I give nicknames to almost everyone.

Animals. Kids. Family members. People I love.

And most of the time, they make absolutely no sense.

But somehow, they stick.

Odin, our dog, is The Goobes. Or just Goobes. Mostly because he drools a ton and leaves goobes on everything. The couch. The floor. Your pants. Your hand. Whatever happens to be nearby.

It’s not exactly poetic.

But it him.

When Grayson was younger, I called him Ron Burgundy because he had this wild, curly hair that looked like he should be reading the evening news in a tiny suit.

Now, for reasons I can’t fully explain, I call him Turd Ferguson.

There’s no deep origin story.

It just happened.

And then there’s his little brother, Wyatt.

I call him The Wizard.

That one came from an album cover I made with the three of us on it. I spelled it Wyzrd, because apparently I was creating a baby hip-hop legend.

And now everyone calls him The Wizard.

He’s this chunky, beautiful boy who mostly wants to play, eat, smile, and enjoy whatever is right in front of him.

Which, honestly, might be the whole secret.

The more I think about it, the more I realize how much these little things matter.

The nicknames. The inside jokes. The weird family phrases that start as nothing and become part of the language of a home. The small things that would sound ridiculous if you tried to explain them to someone else.

But to you, they mean everything.

They become a kind of shorthand for love.

And maybe that’s why humor matters so much.

Especially when life gets heavy. Especially when the world feels loud. Especially when work is stressful, the news is dark, money is tight, people are hurting, and the future feels uncertain.

Humor doesn’t erase the hard stuff.

It doesn’t fix grief. It doesn’t solve every problem. It doesn’t make the world less complicated.

But it gives us a little air.

A little space.

A little reminder that we are still here. Still human. Still able to laugh at something completely ridiculous.

Still able to look at a four-year-old with wild hair and see Ron Burgundy.

Still able to look at a smiling baby and decide, for no real reason, that he is The Wizard.

And sometimes that is enough to bring you back.

Grayson is four, but he has this old soul thing about him. He thinks deeply. He notices people. He asks questions that make you stop. He is kind in a way that feels bigger than his age.

He has this softness toward the world that I hope he never loses.

And The Wizard?

The Wizard just wants to play.

And eat.

And smile.

And be held.

And maybe that is wisdom too.

One sees the world with depth.

One reminds us not to overcomplicate it.

Together, they make a pretty good philosophy.

Be kind. Pay attention. Laugh often. Eat when you’re hungry. Play when you can. Smile at people. Let yourself be loved.

That sounds simple.

But maybe simple is what we keep forgetting.

Because it’s easy to get pulled into the mess of everything.

The stress at work. The pressure of running a business. The noise online. The heaviness in the world. The endless list of things that need to be fixed, answered, paid for, planned, decided, or worried about.

And yes, some of it is real.

Some of it needs our attention.

Some of it matters deeply.

But not all of it gets to own us. Not all of it gets to decide what kind of energy we bring home. Not all of it gets to steal the small, beautiful, ridiculous things right in front of us.

Because there is still good here.

A lot of it.

Probably more than we notice.

There are still four-year-olds with kind souls. There are still babies who smile like they know something we forgot. There are still dogs leaving goobes everywhere.

Still nicknames.

Still kitchen laughter.

Still little hands reaching for you.

Still moments that make you think, maybe we’re going to be okay.

Maybe the world is still worth believing in.

Maybe the light hasn’t gone anywhere.

Maybe we just have to remember where to look.

So when things feel heavy this week, think of Turd Ferguson and his kind little soul.

Think of The Wizard, smiling and ready to play.

Think of the goofy names, the ordinary moments, the people who make your life feel like yours.

There is probably something like that in all of our lives.

Maybe more than one thing.

Maybe a lot of things.

Small reminders that the world is not only dark.

It is also funny.

Tender.

Strange.

Beautiful.

And still full of people worth loving.

1. The little language of your life

Every family, team, and friendship has its own language.

Nicknames. Inside jokes. Phrases that make no sense to anyone else.

Pay attention to those.

They are often signs of connection, safety, and love.

2. Humor as a way through

Humor is not the opposite of seriousness.

Sometimes it is how we survive serious things.

A laugh at the right moment can soften a hard day and remind everyone in the room that they are not alone.

3. The people who bring you back

There are people in your life who pull you out of your head and back into your heart.

A child. A friend. A spouse. A parent. A dog.

Notice who brings you back to what matters.

Then make more room for them.

When the world feels heavy, look for one small thing that reminds you life is still good.

A laugh.

A nickname.

A kid’s question.

A baby’s smile.

A dog doing something ridiculous.

Don’t dismiss it because it’s small.

Sometimes the small things are the things holding us together.

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman

This is a beautiful, funny, tender book about grief, loneliness, love, and the strange ways people save each other.

It has humor in the middle of sadness, which is one of the things I love most about it.

It reminds us that even difficult people have stories, and even heavy lives can still be interrupted by connection.

“Against the assault of laughter, nothing can stand.”

— Mark Twain

Most of us are carrying more than people can see.

Work stress. Family pressure. Business decisions. Worries about the world.

But sometimes the thing that brings us back is simple: a laugh, a small moment, a person we love, or a reminder that there is still good right in front of us.

If you’re trying to build a life or business with more of that kind of clarity and humanity, I’d love to connect.

Brian

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