The Forecast Calls for Gratitude

It’s funny how much of our lives revolve around the weather.

Here I’ve been writing about the change in season, waxing poetic about October air and the return of spooky season, and yet summer’s still hanging on, like that one dinner guest who doesn’t know when to leave. It’s as if time has moved forward but the weather hasn’t caught up.

And honestly, neither have I.

Earlier this week, while spending quality time with my favorite person (me), I got a little philosophical. I realized I’ve been holding on to a fraction of what was… a sliver of sadness, a residue of something I haven’t fully let go of. The professional uncertainty. The emotional hangover. The what now of it all.

I show up every day, doing the work, facing the challenge, but emotionally… the forecast still calls for occasional clouds.

That said, the highlight of my mornings is school drop-off.

I pick out my daughter’s outfit (always a moment of personal pride), make sure her hair is perfect, snap the obligatory OOTD pic, and off we go. At the classroom door, I exchange surface-level smiles and “How’s your kid doing?” with the other parents before floating away in my gym clothes like a stay-at-home dad who’s headed to pilates, green juice in hand.

Except I’m not.

I’m racing home to stare at my laptop, troubleshooting the solution to a problem that doesn’t have a name yet; one that lives somewhere between “career transition” and “life reinvention.”

Then came the email.

The one every parent apparently dreads: Let’s start a group chat to stay in touch! Suddenly I was thrust into a world of emojis, snack debates, and RSVP threads. Within five minutes, I was deep in LinkedIn reconnaissance mode - cross-referencing names, professions, degrees. A pediatric cardiologist. A tech exec. A lawyer.

Cue the “slam laptop shut till Monday” meme.

Because really, what was I doing? Was I seriously comparing my LinkedIn profile to a heart surgeon’s because we both send our kids to preschool?

That was my wake-up call. My daughter and their kids are being raised with equal amounts of love, snacks, and probably meltdowns. The fact that I’m not currently clocking in to a corporate job doesn’t make me any less of a parent.

She’s getting the same thing their kids are getting: time, attention, and affection. And that’s something no résumé can quantify.

Still, that brief spiral reminded me how sneaky comparison can be. That “less than” feeling crept in fast and it took a real self-check to shake it off. A little “get up, dust yourself off, and move on” moment. Because I have a task at hand, and it doesn’t involve measuring my worth against someone else’s LinkedIn headline.

Being a parent at drop-off, I realized, isn’t all that different from being a kid in school - everyone’s looking around, comparing their experience to everyone else’s. The trick, the real win, is catching yourself before it turns into a habit. That’s the success story here. One that’ll take regular practice, but one I’ll be practicing regularly.

One thing I’ve learned - or rather, been forced to learn - in this season is how to live below my means.

For years, I operated under a simple financial philosophy: earn, spend, repeat. Clothes, dinners, experiences - all in the name of “I work hard, I deserve this.” But lately, I’ve been more disciplined. My new equation is simple: less debit, more credit.

It’s changed how I define joy.

Before, happiness came in packages… sometimes literal ones delivered by the USPS. Now, it shows up in smaller moments. Like my recent trip to Trader Joe’s, where the cashier carefully packed my groceries like she was assembling a puzzle.

We started chatting, and she told me she was dreading the next day - not because of work, but because of the chaos she expected when Trader Joe’s released their limited-edition Halloween mini tote bags.

“Search it on TikTok,” she said.

Reader, I did. And suddenly, I was deep in tote-mania. The bags were $2.99 each, with people lining up around the block to snag one. Meanwhile, I’d been using my standard $3.99 tote, blissfully unaware that I was carrying around last season’s accessory like a fashion outcast.

So naturally, I had to get them.

On Tuesday night, I set my alarm to hit Trader Joe’s before they opened at 8 a.m. I told myself it wasn’t about the totes, but instead it was about the thrill of the find.

Spoiler: I got all four.

And when I left the store, I couldn’t help but laugh. These tiny tote bags: simple, silly, functional, and had made my entire week. I used to get that same spark from a new pair of shoes or a spontaneous getaway. Now? A $2.99 bag did the trick.

It hit me then! Maybe joy doesn’t have to cost an arm and a leg. Maybe the big pleasures are just disguised as small ones.

And yes, I’m a grown man who carries tote bags. In New York, it’s about practicality. A modern-day Mary Poppins bag if you will. It holds everything from snacks to water bottles to existential questions. You never know when you’ll need one.

But more than that, it’s become a small symbol of something larger: a symbol of gratitude, of resourcefulness, of learning to find joy in the simplest, most unassuming places.

If there’s one thing I’ve had a surplus of lately, it’s thoughts.

Sometimes that’s a gift. Sometimes it’s… well, a crowded house. When I start to spiral, I put on a podcast and go for a run — my therapy on the move.

Recently, I listened to Mel Robbins (who I both adore and can only tolerate in small doses — she’s the espresso shot of motivation, not the venti). Her guest was talking about manifesting, laying out the same steps I’ve heard a hundred times:

Something about hearing it again landed differently this time. Maybe because, for once, I’m not rushing. I’m listening. I’m not trying to control everything. I’m just trying to be present for it.

When I got home, I found an empty journal in my desk drawer and started writing my intentions every day. Not goals for the year. Not a five-step plan. Just what I want to attract, right now.

And weirdly enough, it’s working… not because the universe is rearranging itself, but because I am.

Four days into my journaling habit, I realized something simple: joy is cumulative. It stacks. One $2.99 tote, one school drop-off, one quiet run at a time.

For so long, I measured my happiness by the big markers: promotions, milestones, achievements. But lately, it’s coming from the smallest sources.

Maybe the goal isn’t to chase what’s next, but to catch up to where you are.

Is this what balance looks like? When you stop outrunning your past, slow down just enough to meet your present, and realize there’s a place between contentment and the constant chase - a space where the simplest things might have been the most fulfilling all along?

The weekly section where I will call out a fraction: something that felt like progress this week (like a fraction forward) and a fiction: something that turned out to be a distraction or illusion. 

🎯 Fraction: Not to beat a dead horse (or a tote bag), but Trader Joe’s deserves the more than just a fraction this week. The fact that they can produce a high-quality, embroidered, limited-edition tote for $2.99 in this economy? Iconic. At a time when the cost of, well, everything feels sky-high, their ability to merge coordinated merch drops, scarcity, and affordability in perfect harmony is truly chef’s kiss.

🎭 Fiction: I’m not saying the 100+ Easter eggs in The Life of a Showgirl are fiction, but the internet’s conspiracy theories about them sure are. What if, just for once, we took Taylor’s music for what it is and let ourselves be surprised later, blissfully unaware of the clues staring us in the face? And seriously… who has the time (or mental coordination) to plan that many easter eggs? I can barely keep a grocery list straight, let alone a multi-album mystery map. Can you imagine the master Easter Egg Google Sheet her team must maintain? Color-coded tabs, conditional formatting, and all. For the record, though, the “Taylor and Travis are both secretly gay” theory? That’s 100% fiction, if you ask me.

A quick round-up of clips, headlines or stories, and cultural crumbs that made me pause and ask… is this it?

🛍️ Fast Fashion, Slower Checkout
From algorithms to actual aisles: Shein’s going brick-and-mortar. Because nothing says the future of retail like bringing the “add to cart” impulse to real life, complete with fluorescent lighting and fitting rooms that remind us: yes, fast fashion is a tangible problem.

🏆 Rings, But Make Them Meta
Apparently, we’ve come full circle. Instagram’s giving out literal rings to creators. As if we needed another reason for influencers to post their hands. Somewhere, Beyoncé is nodding, whispering, “If you liked it, then you should’ve put a filter on it.”

🤖 ChatGPT Gets Social
The machines are officially mingling. ChatGPT can now hook up with apps like Canva and Slack, which means your next brainstorm might involve your AI suggesting you “circle back” while designing the slide deck for you. Productivity or pandemonium? TBD.

🍓 Berry Expensive
Blueberries are the new black… and the new budget breaker. As a parent, I can confirm: the shelf life is shorter than a toddler’s attention span, and yet we keep buying them like they’re the secret to good parenting. (Maybe they are.)

🎨 Save the Date (and the Bob Ross)
A “happy little accident” turned multimillion-dollar masterpiece. Somewhere out there, a man with a perm and a palette is smiling down, proving once again that optimism - and a good brushstroke - never go out of style.

🧠 AI vs. Actual Intelligence
“There’s artificial intelligence,” they said. “And then there’s actual intelligence.” Touché, dictionary people. Nothing like the keepers of language entering the AI chat to remind us that sometimes, words really do matter.

If this one hit home, forward it to three people who could use a reminder that slowing down doesn’t mean falling behind - it just means catching up to yourself. Because maybe the real secret isn’t in doing more, but in noticing what’s already good. And who knows… maybe that’s where the magic’s been hiding all along.

Proudly carrying my $2.99 tote,
Chris