September 4, 2025
Welcome back to another entry in the ongoing series where I share my Thought of the Day and Question of the Day. These short reflections are meant to spark something in you—maybe curiosity, maybe a smile, maybe even a pause you didn’t know you needed. Today’s Thought is about why we teach history, and today’s Question asks us to look at goodwill from every angle. Together, they remind me that how we see yesterday shapes how we act today.
Thought of the Day: We teach history to remember it and do better.
History is a funny thing. We think of it as facts and dates on a page, but really, it’s a mirror. Sometimes a cracked one, sometimes one that makes us flinch. We teach it not just so kids can memorize when the War of 1812 happened (hint: it was 1812), but so we don’t make the same mistakes again.
And yet, we do. Over and over. That’s the part that frustrates me as much as it humbles me. Remembering is one thing. Doing better is another.
I think about how my kids will one day sit in classrooms, hearing about wars, pandemics, elections, social movements. They’ll hear about moments when people made brave choices, and times when people failed spectacularly. And I hope they won’t just see history as something that happened, but as something still happening.
That’s where the “do better” comes in. If history is a mirror, then teaching it is like holding that mirror steady long enough for us to take a good look. The question is: do we walk away unchanged, or do we adjust what we see?
This idea connects to one of my older posts about the moments when we stop pulling people out of the river and start asking why they’re falling in. History gives us those upstream answers. We just have to be willing to use them.
Question of the Day: What does Goodwill look like?
The word “goodwill” feels old-fashioned, like something your grandmother might’ve said. But it’s actually one of the most modern questions we can ask ourselves. What does goodwill look like in 2025?
It might look like waving someone into traffic when you really don’t want to. It might look like sending a text to a friend who’s been quiet, just to check in. It might even look like returning your shopping cart instead of leaving it in the lot (don’t get me started on that one).
Goodwill doesn’t have to be grand. In fact, the best examples usually aren’t. The power of goodwill is that it’s visible. You can see it in someone’s eyes when they’re patient with you. You can feel it when someone chooses to give you the benefit of the doubt.
For me, goodwill often shows up at home. When my kids “help” me cook—spilling flour everywhere, cracking eggshells into the bowl, and somehow creating chaos out of a recipe that should’ve been simple—my first instinct is to correct them. But goodwill is taking a breath and letting them stir anyway. It’s letting them feel proud even when I know the pancakes will be a little crunchy from the eggshells.
I wrote once about the surprising lessons you can learn from stepping in cat vomit first thing in the morning. Goodwill feels a lot like that—finding a way to laugh, adjust, and keep moving forward even when the situation isn’t ideal.
And here’s where it ties back to today’s Thought: teaching history is one way to pass on lessons about how goodwill (or the lack of it) has shaped entire nations. On the scale of everyday life, though, goodwill is a chance to rewrite the narrative in small ways. To make sure tomorrow’s history has a better chapter because of what you chose today.
The Thought of the Day and Question of the Day for September 4 remind us that memory and action are inseparable. Remembering without acting is just nostalgia. Acting without remembering is just chaos. Put them together, and you’ve got a blueprint for living better.
So, what does goodwill look like to you? Is it a small gesture, or a big one? Share your answer in the comments, and if you’d like to keep these questions and reflections coming straight to your inbox, join my daily email. It’s free, and it might just be the nudge you need to think differently tomorrow.