Latest / Starting Over: Stories of Reinvention, Hope & Second Chances / The Daily Three: Why Small Wins Rewire Your Brain | Starting Over
Transcript
- I’m going to ask you to do something that sounds too simple to possibly change your life, and I’m going to ask you to do it right now, before you even finish reading this. Let’s get real for a second. You just closed your laptop, or maybe you just put down the phone after scrolling through a feed that made you feel like everyone else is living a highlight reel while you’re stuck in the behind-the-scenes chaos. Your shoulders are probably up by your ears. Your jaw is clenched. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re running on a mental checklist of everything you didn’t do today. The email you forgot to send. The gym session you skipped. The conversation with your partner that went sideways because you were too tired to listen properly. It’s heavy, isn’t it? That specific kind of weight that settles in your chest around 7 p.m., when the house finally goes quiet and all you have left is your own unfiltered thoughts. We spend so much energy defending ourselves against the failures of the day, polishing our regrets until they shine, but we rarely stop to acknowledge the quiet victories. The ones that don’t make the news. The ones that don’t get likes. But what if I told you that ignoring them is actually costing you more than acknowledging them? There’s a reason why remembering three good things feels difficult at first. It’s not because you’re broken or ungrateful. It’s because your brain is wired for survival, not happiness. Evolutionarily, noticing danger kept our ancestors alive. If you noticed every beautiful sunset but missed the tiger in the bushes, you wouldn’t be here to hear me talk about it. So, your mind scans for threats, for mistakes, for gaps in performance. It’s a brilliant, efficient machine designed to keep you safe from harm, but it’s terrible at helping you feel joy. When you end your day focusing only on what went wrong, you’re feeding that survival mechanism. You’re telling your nervous system that the world is still a threat. You’re reinforcing the neural pathways that say, 'You need to be better, faster, sharper.' But happiness isn’t found in the absence of problems. Happiness is found in the presence of small, undeniable goods. And when we ignore those goods, we starve our sense of safety. So here is the assignment. Not a grand gesture. Not a life-altering decision. Just three specific things. Today. Right now. They cannot be vague. They cannot be 'my family' or 'the sun.' Those are nice, but they aren’t specific enough to trick your brain into rewiring its default setting. Specificity is the key. It has to be tangible. Did you drink a glass of water that tasted really cold and refreshing? Write that down. Did you see a dog wearing a little sweater and it made you laugh out loud? Write that down. Did you manage to fold one load of laundry without throwing the basket across the room? Write that down. These sound silly, I know. They might even feel trivial. But that’s the point. We wait for the big promotions, the weddings, the miracles. We think we’ll feel good when the big stuff happens. But life is mostly made of the tiny stuff. By capturing three tiny moments, you are training your brain to hunt for gold instead of landmines. You are shifting your focus from scarcity to abundance, one small detail at a time. I want to confess something to you. For years, I thought this practice was childish. I was a high-achiever. I measured my worth in completed projects and solved crises. Writing down that I liked the way the light hit my coffee mug felt like admitting defeat. Like I wasn’t serious enough about my career. But then I hit burnout. Real, bone-deep burnout. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t create. I was cynical and exhausted. A therapist friend of mine handed me a notebook and said, 'Just write three things. Don’t overthink it.' I resisted. I fought it. But eventually, I gave in. And the first night, I wrote: 'The shower was hot.' 'The toast didn’t burn.' 'I petted the cat.' I read those words and felt a strange pang of shame, followed immediately by a wave of relief. Because they were true. The shower was hot. The toast didn’t burn. And for a moment, my brain had to accept that reality. It had to accept that there was good in the world, right there in my kitchen. It wasn’t about denying the bad days. It was about making space for the good ones to exist alongside them. It was about reclaiming my attention. Here’s what happens when you start doing this consistently. You begin to notice patterns. You realize that you’re more resilient than you think. You realize that joy is often hiding in plain sight, waiting for you to look for it. This practice doesn’t just improve your mood; it changes how you show up for other people. When you’re scanning for the good, you become softer. More patient. More present. You stop reacting defensively to minor inconveniences because your baseline has shifted. You’ve proven to yourself, again and again, that there is beauty in the ordinary. And that confidence spills over into everything else. You start taking risks because you trust that even if things go wrong, you can find the three good things in the wreckage. You stop needing external validation because you’ve built an internal reservoir of proof that your life is worth living. It’s not magic. It’s mechanics. It’s the deliberate act of directing your gaze toward the light, rather than letting it scatter everywhere. Now, I know some of you are thinking, 'Sacha, this is woo-woo nonsense. My life is hard. I have real problems.' And I hear you. I respect you for saying that. This isn’t about toxic positivity. It’s not about pretending your pain doesn’t exist. It’s about balance. If you only look at the dark, you’ll forget where the exit is. Writing down three good things doesn’t erase the rent due, or the illness, or the heartbreak. But it does remind you that you are still here. That you can still taste food. That you can still feel the wind on your face. These small anchors keep you grounded when the storms come. Think back to last week. Or even yesterday. Was there a moment, however brief, where you felt a flicker of peace? Maybe it was the silence before the kids woke up. Maybe it was a song that came on the radio that you loved. Find it. Claim it. Put it on paper. Let it be real. Let it count. Because it does. Every single one of those moments matters. They are the threads that weave the fabric of a life well-lived. Tonight, before you close your eyes, take ten seconds. Name three things. Say them out loud if you have to. Whisper them to the ceiling. Just let them exist. You deserve to remember the good days. And I’ll see you tomorrow, in the beautiful chaos. Love you.