Yesterday was the best day of my son’s life. In truth, it was a good day. We gave him something new, he chatted with his California cousins, and my wife made cupcakes. All good things - especially the cupcakes! My son, though, has the “best day of his life” almost every day! A couple of days earlier, he met boys his age while playing at a nearby playground. They had a great time together, and it was the best day of his life.
When we grow up, we have fewer “best days.” So why do we set the bar so high? Do we limit our joy by reserving what we call the “best days” for only those that are especially remarkable? Do we determine what makes them unique, or do we measure them against a cultural yardstick? Does that yardstick align with the depth of joy in a simple moment, like the time a child tells us that today was the best day of his life?