Charred, Cheesy and Unapologetic, A Rhode Island Pizza Odyssey

The line at Fellini's snaked down Wickenden Street the day before Thanksgiving, people rubbing their hands together against the November chill, waiting for pizza. Not just any pizza—turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce reimagined as dinner on a crust. It's the kind of thing that would have your grandmother reflexively making the sign of the cross while mumbling something in Italian under her breath. 

But this is Rhode Island. 

We're a state with more pizzerias per capita than anywhere else in America—37.3 for every 100,000 residents—that kind of culinary audacity isn't just allowed, it's expected here. We've never let traditional thinking or someone else's expectations stand in the way of what we want—just ask the British about Pawtuxet Village, where another Fellini's location stands, right by the waters where we first learned to cook things hot and fast with the HMS Gaspee. Rhode Islanders have been firing up new recipes since before the Revolution. We simply traded in our muskets for mozzarella.

That line was just one scene in my month-long pizza odyssey. There were 40 coupons in my RI Food Fights “Lord of the Pies" passport, 40 opportunities to explore what Rhode Island pizza has to offer over the course of November.

Over 29 days and 35 pizzerias, I crisscrossed this state, finding pizza in every form imaginable: in biker bars where Harleys lined up like chrome dominoes, in upscale dining rooms where wine lists rivaled the pizza menu, on trucks parked outside breweries in the November chill, and in family-owned shops where the ovens have been running longer than I've been alive. 

What emerged wasn't just a tour of great pizzerias—it was a snapshot of Rhode Island itself, told through crust, sauce, and cheese.

Pizza wasn't born in a Michelin-starred kitchen. It started in Naples, with the lazzaroni—the city's working poor—who needed food that would fill an empty stomach without emptying an already thin wallet. A circle of dough topped with whatever was at hand, cooked hot and fast, eaten without ceremony. Street food. No reservations. No dress code. Just simple, delicious food in its purest form. That same spirit lives on today, whether it's a $4 slice from a counter window or a $35 artisanal pie from a wood-fired oven. The ingredients might change, but the fundamental promise remains: hunger meets satisfaction, no questions asked.

Those early Italian immigrants who settled in Rhode Island didn't just bring recipes - they brought an understanding that food could be both necessity and celebration, both daily bread and artistry. Marinara sauce might have started as a way to use up overripe tomatoes, but it became something else: a thread connecting old world to new, poverty to possibility.

Its adaptability is what makes pizza so versatile. When it crossed the Atlantic, it evolved alongside its communities. 

New York perfected the thin, foldable slice, its charred crust and tangy sauce designed for speed and portability. Chicago built its deep-dish monuments to excess, layers of cheese and sauce in a buttery fortress of crust. New Haven developed its coal-fired char, those black-bottomed pies that inspired a regional devotion. Massachusetts brought bar pies into the world, thin, dry and crispy, designed to pair with cold beer and warm conversation. Detroit built rectangular pies in blue steel industrial trays, their thick, fluffy crusts caramelized at the edges with cheese. And in Providence, George Germon and Johanne Killeen at Al Forno added their chapter to this story, looking at pizza and thinking "what if we threw this on a grill?"

In Rhode Island, pizza tells our immigration story in real time. Each generation arrives with their own culinary language. On Federal Hill, old-school Italian spots channel Naples in every bite. A few blocks away, Middle Eastern spices perfume the air as za'atar and labneh meet mozzarella. 

At Zesty Bites in Providence, Imad merges pizza with his Lebanese culinary heritage, creating pies that reflect both worlds. His crust is light and airy, with a perfectly crisped edge that speaks to his mastery of dough. The sauce is a study in restraint and expertise—fresh, simple, and vibrant, allowing the natural flavors to shine. Imad’s hospitality elevates the entire experience; he treats every customer like an honored guest, reminding you that pizza isn’t just about the food—it’s about the care and connection that go into every slice.

Each variation speaks of home and hope, of preservation and adaptation.

Greek-style pies dominate the local landscape north of Providence, their pan-baked crusts crispy at the edges, soft in the middle, topped with tangy sauce and heaps of cheese. Sicilian pies offer something different—thick, rectangular, focaccia-like crusts, meant to feed a crowd, with corner pieces treasured for their crunch. Grandma pies—thin, square, with cheese layered under the sauce—feel like family heirlooms baked in sheet pans, their simplicity masking the complexity of their perfectly balanced flavors.

While these styles speak to tradition, some pizzerias dare to push boundaries further, transforming local favorites into something entirely new. At Pizza Marvin, their hot wiener pizza shouldn't work—but those red, spiced links nestle into cheese, topped with mustard, meat sauce, onions, and that crucial sprinkle of celery salt. It's the kind of creation that makes sense only if you grew up here, like coffee milk or frozen lemonade. Pure Rhode Island alchemy.

This creative spirit isn't surprising in a state where Johnson & Wales chefs and RISD artists cross paths daily, where culinary tradition meets artistic innovation on every corner. Sometimes this shows up in unexpected places, like at Pizza J in Providence, where a vintage crane hangs overhead, watching diners where mechanics once worked. The open kitchen gleams next to the bays in the floor where oil changes happened, while Universal monsters loom above the bar's bottles beneath a disco ball, and Bob Ross paints his happy trees on the flatscreen to nobody in particular.

At Aloha Pizza and Bar in West Warwick, a massive shark head juts from walls decorated with faded tropical kitsch, presiding over this shot-and-beer sanctuary. Behind the bar, Peaches holds court like the queen she is, her infectious welcome and take-no-shit charm making everyone feel like they belong in a place, even when they clearly don't. The regulars nurse their Buds and whiskey while serviceable pizzas emerge from the kitchen. The pizza itself? Nothing to write home about. But with Peaches running the show, you're too busy enjoying that temporary sense of belonging to worry about the finer points of their crust hydration.

While Peaches reminded me that great service can elevate even average pizza, reflecting on my own history taught me something else about what makes pizza special. 

As a college student at Northeastern in the late '80s and early '90s, I was in a perpetual state of scraping by with the kind of bank balance that required precision - typically finding myself with about $7.32 in my checking account each week before my $57 work study job check cleared. The YMCA's ATM on campus was the only one in Boston that would let you withdraw in $5 increments instead of 10s. That flexibility meant the difference between going hungry and getting two Sicilian slices and a Mountain Dew at Boston House of Pizza across the street. 

Three decades later, that accessibility remains unchanged - whether you're eating a five-dollar slice standing up at a counter or sitting down to a wood-fired pie, pizza dissolves pretense. We all eat with our hands, we all reach for napkins, we all become equal before a good slice. From dock workers to doctors, from college kids to CEOs, everyone lines up for the same slices, sits at the same tables, reaches for those same shakers of parmesan or red pepper flakes.

And while pizza might be the great equalizer, in the right hands, and through the right heart, it becomes something even more powerful. At Merlino's in Cranston, Carmine treats every customer like they're coming home for dinner. His warmth transforms great pizza into something extraordinary. The crust—light, airy, and perfectly chewy—is a masterclass in craftsmanship, but it's his genuine desire to feed you like family that elevates the entire experience. In an age of automated ordering and delivery apps, he reminds us that hospitality isn't about efficiency—it's about making people feel welcomed, cared for, and cared about.

Some places, like Twins Pizza in North Providence, haven't changed a thing in 65 years - not the wood paneling or vertical blinds, not the golden cone light fixtures or booth jukeboxes, and certainly not the pizza. They don't need to. When you've been drawing people from every corner of Rhode Island since the LBJ administration, you understand that some things don't need reinvention. 

At Pizza Works in Pawtucket, those ninety-nine cent slice signs still cover the windows, duct tape letting you know that inflation has changed the costs and the prices over time, but those hand-stretched pies will keep coming out of the oven, feeding another generation something warm and satisfying, in this neighborhood as they have for 50 years.

These aren't just restaurants - they're time machines, community centers, and landmarks rolled into one. The same families who celebrated little league wins here thirty years ago now bring their own kids in for post-game slices, watching them swirl the same parmesan shakers, slide into the same vinyl booths. Those initials carved into the tables by restless teenagers have been worn smooth by decades of elbows and stories, marking family time like growth charts on a kitchen wall. First dates that started here decades ago became wedding rehearsal dinners, became baby showers, became family traditions passed down like their recipes. In these spaces, the steam from the kitchen feels like proof of permanence - a reminder that while everything else changes, there are still places that hold our memories, that welcome us back, that nourish more than just our hunger.

These moments, multiplied across generations and geographies, reveal a deeper truth: Pizza is more than just a meal—it's the thread that ties us together. At its heart are memories, comfort, and the feeling of home, served up in pre-cut slices designed for sharing. Each portion quietly reminds us of the connections we make with others, a reminder of the balance and compromise that shapes our relationships.

Pizza might provide our first lesson in negotiation and etiquette—compromising on toppings, making sure everyone gets their fair share, and mastering the delicate politics of who gets the last slice. How many friendships have started over late-night deliveries? How many relationships have survived their first test during the great pineapple debate? Pizza and beer might still be the only currency strong enough to convince people to carry your old couch up three flights of stairs to a new apartment.

First dates bloom over margherita, both parties trying not to drip sauce or seem too eager about that last slice. Study groups survive all-nighters fueled by pepperoni and determination, textbooks pushed aside to make room for boxes that mark time like empty coffee cups. Office celebrations inevitably begin with someone calling out "I'm ordering pizza - who's in?" - democracy in action, playing out over toppings and crust styles. 

And sometimes, when words aren't enough, showing up unannounced with someone's favorite pie says everything that needs to be said.

Every Rhode Islander has their hill to die on - this place has the best sauce, that place has the perfect crust, this other spot hasn't been the same since the original owner's grandson took over. We fight about it the way we fight about politics or sports or where you should break up traffic at the 95-37 split - with absolute conviction and zero chance of changing anyone's mind. But that's the point: pizza is personal. Your favorite spot isn’t just about taste. It’s about memory. It’s about comfort. It’s about home.

This tour took me everywhere in Rhode Island - from Lucky's well-worn hardwoods in Foster, where calloused hands grip pool cues and Luke Bryan mingles with laughter from the back patio's smoking section, where Dunkin the bar dog works the room like a four-legged maitre d', greeting every customer like a long-lost friend. At the other end of the spectrum, white tablecloth spots like Meritage in East Greenwich pair pizzas with wines like sommeliers at a Tuscan enoteca. At The Sticks Pizza Co., wood-fired pies emerge from their truck into the Pascoag night, steam rising like prayers into brewery lights, while inside Bettola in Cranston, pizzas slide out looking sexier than a Ferrari under industrial dome lights, making you rethink what's possible with flour and flame. 

Every pizzeria has its own personality - you find pies served on paper plates and porcelain, eaten standing up at counters or settled into deep booths. From Westerly to Woonsocket, each one adds its own voice to Rhode Island's pizza conversation. The settings change but the fundamentals remain constant.

After 35 pizzerias this month, what strikes me most isn’t just the variety—though Rhode Island offers everything from corner slice shops to wood-fired havens. It’s not even the quality, which stands toe-to-toe with any state in the union. It’s how pizza tells the story of who we are and who we’re becoming. In neighborhoods across this tiny state, pizzerias anchor communities. They’re where old-timers welcome newcomers, where family recipes adapt to changing tastes, and where every generation leaves its mark. Pizza is more than just food—it’s a shared ritual, a reflection of our roots, and a vision for what’s next. And in Rhode Island, it’s always been that way. One slice at a time.

The Best Holiday

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. No presents to wrap - just a day to gather with family and appreciate the things that bring us happiness. Instead of making lists of what we think we want, we get to count the blessings that we already have

I'm stupidly, ridiculously fortunate. My family is healthy, happy, and safe. My kids are getting the kind of education that opens doors, not just to success, but to knowledge that will help them contribute to defending and protecting others less fortunate in this increasingly complex, messy world they're entering.

Every day, I get to do work that matters - helping young men and women reach their potential and supporting fellow teachers as they work so hard and so creatively developing young minds. When they need someone to lean on, I often get to be that person, fulfilling my deepest purpose of being useful to others. And in turn, I'm surrounded by incredible colleagues who lift me up when I need it most.

Each day, I intentionally journal about the people, places and things I'm grateful for - the chances to show kindness, the moments I could help someone, and the grace others have shown me. While these moments might seem small on their own, when written down together they become the story of our lives, creating something truly life-altering.

And you - yes, you reading this - you're part of that story. Whether you've shared a meal with me, fought in the same educational trenches, done something to show love or support to me or my kids, or if we've simply crossed paths in this extraordinary journey we call life, you've left your mark. You've contributed to my joy, my growth, my belief in myself and my sense of purpose. You've taught me something. I have been changed for good.

So here's to giving thanks - not the Hallmark card version, but the real, every day, life-affirming kind. The kind that acknowledges how absurdly lucky we are to be here, doing what we do, surrounded by people who give a crap about us. Thank you.

Thanksgiving and the "New Normal" 2.0: From Appreciation to Intentional Living

The Evolution of "Normal"

In my previous blog post, "Thanksgiving and the New Normal," I explored the concept of appreciating a "normal" day—a day where nothing exceptional happens, one we typically take for granted. This need for appreciation stems from the reality that eventually, a tragedy will affect you or someone you love, forcing you to accept and adapt to a "new normal." This adaptation process continues until the "new" normal simply becomes normal again.

Over the 10 years since writing that post, and particularly in the last six months, I've come to realize that we can move beyond simply appreciation or passive acceptance of our "normal" days. By being intentional in our thoughts, actions, and behaviors, we can transform "normal" into something fulfilling, enriching, and even joyful. 

Every day. 

No, really.

Rather than just existing or taking what normal offers, we can actively shape our daily experiences through the principles of positive psychology. We can create habits where each day becomes an opportunity for gratitude, meaning, and happiness—not just in spite of our circumstances, but because of how we choose to engage with them.

Take a moment to reflect on your "normal" day. What aspects do you typically take for granted? How might you view these differently?

The New Normal: A Catalyst for Change

My journey towards this more intentional approach to life was driven by a significant transition: becoming an empty nester. 

When my son left for college in August, joining my daughter, I found myself in a new phase of life. Like many in this situation, I was left with more questions than answers. I now had an abundance of free time and very little responsibility for how I was going to spend it.

This shift led to a surprising and somewhat unsettling question: "What do I even like to do?" It's a deceptively simple question, but one that carries enormous implications. The last time I truly knew the answer was when I was 36. Now, at 57, I realize that my interests, needs, and even my life itself have evolved significantly over those 21 years of parenting.

I had poured the vast majority of my time, effort, energy, and emotional currency into raising two kids with the hope of them being happy, healthy, and safe for the rest of their lives. I wanted them to be good, kind, and hardworking people who always look to support and give back to others before thinking of themselves. This was a phenomenally rewarding adventure, but now that I had my OWN time back and could do whatever I wanted, I honestly didn't even know what that might be. I was reminded of the Twilight Zone episode, "Time Enough at Last," where Burgess Meredith's character simply wants time to read his beloved books... until he is given exactly that in a very disconcerting way.

Faced with this realization, I knew that I would have to not only think about what I might want to do for fun but also what I wanted to learn or do with my time to benefit others. I figured that reconnecting with friends would be a good starting point. After all, friends would not only make spending time more enjoyable, but they might also introduce me to new interests and ideas relevant to this stage of my life.

If you're facing a life transition, ask yourself: "What do I truly enjoy doing?" Make a list of activities you loved in the past and new ones you'd like to try.

 Connections: The Power of Intentional Friendship

As I embarked on this new chapter, I realized that reconnecting with friends would require deliberate effort. The years of raising kids had led to many friendships becoming distant as we all focused on our families. It's surprising how people come and go in your life, and friendships you once thought would be indispensable can dry up and disappear.

I began a thoughtful process of reflection, considering various types of friends who had been significant in my life:

1. Older friends I wanted to emulate as I age: My former principal and mentor, and my exercise and fitness guru—someone who represents everything I want to be when I "grow up"

2. Former colleagues I loved talking to or who challenged me intellectually whenever we discussed teaching and learning

3. Two former best friends—one from college over 30 years ago and another from our first years as administrators almost 25 years ago—who I could trust with and for anything

In all, I identified 11 people who I felt were important to reconnect with. I reached out to each of them, explaining my situation and intentions. I told them I was working to be more intentional with my friendships and communication. I expressed my desire to see how we would fit back together as I navigated this new journey, and how I could contribute to theirs as well.

This approach was markedly different from casual catch-ups or social media interactions. It was a deliberate attempt to rebuild meaningful connections and create a support network that aligned with my current values and aspirations. If we were going to talk, it would be in person. If we were going to spend that time, it would be to build towards something meaningful and intentional for both of us.

To my pleasant surprise, the response was overwhelmingly positive. Despite not speaking with many of them for years, there was enthusiasm in their replies. A couple even said they were "all in," eagerly setting up initial lunches and dinners to reconnect.

Identify 5-10 people you'd like to reconnect with. Write a brief message explaining your intentions and why you value their friendship.

The Two Types of Friends

As my social calendar filled up, I made an important realization about the nature of friendships. I discovered that there are essentially two kinds of friends:

1. Those you enjoy seeing and eating with, chatting and laughing together

2. Those with whom you have a far more intimate and trusting relationship—friends you can tell anything about what you're thinking or feeling, who will listen without judgment, offer thoughts, or simply support you

It's this second category of friends that you need to cultivate and grow with if you want ongoing happiness and gratitude to be a part of your life. These relationships nurture our emotional well-being, provide a sense of belonging, and offer a safe space for personal growth and self-reflection. They challenge us to be our best selves while accepting us as we are, creating a foundation of trust and mutual support that enhances our overall quality of life.

While a busy social life can be fun and superficially pleasant, I found that it's not as fulfilling in the long term as those deeper connections. With this insight, I decided to concentrate more on nurturing relationships in that second category, while still maintaining the more casual social connections.

This process of intentionally reconnecting and reevaluating friendships became an unexpected but vital part of my journey toward more purposeful living. It taught me the importance of actively cultivating meaningful relationships and how these connections can enrich our daily experiences, providing both support and new perspectives as we navigate life's changes.

Reflect on your current friendships. Which category do they fall into? How can you nurture more of the second type of friendships?

A Framework for Intentional Living

As I navigated this journey of rediscovering and redefining my "normal," and researching happiness, I stumbled upon the field of positive psychology, particularly Martin Seligman's PERMA model. What struck me was how closely my intuitive approach to reshaping my life aligned with these established principles of well-being.

The PERMA model, developed by Dr. Seligman at the University of Pennsylvania, emphasizes five key elements that contribute to a flourishing life:

• Positive Emotions
• Engagement
• Relationships
• Meaning
• Accomplishments

Interestingly, before I encountered positive psychology, I had already developed a daily journaling practice that unknowingly incorporated many of its key elements. This practice wasn't created from academic knowledge, necessarily, but from a genuine desire to be more intentional with my time and energy. I wanted to break free from passive habits like mindless TV watching or other less productive time-sinks that often filled my days.

To make this practice more interesting and ensure I stayed accountable to my daily goals, I created an AI script that functions as a personal interviewer, 

The prompt can be used with various AI chatbots like ChatGPT, Claude or Gemini (I prefer Claude).

Here's how it works:

1. The AI script acts as an interviewer, asking me pointed questions about how I lived up to and accomplished the elements of my day that I've decided to be intentional about.
2. It prompts me to provide a screenshot of my workout, adding a visual element to track my physical activity.
3. Using the information gathered from this interview process, the AI then generates a daily journal entry for me.
4. I don't simply accept this AI-generated entry as is. Instead, I edit and expand upon it, adding my own reflections and insights. This additional step of metacognition deepens the impact of the journaling process.
5. Finally, I enter this final entry into my journal, creating a daily record of my intentional practice.

This AI-assisted journaling method has revolutionized my approach and combines the consistency and structure provided by technology with the irreplaceable human elements of reflection and personal insight. The result is a powerful tool for accountability, self-reflection, and continuous personal growth.

Let me share how my prompts align with the PERMA model and why they're powerful aspects of an intentional life:

Positive Emotions and Physical Well-being

In my daily reflections, I ask myself about my exercise routine: "How did I feel before, during, and after?" "What skills or tricks did I use to get through the difficult parts?" These questions encourage me to recognize and track the impact that physical activity has on my mental state. While exercise isn't directly related to positive psychology, its effects on mood and outlook are so significant that it's become a cornerstone of my intentional living practice.

The relationship between exercise and mental well-being is rooted in brain chemistry. When we exercise, our brains release a cocktail of neurochemicals:

• Endorphins: These natural painkillers also trigger positive feelings, often described as a "runner's high."
• Serotonin: This mood-regulating neurotransmitter helps stave off depression and anxiety.
• Dopamine: Known as the "reward chemical," dopamine increases feelings of pleasure and motivation.
• Brain-Derived Neurotrophic Factor (BDNF): This protein supports brain plasticity, potentially improving memory and learning.

Regular exercise has been shown to reduce stress, improve sleep quality, boost self-esteem, and increase energy levels - all of which contribute significantly to your mood and outlook.

But let's be real: sometimes, despite knowing all these benefits, it's really hard to get started. On days when I struggle with motivation, I turn to advice from Jocko Willink, a retired Navy SEAL officer and motivational speaker. In his powerful video, Willink offers a no-nonsense approach to pushing through those low-motivation days:

1. Go through the motions: Even when you don't feel like it, start your workout anyway.
2. Avoid procrastination: Don't give in to the temptation of "resting now and doing it later."
3. Postpone rest: Tell yourself you can rest tomorrow, not today - chances are, you won't need to when tomorrow comes.
4. Recognize weakness: Understand that the desire to skip your workout is often just weakness trying to take the easy way out.
5. Stay disciplined: By pushing through and doing your workout, you're overcoming that weakness and staying on the path of discipline.

This advice resonates with me because it cuts through excuses and emphasizes action. On days when I'm tempted to skip my workout, I remind myself of Willink's words. I focus on simply starting, going through the motions, and more often than not, I find that once I begin, my energy and motivation return.

By incorporating exercise into my daily routine, reflecting on its effects, and using Willink's strategy to overcome resistance, I'm actively cultivating a more positive emotional state. This aligns perfectly with the 'P' in PERMA, even if it wasn't originally conceptualized as part of positive psychology.

Start a daily exercise journal. Note how you feel before, during, and after exercise. Look for patterns in your mood and energy levels.

Engagement

My journaling includes questions about personal growth and learning: "What am I reading or learning about? How am I applying these concepts to my daily life?" This focus on engagement aligns perfectly with the 'E' in PERMA. When we're deeply engrossed in learning or applying new skills, we often experience what psychologists call "flow" - a state of full immersion that contributes significantly to our well-being.

Trying new things, like frisbee golf, announcing my school's volleyball and basketball games or learning about the science behind Buddhism allowed me to experience this "flow" that comes from learning and engaging in novel activities. These moments of full immersion in an activity, where time seems to fly by, are key to the concept of engagement in positive psychology.

Choose a new skill or topic that you are excited to learn about or do this month. Set aside time each day to engage with it, even if it's just for 15 minutes.

Relationships

I reflect daily on my social interactions, both face-to-face and digital. Questions like "Have you participated in any social activities that supported your goals today?" and "Did you give or serve someone today?" emphasize the importance of positive relationships and acts of kindness. Positive psychology research consistently shows that strong social connections and acts of kindness are among the strongest predictors of life satisfaction and well-being.

This finding isn't just anecdotal; it's backed by scientific research. For instance, a landmark study by Diener and Seligman found that the most common characteristics shared by the happiest 10% of their sample were their strong ties to friends and family and the time they spent socializing. These individuals were highly social and had stronger romantic and other social relationships than less happy individuals.

The impact of social connections on our well-being appears universal. A comprehensive review of 148 studies by Holt-Lunstad et al. found that individuals with stronger social relationships had a 50% increased likelihood of survival compared to those with weaker social relationships. This effect was consistent across age, sex, initial health status, cause of death, and follow-up period, suggesting that social relationships have a powerful impact on health and longevity across all demographics.

But it's not just about having relationships; the quality and nature of these relationships matter too. Positive interactions, characterized by mutual support, understanding, and shared positive experiences, have been shown to buffer against stress and contribute to overall life satisfaction. In contrast, negative or conflictual relationships can be a source of stress and diminish well-being.

Acts of kindness, both within and outside of our close relationships, also play a crucial role in our well-being. Research by Lyubomirsky and colleagues has shown that performing acts of kindness boosts happiness and life satisfaction. Interestingly, their research suggests that varying the types of kind acts and concentrating them in a single day can have a more significant impact on well-being than spreading them out over a week.

The mechanism behind this boost in well-being isn't just about making others feel good. When we perform acts of kindness, our brains release oxytocin, often called the "love hormone," which helps in lowering blood pressure and improving our overall heart-health. Kindness also stimulates the production of serotonin, which helps regulate our mood and promote feelings of well-being and happiness.

Kindness creates a positive feedback loop. When we're kind to others, they're more likely to be kind in return, not just to us but to others as well. This ripple effect of kindness can create a more positive social environment, which in turn supports our own well-being.

Actively reconnecting with old friends and nurturing those relationships became a central focus of my new normal. The PERMA model emphasizes the crucial role that positive relationships play in our overall well-being, and I found this to be profoundly true in my own experience. Whether it was rekindling old friendships, deepening existing ones, or forming new connections, each interaction seemed to add a layer of richness to my life.

I discovered that these connections didn't just make me feel good in the moment; they provided a sense of belonging, support, and shared purpose that permeated all aspects of my life. Even on challenging days, knowing that I had a network of strong, positive relationships to fall back on gave me a sense of resilience and optimism.

In our increasingly digital world, it's crucial to remember the irreplaceable value of genuine human connections and acts of kindness. While social media and digital communication can help us stay connected, it's the depth and quality of our relationships, along with our willingness to extend kindness to others, that truly nourish our well-being and contribute to a life well-lived.

Commit to one act of kindness each day this week. Pay attention to how it affects both you and the recipient.

Meaning

My journaling prompt "Any standout realizations or insights?" encourages reflection on the deeper meaning of daily experiences. Additionally, questions about giving and serving others tap into a sense of purpose larger than oneself. This aligns with positive psychology's emphasis on finding meaning as a key component of well-being.

This transition prompted me to reflect on what truly matters to me at this stage of life. By reaching out to friends who represented different aspects of who I want to be - mentors, intellectual peers, trusted confidants - I was actively seeking to align my daily life with my values and aspirations.

At the end of each day this week, write down one thing that gave your day meaning or purpose.

Accomplishments

I ask myself about progress towards goals in various life domains: "How am I progressing towards my goals (e.g., health, professional, personal)?" This focus on accomplishments, both big and small, is crucial for building self-efficacy and a sense of competence, which positive psychology identifies as essential for well-being.

Setting goals for myself, such as rebuilding friendships or trying new activities, gave me a sense of purpose and achievement during this transition. Each successful reconnection, each new experience, felt like a small but significant accomplishment in building my new normal.

Set one small, achievable goal for tomorrow. At the end of the day, reflect on how accomplishing it made you feel.

Beyond PERMA: Other Elements for Well-being

My journaling practice incorporates other principles that positive psychology research has shown to be beneficial:

• Gratitude "What am I grateful for and why?" Cultivating gratitude has been shown to significantly increase happiness and life satisfaction.
• Anticipation and Planning "What challenges or opportunities am I expecting? How do I plan to approach them?" This forward-looking reflection helps build resilience and optimism, both key focuses in positive psychology research.
• Self-reflection: Questions about my performance at work and others' perceptions encourage self-awareness and continuous personal growth.
• Mindfulness: By encouraging reflection on feelings and experiences throughout the day, this practice promotes mindfulness, which has been linked to numerous well-being benefits in positive psychology research.

Understanding this framework didn't fundamentally change my approach, but it did validate it. It helped me understand why the changes I was making felt so right and gave me a language to describe the transformation I was experiencing. More importantly, it provided a roadmap for continuing to cultivate well-being intentionally in my daily life.

Start a gratitude journal. Each day, write down three things you're grateful for and why.

Moving Forward with Intention

The normal days will always be there, but they don't have to be ordinary. By adopting the principles of positive psychology, we can transform our lives into something richer, more joyful, and deeply fulfilling. Every day becomes an opportunity—not just to survive but to thrive.

This doesn't mean we should forget the lessons from appreciating "normal" days. The unpredictability of life and the potential for tragedy are still realities we must acknowledge. However, by actively shaping our daily experiences through the lens of positive psychology, we build resilience and create a well of positive experiences to draw from when challenges do arise.

As we approach another Thanksgiving, I invite you to reflect on how you can move beyond merely appreciating your "normal" days to actively shaping them. How can you incorporate more elements of PERMA into your daily routine? What small changes can you make to turn ordinary moments into opportunities for growth, connection, and fulfillment?

Remember, it's not about striving for perfection or constant happiness. It's about making conscious choices, day by day, that lead to a more meaningful life. By doing so, we create a "new normal" that's not just appreciated but truly lived – with intention, purpose, and deep fulfillment.

Key Takeaways:

1. Normal days can be transformed into extraordinary ones through intentional living.
2. Major life transitions, like becoming an empty nester, can be catalysts for positive change.
3. Cultivating meaningful friendships is crucial for ongoing happiness and well-being.
4. The PERMA model (Positive emotions, Engagement, Relationships, Meaning, Accomplishments) provides a framework for intentional living.
5. Regular reflection and journaling can help incorporate positive psychology principles into daily life.
6. Small, daily actions towards well-being can lead to significant improvements in overall life satisfaction.
7.  Intentional living is not about perfection, but about making conscious choices that lead to a more fulfilling life.

Notes from the Bathroom Floor: A Love Letter to Campbell's Soup

There's a specific kind of gratitude that only comes after you've spent 48 hours convinced that your body is attempting to turn itself inside out through any available exit. The kind that makes you religious about small victories – like when you successfully keep down three sips of water without your stomach immediately declaring war.

Wednesday night into Thursday was the kind of sick that makes you understand why people used to think demons were real. The kind where you're lying on the bathroom floor at 3 AM, sweating through your clothes, bargaining with whatever higher power might be listening, promising to be a better person if this torture would just fucking end. Norovirus. The undefeated, undisputed, heavyweight champion of gastric warfare.

Friday was merely really bad flu-level sickness, which, after the nuclear winter overnight, felt like a European vacation.

And now here I am, sweating like I'm running a 10K from the herculean effort of walking downstairs, watching steam rise from a bowl of Campbell's Tomato Soup. 

Right now, I'll take this 99-cent can of liquid nostalgia over a $20 bowl of hand-crushed artisanally grown San Marzano tomatoes and organic herbs prepared by a 2-star Michelin chef. The same can of soup that's been sitting in my pantry for, I don't even know how many months, ignored in favor of significantly more ambitious meal options, like frozen pizzas.

But right now? This manufactured, mass-produced bowl of simple carbohydrates and sodium might as well be ambrosia. Every spoonful that stays down is a celebration, a middle finger raised to the viral bastard that tried to kill me. The salt replenishing what felt like gallons of lost fluids, the familiar taste reminding me that I've known this soup my whole life – through childhood sick days, through starving student college days, through endless post-driveways of shoveling.

The simple act of keeping down soup shouldn't feel like such a victory. But after this dance with mortality, even this small function feels like mountain climbing. I'm soaked in sweat just sitting here, my body apparently deciding that consuming soup is an Olympic-qualifying event. 

But for the first time in days, I'm eating something that isn't trying to immediately escape. The soup that cost less than a dollar is doing what no expensive medicine or home remedy could manage – it's staying put, warming me from the inside, reminding me that I'm going to live after all.

They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I say what doesn't kill you leaves you grateful for the most basic acts of survival.

To those still healthy: Take nothing for granted.

To those in the throes of this viral hell: This too shall pass.

And to Campbell's: Your soup might be mass-produced, over-salted, and available at every corner store in America, but today, it tastes like resurrection.

Pairs with: Emerging from the shadow of death, Chicken-in-a-Biskit Crackers (if you're feeling ambitious), and the profound appreciation for simply being able to exist in an upright position for any amount of time.