Would you choose today again?

Good morning —

And welcome to the sixth issue of The FAM. 

About six months ago, I had my hip replaced. The kind of thing that makes you slow down—whether you want to or not. Recovery came with its rituals: physical therapy, stretching, and a whole lot of patience, sometimes slipping into frustration. But it also came with something else I wasn’t expecting:

A deeper sense of joy.

I know—joy out of a life-altering surgery? Yes. But it wasn’t the loud, fireworks joy. Not “highlight reel” joy. But something more personal. More grounded. More alive.

A few weeks ago, I was at Falls Lake State Park outside Durham. At sunset, I walked down to the water’s edge, out onto a quiet fishing pier. The lake was like glass—no boats, no noise—just the gentle breeze and trees rising into the sky.

And I remember thinking, “This is beautiful.” Then, just a moment later, something shifted…

I realized I wasn’t looking at the beauty. I was in it. Fully inside it. Surrounded by it. Part of it. And in that stillness, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time: joy. True, unfiltered joy. I didn’t want to be anywhere else on the planet.

And then just days later—an entirely different experience. I’m on a treadmill, climbing an 8% incline, heart pounding, sweat pouring, and I yell out loud: “That’s like me!”

It hit me… the energy, the struggle. It reminded me who I am. How I feel when I push myself to become stronger. When I know I’m stepping into what I’m capable of, even when those moments are marked by sweat and struggle. That moment—too—was pure joy. Just as much as the quiet, still joy near the water.

Not because it was easy. But because it was mine. Fully alive. Fully present. Fully chosen.

That’s what this week is about: The kind of joy that doesn’t wait for life to be perfect. The kind that meets you right where you are—in the sweat, the struggle, in the stillness, in the now.

And maybe, it’s also a kind of compass. A quiet way of knowing:

Yes. This moment. I’d choose this again.

When was the last time you looked around and thought, “I don’t want to be anywhere else”?

I’ve been having more conversations lately—some with friends, others with folks I meet on the road—about what joy really is. And not just the idea of joy, but the felt experience of it. What it actually looks like in real life.

Matthew McConaughey once said, “Joy is the now of life.” 

Simple, right? But the more I’ve sat with it, the more I’ve felt how true it really is.

Joy isn’t waiting for everything to line up perfectly. It’s not something you earn once you’ve hustled hard enough. It’s presence. It’s a right—not something you earn at all, but something you’re meant to return to, again and again.

It’s that moment on the pier, or the incline on the treadmill, when you’re in it—not chasing the past, not bracing for the future. Just here. Awake. Aligned. Seeing the beauty in the little tiny intricacies of the day-to-day. 

It’s the ‘good morning’ smile from your coworker, the pitter-patter of little feet down the hallway, the laugh from the room away where your partner talks on the phone. It’s the fantastic lunch you had, or your favorite song that plays on your drive home. It’s the cup of coffee in your hand. The buzz of life around you. The comfort of the home you wake up in every day. 

That’s the first part of joy.

But there’s another piece I keep coming back to—one that challenges me, in the best of ways. It comes from Friedrich Nietzsche, and his idea of the ‘Eternal Return’. And honestly, this one is a lot harder to come to terms with:

What if you had to live this exact life, this exact moment, again and again for eternity?

Would you say yes to it?

Nietzsche encourages you to ask yourself this always. It’s not meant to be a threat—it’s an invitation. To pause. To reflect. To ask ourselves: Is the way I’m spending my moments worth repeating?

When I’m riding my bike on a perfect 79-degree day—yes.

When I’m deep in a life-giving conversation—yes.

When I’m pouring myself into meaningful work that empowers others—absolutely, yes.

But there are also no’s.
Moments I took a project just for the paycheck.
Arguments with my wife I let spiral instead of soften.

Days I numbed out instead of stepping in.

And the gift of that question—the Eternal Return—is that it doesn’t guilt me. It’s not meant to. It guides me. It doesn’t mean you have to cut out everything you wouldn’t choose to do again. 

Frankly, that’s impossible. The work will happen. The arguments will spiral. Some days simply suck. Some moments are boring or unexpected or honestly, absolutely brutal. 

But that question gently says: You’re allowed to choose differently. To realign. To live today in a way that future-you would say yes to. It’s a reflection tool that helps us make future decisions to claim that right to joy. 

McConaughey gives us the now. Nietzsche gives us the mirror. Together, they give us a compass. The ability to move forward and have some sense of control in who we are and who we’re meant to become. 

And joy? Joy is the signal we’re heading in the right direction.

Sometimes joy shows up at 5:30 in the morning. In sweat. In sore muscles. In a daughter’s quiet presence, just wanting to see what mom’s been up to.

Jennifer Pytleski is someone I’ve come to deeply admire. We first met virtually during the early days of COVID, in a virtual self-growth community. Even through a screen, her presence stood out—steady, thoughtful, strong. We’ve since become friends, and I’ve watched her keep showing up for herself and others in a hundred quiet, courageous ways.

Lately, joy has been meeting her in a new place: CrossFit.

She started six months ago—not to chase a number, but to reclaim something inside. What she found was more than movement. It was community. Accountability. Encouragement. A group of people who care, who push her, and who miss her when she’s not there.

And then this: One morning, her daughter got up early to join her—just to see what Mommy does. She cheered her on from the sidelines, full of smiles. That moment? That’s what joy looks like. That’s the ripple effect of a life being lived with intention.

Jen, you are a reminder that joy doesn’t just arrive—it’s built. And you, my friend, are building something beautiful.

👉 I want to hear your stories. Reply to this email and let’s chat—where are you finding joy today?

I just opened my journal to May 10, 2025. As part of my daily 8-part journaling ritual (something I may share in a future issue—or maybe even a webinar, if there's interest—email me if you'd like that), I came across this entry under the heading “Joy”:

“Joy is the now of life. This moment. This breath. This cool breeze on my body. These birds singing. Even the train in the distance. Doing my laundry. Pure joy. This moment being present. 1 in 400 trillion.”

Thank you, Matthew McConaughey, for the prompt. But let me draw your attention to that last line—1 in 400 trillion.

When I first realized this, when it really landed, it changed how I look at everything.

“They” say the odds of any one of us being born is 1 in 400 trillion. That’s not rare. That’s impossible. And yet… here you are. Here I am. Writing this note to you, my friend.

That’s joy.

Not because everything’s perfect. But because it’s real. Because we’re here. And that, in and of itself, is enough.

I hope you feel that, too. 

P.S. If today’s message stirred something in you, there’s a good chance someone in your life needs it too. Forward this to them—let them know it’s okay to be real.

We’re on a mission to empower one million people to live Fully Alive, and you’re one of them!