistently began to strengthen that underdeveloped muscle.
After a week, I started re-reading my daily entries on Sunday—my usual journaling day. I found it surprisingly comforting to revisit the little stories I’d captured. And day by day, I noticed I had more to write about.
Building a habit of noticing and capturing small moments isn’t easy. At first, it feels strange—tedious even—to sift through your day for something worth remembering. But the more I practice, the more I realize that every day holds moments worth noting. Reflecting on these small stories has helped me connect more deeply with myself and with those around me.
So, I’m sticking with this practice. I’m embracing the challenge of noticing, remembering, and appreciating the little things. Because sometimes, it’s the quiet moments that reveal the most about who we are—and who we’re becoming.
