Feb 11, 2026
Artist: Eliza Marsh
Editor: Julia Jarvis
“I did nothing today” are words that exist in mine and many other people’s mouths. We all accomplish such great things without taking accountability for them. I never used to stop to think about what I’ve done in a day. Oftentimes, after a full day of classes, or even a day of rotting in bed and watching TV, I chalk up my day in one word: nothing. With a straightforward exercise, though, it became clear to me that I don’t take time to appreciate and reflect on how much I achieved, when I previously would have deemed a day inactive.
Every Monday of this new semester, I have an early morning class. I show up in my outfit for the day, my hair is probably a mess, and, truth be told, I probably didn’t have time to get ready. I am not a morning person and was also sceptical about how much I would gain with my eyes half open. However, on our first day of class, we were tasked to write down three things under the following categories: Something we had done; something we had seen; and something we had heard. I realized that even in my first hour of waking up, I had made my bed, had coffee and breakfast, spoke to my mom on the phone, and gotten myself to class. These activities feel minute, yet they accumulate to something greater. I moved through the rest of my day following this framework, and my perception of my actions shifted. I had conquered my classes, met up with my friends, eaten lunch and dinner, and felt so fulfilled by enjoying the small details of my day— a red bird flew by me that reminded me of my grandmother; I made the green light seconds before it went red. Before this exercise, I would have considered my day uneventful. After dissecting each thing I did to go about existing, my eyes opened to how much we all do to get ourselves through a day.
Even if I am upset and want to stay in bed all day, this exercise has shown me how much I can do. I try to participate in this activity as much as possible, because it reminds me how gratifying life is. I often find myself getting lost in comparison. It is so easy to fall into this trap—comparing the ways I spend my time with that of my friends. However, completing this activity serves as a reminder that even getting out of bed is an activity to account for. I don’t have to wait for a big achievement, a perfect grade, or a résumé line to tell me I “did something.” I claim ownership each time I feed myself, answer a text, walk to class, call my mom, make my bed, and choose to be present. Counting those things isn’t lowering the bar; rather, it’s telling the truth about what it takes to be a person. And if I can notice the small things, I can actually be proud of my days instead of erasing them.