I was sixteen years old. Which, for anyone who’s ever been sixteen, means I was swimming in just enough emotion to believe no one — not a soul — could possibly understand what I was going through.
And honestly? At the time, I didn’t want anyone to. I was marinating in my feelings like they were my birthright.
I grew up in a faith-filled environment. Church wasn’t just something we did on Sundays — it was woven into our daily rhythm. And even though I didn’t always understand why I went, or what I was looking for when I got there, I often found myself in that quiet sanctuary during slow afternoons. Just me. Sitting alone. Thinking, or not thinking. Maybe hiding. Maybe hoping.
One afternoon, as I was leaving the chapel, I crossed paths with a retired French pastor. He had a thick accent and an even thicker presence — the kind that makes you pause whether you want to or not. He asked how I was doing. Just a casual question. He’d seen me sitting alone more than a few times.
I gave him my usual teenage answer. “I’m good.”
I didn’t mean it. He probably knew that. Most adults didn’t really want the truth anyway, or so I thought.
But instead of pressing me, he shared something unexpected. A suggestion. A simple practice. He asked if I’d try something.
“Each night,” he said, “as you lay your head on your pillow, think back on the day and find ten happy moments. Anything that made you smile. A joke. A kind word. A moment of peace. A small gift — whether you gave it or received it. Anything. Ten things.”
I thought it sounded corny. I probably made a face. He saw right through it.
“I know it sounds cheesy,” he said. “But try.”
I promised I would.
And I did. Kind of.
It was harder than I thought. Sixteen-year-olds don’t usually go around cataloging happiness. We lean more toward angst and resistance. And if you’re a broke brown kid with a complicated life, it’s even easier to focus on everything that’s going wrong.
Ten happy moments? I barely felt like I had one.
But I tried.
And then, something happened. I started seeing things. Small things. A shared laugh. A good meal. Someone remembering my name. A breeze that hit just right. Stuff I would’ve skipped over before suddenly became worth noticing.
After a few weeks, I wasn’t just finding ten moments — I was looking forward to them. I went to bed a little lighter. I woke up expecting more goodness to show up. And slowly, something shifted in me: I started to like myself a little more.
Here’s what I learned:
You can’t be grateful and unhappy at the same time.
That pastor never got to hear how much that conversation changed me. A few weeks after our brief encounter, he passed away. Cancer. I found out later he had been quietly battling it when he stopped to speak with me. He didn’t mention that. He wasn’t trying to teach a grand life lesson. He just offered me a tool — and a little hope.
To this day, I still return to that practice. Not every night. I’ll be honest — I forget on the good days, when life is full and my tank feels topped off. But I always remember on the hard days. The days where I feel less loved, less lucky, or less useful. The days where regret sneaks in. The days I want to host a pity party and appoint myself Grand Marshal.
That’s when I dig. Because even on the worst days, I’ve learned this:
There are always 10 happy moments.
You just have to train your eyes to see them.
I’ve had some big heartbreaks. I’ve taken some heavy hits. And I know I’m not alone in that. Most of us are walking around with more pain than we let on. I’m not saying this little gratitude exercise fixed everything. But I know this: without that challenge from a dying man who barely knew me, I might not have made it through as well as I did.
And I wouldn’t have had much to offer anyone else, either.
I’ve been blessed to impact people — some emotionally, some financially, some just by showing up. But you can’t pour out if you’re running on empty. And gratitude — even in its simplest form — is one of the few things that refills the soul.
So here’s my challenge to you:
Recognize that we all need help sometimes.
Accept that some days will suck.
Let go of what you can’t change.
Change what you can with courage.
Love others like it’s the last chance you’ll get.
Love yourself like you deserve to be here. Because you do.
Join me in this. Ten moments. Every day. Start tonight.
And if you need someone to walk it with you, I’m just a click away: www.ButchChelliah.com
Even on your darkest day, I promise you this:
There are 10 happy moments waiting to be found.
They’re already there. They’re just waiting for you to look.
