2016 will arguably be one of the biggest years of my life. In the 366 days contained within this calendar year, I will choose a college, graduate high school, leave home to live without my parents for the first time ever, form an entirely new group of friends, and independently make decisions which will likely affect my ultimate career path.

This time next year, in just 366 days, I will have completed a semester of college. I will have lost touch with some of the people with whom I currently communicate on a daily basis. I will have formed close bonds with people whose existences I am not even aware of yet. I will be more independent than I have been at any other point in my life.

The next 366 days stretch out in front of me, blank and untouched as the crystal coating of snow which has (finally) settled on the earth in these first few weeks of 2016. A multitude of enormous decisions loom before me; for some reason, that has caused me to find peace in the littlest parts of the life I am currently living. Worn out paperback books. Peanut butter. Paper bowls. Chai tea. Cold noses and thick socks and fleece-lined leggings. Blaring music, classic romantic comedies that never get old, blankets, down jackets, snow boots, ice skating, Christmas lights which still aren’t down: all these tiny things have an overwhelming sum. And to me, in the middle of this stressful season of life, that sum looks a lot like happiness.

Can we take a moment to appreciate laughter? All those distinctive sounds that come out of a person’s mouth when they find something funny? How did biology perpetuate something as silly and delightful as laughter?

And how about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? I truly don’t believe there are many things more satisfying than the luscious ooze of strawberry jelly juxtaposed against the stubborn stickiness of peanut butter when both are smashed in between two soft slabs of bread.

There’s even something wonderfully invigorating about Michigan’s arctically cold air. It’s somewhat electrifying to get out of my car every morning and make the Siberian trek through the icy, biting air to the warm cocoon of the school’s interior. Stumbling through the gym doors with frozen fingers and a red nose each day, I’m a little more awake, and a lot more happy.

Have you ever noticed how the night sky seems especially dark in the winter? I’ve always been intrigued by stars, and I am ceaselessly captivated by the majestic mystery of those tiny little lights which are really much bigger and hotter and farther away than I imagine them to be as I stare up at them through the clear, pure blackness of a winter sky.

I truly don’t think it’s possible to run out of appreciation for things like cushy mattresses which turn into warm, blanketed caves with the cold gusts of January, or the free and meandering nature of one-on-one conversations, or for good books or sunsets or long phone calls with far-away friends. There’s a whole lot of magic to be found in the mundane, and an unexpected amount of life in all the little things.

As a barrage of big things confront me this year, I know that this small yet mighty army of little things will be there, too, valiantly preserving peace in my often frenzied life. And in my opinion, that’s a pretty amazing feat for a troop led by laughter and peanut butter.