Is Your Best Day Ahead of You?

Welcome to The Brighter Side of Everything.

This newsletter serves a simple purpose → To help you build optimism, resilience and a solution-focused perspective.

Each week, I’ll share actionable insights that not only brighten your day but position you to be a leader within your own life and seize life’s opportunities.

Read time: 20-30 minutes.

Hello, Brighter Side readers! ☀️

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This afternoon I arrived home in Toronto to 30+ cms of snow after an incredible two weeks in Sri Lanka.

I was totally blown away by this remarkable country, it’s people, food and mesmerising landscape.

If you ever have the opportunity to visit, I highly recommend it.

This weeks edition is heavily inspired by this trip as we explore the idea that your best day is ahead of you, if you believe that to be true.

We also highlight a non profit Turtle Hatchery we visited last week and a novel that while stark and haunting on the surface, pulses with love, hope and stubborn decision to keep going.

Exactly the kind of grounded optimism we return to so often in this space.

See you on the Brighter Side,

Chris

P.S. Please feel free to send me feedback on how I can improve. I respond to every email.

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Is your best day ahead of you?

Or have you (somewhere along the way) decided it’s already behind you?

The answer changes how you live.

When you believe your best day is ahead of you?

You move through life differently than when you’ve (maybe without realising it) decided your best days are done.

One story opens you up to possibility.

The other closes the door on you.

You’ve probably heard people refer to themselves as “old” and yet they haven’t even hit 40.

The truth is, at 40 (and far beyond), your best days can still be ahead of you.

If you believe they can be.

You’re walking around with a story in your head about your future.

We all are.

Even if we never say it out loud.

When that inner story sounds like my best days are ahead of me?

Something shifts.

You naturally start scanning for them.

You notice the opportunities that can lead to special moments.

You say yes a little more.

You invest in experiences, relationships and adventures.

Because a part of you always believes, “This might be one of those days we talk about for years.”

On the flipside, when your story sounds more like “Those days are over”?

Life starts to contract.

Invitations feel like effort.

New experiences feel risky instead of exciting.

You talk yourself out of things you secretly want to do.

Not because you can’t, but because you don’t believe anything extraordinary is waiting on the other side.

In psychology, hope is often explained as two things working together: pathways and agency.

Pathways are the routes you can see from where you are, to where you want to be.

Agency is the energy and belief that you can actually move along those routes.

When both are there?

People tend to cope better.

Bounce back more quickly and keep moving toward what matters.

Even when Plan A falls apart.

So when you choose to believe your best day is ahead of you, you’re not predicting the future.

You’re choosing the story you’ll live from today.

That story shapes the things you notice, the options you see and the effort you’re willing to make.

Hope and optimism don’t just sit in your head.

They show up in your calendar, your decisions and how you move through your days.

People who feel more optimistic about their future are more likely to take action.

More likely to try new things and keep going when things get tough.

They tend to use more constructive coping strategies and, over time, they actually experience more positive events in their lives.

Not because they’re lucky.

That’s absolute bullshit.

It’s because they keep putting themselves in the path of possibility.

When you believe your best days are ahead of you, you’re more likely to book the trip.

To start the project.

To initiate the conversation.

To get out of bed for the sunrise.

You’re also more willing to tolerate the discomfort that often comes bundled with meaningful experiences.

Things like early starts, challenging logistics, uncertainty and especially that little voice that asks “What if this doesn’t work out?”

Those things become part of the price of admission for days that really matter.

When you’ve bought into the idea that it’s all downhill from here, you pull back.

You say no more often.

You protect your energy (which can be healthy), but you also protect yourself from joy.

Over time, that mindset tends to mean more anxiety, more flatness and fewer standout memories.

Simply because you stopped reaching for them.

Don’t get me wrong here.

You don’t need to be endlessly cheerful.

You just need enough hope to keep saying, this could be amazing, let’s give it a chance.

Let me share one day that brought this idea to life for me.

As you read it, you might like to consider what your version of this could look like.

Recently, my family and I spent a day at Yala National Park in Sri Lanka.

A day where this whole concept stopped being theory and turned into something we could feel in our bones.

Yala is known as one of the best places in Asia to see leopards, yet even there, the chances of spotting one on any single safari are not guaranteed.

We were told we had about a 30% chance of seeing one that day in the wild.

On paper, that doesn’t exactly scream “best day of your life”.

We’d been travelling for days.

A 5 a.m. wake-up.

Two sleepy kids being hauled out of bed in the dark.

Two safaris in one day.

Heat, dust and the very real possibility that we might see very little.

We could have chosen comfort.

Sleep in.

Slow breakfast.

An afternoon safari just to tick the box.

Instead, we leaned into a belief I’ve held for a long time.

My best days are ahead of me.

That belief shapes how we live, how we travel and how I show up as a parent.

So we set the alarm.

We chose possibility over predictability.

And off we went.

The vibrancy of the park as the sun rose was something to behold.

Kingfishers flashing over the water.

Bee-eaters catching insects mid-air.

Herons and egrets standing in perfect stillness.

Cormorants with wings outstretched, drying them for the next dive.

Tiny hummingbirds hovering.

Peacocks with their tails in full glory.

Eagles circling.

Owls watching from shaded branches.

On the ground, water buffalo half-submerged in muddy pools.

Elephants wandering past, including one about the size of my daughter, which made all our hearts explode.

Water monitors, mongoose, turtles, spotted deer, sambar deer and crocodiles stretched out like ancient statues.

In the end, we saw three separate leopards in a single day.

For something we were told was unlikely, it felt surreal.

And then there was the black-necked stork.

A bird so incredibly rare in Sri Lanka, with only 20 across the entire island.

To see one at all is special.

To see one in that setting, with my family beside me, felt like the universe underlining the day in thick, bright ink.

What stays with me most, though, isn’t just the wildlife.

It’s the human moments.

Sleepy giggles in the jeep at sunrise.

The kids shifting from half-asleep to wide-eyed as the park woke up around them.

The stretches where we were simply together.

Watching, listening, taking it all in.

We took photos and videos, of course.

But the deeper gift was how present we were.

We weren’t just in Yala.

We were with each other in Yala.

Fully. Gratefully. Wide open to the moment.

That day didn’t appear out of nowhere.

It came from a belief that days like this still exist.

And from a willingness to do what it takes to meet them halfway.

Your version may not involve leopards, rare birds or 5 a.m. alarms.

But the principle is the same.

When you believe days like that are still possible?

You start creating openings for them.

Let’s bring this back to your life.

If you paused for a moment now and finished this sentence:

“When I think about my future, I believe…”

What would honestly come out?

Whatever your answer is, here are some simple ways to start living as if your best days are still ahead of you:

Check your inner script: Pay attention to the way you talk to yourself about the future.
Is it more My best days are ahead of me or those days are over? You can’t change what you don’t notice, so this is your starting point.

Design one future “best day” on paper: Take ten minutes and imagine a future day that would genuinely light you up. Not a perfect, filtered day. A real one.
Where are you? Who are you with? What are you doing? How do you feel when you go to bed that night? Write it down. Giving your mind a hopeful, specific target helps it start working in that direction.

Ask better what-if questions: Notice the questions you default to. What if it’s a hassle? and What if it’s disappointing? That pull you away from action. Try swapping them for What if this is a day I’ll never forget? That one change moves you from defence into possibility.

Let your belief show up in your plans: Belief without action stays in your head. Belief with action starts to reshape your life. Choose one small thing in the next month that feels like it could be special. A weekend away, dinner with someone you love, a sunrise walk, finally visiting that place you’ve been curious about. Put it in your calendar. Treat it like a promise.

Repeat, don’t wait for perfect: You don’t need a safari for a day to matter.
Your “best day” can start in ordinary places like your kitchen, your local park, a conversation you nearly said no to. Your job isn’t to control when the big, unforgettable days arrive. Your job is to keep giving them chances to find you. And to be there, fully, when they do.

That day in Yala is now etched in my heart as one of the most inspiring and uplifting days of my life.

The leopards, the stork, the wildlife, the laughter with my kids.

It all came together in a way that still feels extraordinary.

I don’t see that day as the pinnacle though.

I see it as proof.

Proof that when you choose to believe your best days are ahead of you, you live differently.

You set the alarm.

You take the leap.

You lean into the unknown.

You stay open to awe.

Proof that hope and optimism aren’t fluffy extras.

They’re practical forces that shape what you say yes to, how you spend your time and the memories you end up making.

Believing your best day is ahead of you won’t guarantee anything.

What it does is keep you awake to possibility.

It keeps you planning, trying, stretching and opening the door.

Again and again.

To experiences that might start with an early alarm, but end as a day you and the people you love will never, ever forget.

You don’t control when your best day arrives.

You do control whether you’re opening the door to let it in.

In this short video, Simon Sinek reinforces the idea that your best days/years are still ahead, even when the world says otherwise:

Most of the beach in Koggala looks ordinary.

Well, as ordinary as a beautifiul stretch of sand on the south coast of Sri Lanka can look.

Sticky warm air, soft waves, fisherman and glowing gold sand.

Last week, I stood there looking out at it with my family.

We were stood behind a simple fence made from fine mesh netting.

The sand within the netting was dotted with small mounds.

Each marked with a hand‑written sign.

A date, a number, the words “Olive Ridley.”

At first, it looked a little like a tiny, carefully kept graveyard.

Only this was the opposite.

It was a field of futures.

The Sea Turtle Farm & Hatchery at Koggala, on Sri Lanka’s south coast, is a non‑profit project built around one simple idea.

Giving sea turtles a real shot at surviving for future generations.

It sits on an important nesting stretch of beach south of Galle.

Where endangered species like the green, olive ridley, hawksbill, loggerhead and leatherback turtles come ashore to lay their eggs.

Since around 2010, this unassuming place has reportedly released more than 100,000 turtles back into the ocean.

Not through grand gestures, but through consistent, purposeful work.

Protecting eggs from the harm of predators.

Caring injured turtles back to health.

And sending those they bring back to health back into the waves.

Our guide shared their dwindling numbers and explained that in the wild?

Newly hatched turtles have roughly a 2% chance of survival.

Shortly after seeing what they do, he also shared that due of the way Koggala protects eggs, shields hatchlings in their earliest hours and releases them under safer conditions?

They estimate that around 75% of “their” young ones survive those early stages.

Even if you treat that as an estimate rather than a perfect statistic, that shift in odds is extraordinary.

The work at Koggala starts with staff and local partners collecting eggs from vulnerable nests so they can be safely incubated.

Instead of ending up as food or used as illegal trade.

These eggs are then carefully re‑buried in a cordoned‑off area into neat rows of small mounds.

Each mound carries a simple sign.

Essentially a calendar written in sand, counting down the days until dozens of tiny arrivals.

Inside the hatchery, the story continues.

When the eggs hatch, the tiny turtles spend a short time in clean holding tanks.

Gaining strength under the team’s watchful eyes before being released at the best possible moment.

Sharing tanks alongside the hatchlings, you’ll also find long‑term patients.

Older turtles recovering from entanglement in fishing nets, boat strikes and plastic ingestion.

We saw several of them up close (some estimated to be over 50 years old) resting in recovery pools.

While the team cleaned their shells and nursed their injuries.

One turtle, missing a limb, was waiting for new treatment.

A custom prosthetic flipper that will allow a safe return to the ocean.

You could feel the mix of science, hope and deep care just by listening to the way the staff spoke.

Pride, purpose and dedication were evident in every word they uttered.

The most powerful part of the Koggala story is how they shift the narrative from “problem” to “partner.”

Instead of viewing local egg collectors purely as poachers.

The hatchery buys eggs from them with clear conditions.

So the eggs can be protected and hatched safely.

That one simple financial choice helps turn a destructive practice into a protective one and invites local families into the role of guardian.

In a community where many people rely on fishing and tourism to get by?

That matters.

It cleverly displays how looking after the ocean and looking after people don’t have to sit on opposite sides of the table.

We were guided through the hatchery learning the turtles’ life cycle.

The threats they face (from plastic bags to fishing bycatch) and the simple ways each of us can help.

The message was clear, grounded and never preachy.

A highlight was watching my kids hold a one‑day‑old leatherback hatchling in their hands.

Yup, one day old.

This tiny creature, smaller than their palms, flapped its soft flippers with surprising determination.

My kids were wide‑eyed and completely silent as they watched them wiggle with awe.

In that moment, all of our usual worries?

Emails, deadlines, to‑do lists.

Felt miniscule compared to the journey these little turtles attempt from beach to ocean.

A living reminder that resilience can fit in the palm of your hand.

And that vulnerability and strength often sit side by side.

As we explored the nursing tanks, a concrete wall was covered in messages from past visitors.

One note, written by a Japanese visitor, stopped me in my tracks:

“Humans cannot walk alone on this lonely planet. Where the world goes will depend on how we get along with other life forms. Nourish the life of all things on this Earth is the way of nature.”

Standing there, with my children still cradling their tiny turtle.

Those words felt less like graffiti and more like a reminder of the fragility of life on this planet.

You don’t need to run a marine sanctuary to learn something useful from this corner of Sri Lanka:

Small actions add up: One egg saved, one hatchling released, one injured turtle nursed back to health. None of these fix the whole ocean. Yet over time, small actions add up to tens of thousands of chances that didn’t exist before.

Change works better with people: By buying eggs from locals instead of punishing them, the hatchery turns potential conflict into partnership. Inviting people into solutions (rather than blaming) can quickly shift resistance into shared effort.

Education plus emotion moves us: Facts about plastic and overfishing matter of course, but the feeling of seeing rows of marked nests and holding a one‑day‑old turtle in your hands, that tends to stay. When you want to inspire change? Pairing information with real, human (or animal) connection is incredibly powerful.

What has stuck with me about the Koggala Sea Turtle Farm & Hatchery is the way it holds complexity with kindness.

It sits where tourism, local livelihoods, fragile ecosystems and global climate worries all meet.

Choosing day after day, to do something hopeful.

On one side, there are eggs that may have ended up on a plate or in the black market.

On the other, there’s a team turning them into hatchlings that will one day burst out of those sandy mounds and head for the sea.

They do this while gently shifting how visitors and locals see their role in protecting the ocean.

It reminds me that meaningful change often begins in places that look small from the outside.

A square of fenced‑off sand.

A handful of tanks.

A few people who care enough to keep showing up.

Because that is all this really is.

People deciding that these tiny lives are worth the effort.

People choosing to step in, rather than look away.

And trusting that their care will ripple further than they can see.

If you’re interested in learning more, the following video captures a similar tour to the one we experienced:

My reading life leans heavily toward non‑fiction.

Putting it simply, I love to learn.

About the world, new ideas and perspectives I can weave into my life.

Recently, when I reach for fiction, it’s been my own.

Over the last couple of years, I’ve been chipping away at a novel I’ve been writing.

On my recent trip through Sri Lanka, though?

I felt the pull to step into someone else’s world for a while.

After a quick trip (across the road to my local library) The Road by Cormac McCarthy became that world.

It turned out to be a haunting, absorbing companion on bus rides and by the beach.

So much so that I kept turning pages even when I knew I’d been lying in the sun too long.

McCarthy also wrote No Country for Old Men, one of my favourite novels, so I was especially curious to see how The Road would land.

Please Note: ‘The Road’ can be a very dark read at times. The reason I am highlighting it here is the underlying optimism and hope that carries them through. In the darkest of times, it can be the light that carries you forward.

On the surface, The Road is a post‑apocalyptic story about a father and son walking through a burned, ash‑covered landscape.

Trying to survive in a world where almost everything has disappeared.

Underneath that dreary setting, it unfolds as a story about love, hope and what it means to stay human.

When nearly every external reason to keep going has fallen away.

McCarthy’s prose is famously sparse.

Short lines, stripped‑back dialogue and scenes that feel like scattered memories.

An approach to writing I (attempt) to mimic at times.

His style fits the emptiness of the world he has brilliantly created.

It gives the book an intensity.

You’re never far from danger or heartbreak.

Yet there’s a fragile thread of tenderness and protection running through the story.

The relationship between the father and the son is what anchored the whole book for me.

In a landscape full of scarcity and hard choices, their bond becomes the centre of everything.

Every risk, every compromise.

Despite the fear they collectively face, their unity gives them strength.

Together, they navigate countless challenges.

Finding solace in each other's presence.

Their shared resilience illuminating the way forward even during some very dark times.

Every small act of kindness occurs because they have each other.

The novel has been described as a meditation on parental love and moral responsibility, when the world has lost its usual rules.

That felt true in every exchange between them.

The world‑building is incredibly vivid despite McCarthy’s minimal language.

You can feel the chill of the cold air.

The ash underfoot.

The silence of abandoned towns and the constant need to scan for whether a place is safe or dangerous.

Even though the book deals with dark elements.

Desperation, violence and people pushed to extremes.

The warmth tucked into the small moments between father and son stands out.

Even in such a bleak setting, there’s a lot this book can offer when you think about resilience, your outlook and most importantly, what really matters:

Carrying your inner “fire”: The recurring idea of “carrying the fire” can be read as holding onto good nature, your compassion and hope. Even when circumstances look grim. How you show up internally matters more than what’s happening externally.

Let love guide decisions: The father’s choices (whether wise or flawed) are driven by his desire to protect his son. That and his sense of what’s right. Anchoring your decisions in care for others can keep you aligned with your values.

Taking life step by step: Their journey is literally one step, one day, one small decision at a time. Often without any guarantee that things will improve. You’re right there with them as they seek out the next opportunity or safe haven.

Rediscovering the ordinary: Spending time in a fictional world where the simple things like food, warmth, or a safe place to rest are rare can change how you see your own comforts. It nudges you to appreciate the small things you often move past while on autopilot.

For all its grimness on the surface, The Road left me thinking less about endings and more about the stubborn ways humans keep choosing love and hope.

It also felt like a stark, fictional mirror of something I come back to often.

Grounded optimism.

Not the kind that pretends everything’s fine, but the kind that asks, given how things are, what’s one step forward I can take.

With as much compassion and courage as possible.

While travelling through Sri Lanka, for me it provided a counter‑balance.

The vibrancy and colour of the real world around me on one side.

And this stark, grey, imagined world on the other.

Both have sharpened my appreciation for the present moment in their own way and highlighted something that has always felt central to me.

Optimism requires acknowledging the reality of hard situations and choosing to carry the fire anyway.

Holding onto hope and meaning, even when the landscape looks bleak.

Oh, and while the story takes a while to get going as McCarthy paints picture of this world in your mind?

It sets the stage for one hell of a finish.

If you’re in the mood for a read that’s intense, beautifully written and deeply human?

And you’re open to sitting with heavier themes in exchange for seeing someone move their way through them with resilience.

The Road is a journey worth taking.

Please share; I'm always keen for great suggestions.

You really can’t go wrong with a strong, positive, optimistic, I’ll figure it out attitude.

You don’t have to have all the answers but simply trust that, whatever comes, you’ll find your way through it.

Life will always bring surprises.

Delays and detours.

Challenges and opportunities.

It's a journey filled with unexpected twists and turns.

When your energy says you’ll figure it out?

You stay open instead of overwhelmed by every twist.

You give yourself permission to be human and capable at the same time.

That alone can take the edge off a tough day.

People tend to notice your energy before they notice your words.

When you carry a calm, optimistic presence?

It’s like bringing a bit of sunlight into the room.

Others feel safer and more at ease.

They’re also more willing to look for solutions instead of dwell on problems.

This mindset also works as a natural filter.

When you operate in a we’ll work it out type of space any constant negativity or drama starts to feel out of place.

You don’t have to fight it.

You simply stop feeding it with your attention.

Why?

Because it’s pointless and ineffective.

Over time, you’ll find yourself surrounded by more grounded, hopeful conversations and fewer spirals of complaint.

Most importantly, this vibe builds self-trust.

That sense of knowing you can handle this.

You’re never promising yourself a perfect outcome but you’re reminding yourself that you can learn.

That you can adjust your sails and take the next step.

That’s where real confidence grows.

Here’s a few simple ways to find this energy and use it:

Set the tone for the day: Start your day thinking things like whatever today brings, I’ll attack it with curiosity and optimism. When you set the table, you expect to eat.

When something goes wrong, pause: Take a breath and ask yourself how you can move yourself forward. Tiny actions count.

Redirect negativity: If a conversation turns into a complaint loop? Try asking yourself could make things even five percent better. Once you change course its easier to build.

Notice what lifts you: Pay attention to people, places and routines that energise you. Then give yourself extra time there. You need to refill your cup in order to fill others.

You don’t need to be bubbly or on all the time, in fact that is the worst.

It’s ingenuine and toxic.

This is about steady optimism.

Not forced positivity.

A strong, positive, optimistic, I’ll figure it out vibe has carried me through countless moments where the way forward didn’t feel clear.

It certainly doesn’t erase the challenges.

But it changes how you show up for them.

When you choose this energy?

You’re saying that you trust yourself.

That you can learn, adapt and keep ahead.

It energises you and provides fuel for the people around you.

And the best part?

It turns down the volume on negativity.

Next time you find yourself in the middle of a challenge?

Try reminding yourself that you can and will figure it out.

Then give yourself the space and time to prove yourself right.

One step at a time.

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