The grey days overpower the sunny days. The sad overpowers the happy. The bad days overpower the good days.

Whenever I’m asked the question “How is your day?” I immediately respond with either “mediocre” or “average.”

I can’t recall the last time I said I genuinely had a good day, but I can recall the last time I had a bad day.

Too many times a day, something very little or something very minor will cause me to consider my whole day as bad. The good things that occur on a day-to-day basis have slowly dissipated from my mind. I have begun to take for granted the millions of good things that happened.

What alarms me the most is that I have been blinded by the good. When a monumental bad thing happens, something that I cannot control or change makes my life seem as if I am drowning in misfortunes, like a child who can’t swim. Although as I reflect on my day-to-day activities, my days aren’t bad. My days are actually exceptionally good.

It’s not just that I take the good things for granted; it’s that I over exaggerate the bad. The littlest things seem bigger than the world itself.

Many times, including now, I begin to drown in stress, responsibilities, and work, and during these times my days are automatically considered bad. What I don’t consider every day is that so many worse things could happen than having to read ten extra pages in AP US History.

I need to remember that even if I have a bad day, it’s not a bad life. I live in a comfortable world where my most persistent dilemma is which college I am going to attend. The lives of others seem so far away, yet they are so close. Many kids can barely afford a ride to school, whereas I worry about who can take me to my friend’s house. My worries are nothing compared to others, and that seems to continuously slip my mind.

If someone were to ask me what has been the worst day of my life, I could easily respond with an answer, never missing a beat. Although, if someone were to ask me what day has been the best in my life, my mind would go blank. I can recall many amazing moments I have shared with friends or family, but the days as a whole have seemed to wash away within the mix of all the others.

If I really think about all the days I’ve lived, I can only recall a handful of them. It scares me that I can’t remember so many days of my life, but I can so vividly remember the bad days or the bad moments. It seems that the good has a disadvantage, as if a hundred good days make up for a bad one.

Next time I have a bad day, I won’t become discouraged; it might be a bad day, but it’s not a bad life.