Last week was Thanksgiving in the US, and also the week I finished a book called Chasing Daylight that’s been lingering in my mind like the long golden rays afternoon sun the book was named for.

Written by Gene O’Kelly, a prominent finance CEO who found out he had only three months to live due to a terminal brain cancer diagnosis, it’s a book chronicling his ultimate goal to “PM the shit out of his upcoming death” (my one-sentence pitch to friends.)

Scribbled on notes during his final weeks, the book as a whole is his deeply moving journey toward acceptance. But the part I find myself thinking about again and again is Gene’s quest for “Perfect Moments” and “Perfect Days” (a day filled with many Perfect Moments.) He poses the question:

“If I told you to aim to create 30 Perfect Days, could you? How long would it take? Thirty days? Six months? Ten years? Never?”

It’s an incredible prompt, especially now, during this season of thanks and celebration.

Some years ago, independent of this book, I used to track this question. I called them “Happy Days” and meticulously documented them in my journal. Most of my Happy Days took place on vacation — for example, one day in Lisbon where my now-husband and I got up at dawn, ate the flakiest croissant ever, and while on the train to Sintra discovered that it was a whole extra hour earlier than we’d thought due to the time change coming in from Spain. The exhilaration we felt at that discovery — one whole extra hour to enjoy our last day on vacation! — was like tripping over a giant pile of rubies. We spent the rest of the day wandering castles, climbing hill after hill to stunning vistas, and stuffing our faces with seafood soup and egg tart. That day stretched on like the ocean, carrying wave after wave of shimmering promises.

In my records, Happy Days occurred a handful of times a year. Each felt like a drop of magic, some distant godmother granting me an exquisite sixteen hours with the flick of her wand.

It’s not that the rest of my days were bad. In fact, I would have told you that they were great. But it’s more that they felt like the blur of the scene outside the side window when you’re in a car. Often, they were filled with moments of anticipation for the next big thing, or moments of worry for the present challenge, or moments of simply waiting: for dinner, for a weekend, for a review, for summer, a vacation, a proposal, a promotion, a break.

I stopped counting Happy Days about five years ago. I lost the habit soon after I had my first child, when whatever screenplay I had been following for life flew out the window. Reading Chasing Daylight brought the concept back in full force, and with it the notion that it could be broken up further, into a series of moments.

See, a Perfect Moment is one that you utterly and wholly feel, where the very concept of time recedes into the distance. It’s where both you and your surroundings are alive, brimming with tiny details of mesmerizing beauty. It’s when you bask in the bliss of the present and choose the very best version of the truth to wrap around yourself. It’s the languorous breath, the feeling of the sun on your skin, the treasures of the past, the laugh of your companions. It’s the gift of choosing how you want to savor the instant.

We don’t get to control all the things that happen in our day or week or year. We don’t pick the cards we are dealt, or what someone around us says, does or feels. We don’t get to determine all our outcomes. But. We can always choose how we respond. There is glorious freedom and power in that.

For so long, I used to think Perfect Days and Perfect Moments happened to me. That I had to be there at the right place, right time. There was a heaping dose of luck involved, I figured. Or, even if they were random, they were as rare as liquid fire and tumbling stars. Too many cheapened the effect.

I realize now that Perfect Moments can happen anywhere, anytime. The difference is me, and whether I choose to be open to them. Do I see the worst parts of this moment as I write — the sky is cold and grey, the flight is delayed for hours, the baby is screaming, the fluorescent lighting enhances our wan and tired faces like some kind of anti-makeup, the toddler is making unreasonable demands — or do I choose to see the best: it’s time with my family when we are all together and safe. In our boredom, we will uncover the depth of our creativity.

Though I have attempted, studied, and written about many daily practices — writing, reflecting, exercising — this is the one that I believe is most important:

How many days will it take to get 30 Perfect Days?

I’m working towards my answer being 30.

And I’m hoping you’ll have many Perfect Moments in your season ahead.