I’ve been thinking about this idea again, that we are the sum of small moments.
Partly because it’s central to What Matters. Partly because I recently sent the updated ebook to friends. And partly because certain ideas don’t stay settled once you live with them long enough.
If we are shaped by small moments, does that mean all of them?
Not just the meaningful ones. Not just the moments of clarity or connection. But the moments of pain. Confusion. Loss. The long stretches where nothing seems to move at all.
It’s tempting to say yes, to treat every moment as equally formative. But I’m no longer sure that’s true.
Some small moments leave a mark because they ask something of us. Others don’t. They arrive, exist briefly, and fade without instruction or lesson. And that doesn’t make them useless.
Painful moments, for example, don’t shape us simply by existing. They shape us because we respond to them, by resisting, enduring, interpreting, or eventually reframing them. Pain reminds us that we are still here. Still engaged. Still part of the world, even when the experience is difficult.
And if I’m honest, I still prefer that option.
When I consider the alternative, numbness, absence, or not being here at all, it clarifies something important. Meaning only becomes visible because contrast exists. The good in life doesn’t float freely; it takes shape because it stands beside struggle, effort, and uncertainty. Over time, we even begin to rank what matters—not everything, but some things.
Friendships are a good example.
As time moves on, some friends grow distant. Some disappear entirely. They’re not always replaced by new people in the same way. Sometimes they’re replaced by memory—by an earlier version of life when they were essential.
That doesn’t mean those relationships failed. It means their work was completed.
What remains isn’t constant presence, but significance.
Then there are the empty moments—the ones that don’t seem to carry meaning at all. No insight. No lesson. No emotional weight. Just space.
For a long time, I thought those moments were gaps to be filled. Now I think they might be doing quiet work of their own. They offer release. Recovery. A pause between chapters. Without them, the rest of life would press too hard, too continuously, to be sustained.
So maybe we aren’t the sum of all small moments in the same way.
Maybe we are shaped by:
the moments that demand response,
the moments that clarify contrast, and
the moments that give us room to rest before the next meaning appears.
Not everything stays with us. Not everything needs to. But what does remain—what continues to echo, quietly becomes part of who we are.
This tension—between what shapes us and what quietly passes—is one of the central threads running through What Matters, a collection of reflections on presence, change, and meaning over time.
And that, I think, is closer to what What Matters has been trying to say all along.