Most days disappear from memory even though they collectively become your life.

Almost every day you live will be forgotten, and yet those days are what a life is made of. The memorable ones are a thin selection, unrepresentative and heavily edited. The real substance is the enormous mass of ordinary mornings that leave no trace but were nonetheless the actual experience of being alive.

That suggests putting less weight on making days memorable and more on making them decent. A good ordinary day is worth having even though you will not recall it. It counted while it was happening, which is the only time anything ever counts.