Back in my Boy Scout days, we had a camping trip where no one was allowed to talk. The entire weekend — silent. Imagine telling a troop of 13yr old boys to zip it.

Each person carried a stick, and if you were caught speaking, anyone could ask for it and cut a notch with their knife. Notches meant no merit badge. And no merit badge meant you just wasted your parent’s money. Not a pleasant way to return home.

I struggled, but somehow kept my mouth shut. And it actually taught me something valuable: if we all thought before we spoke, the world would be a much better place.

I’ve remembered that lesson over the years. Take today, for instance. Someone got on my nerves, but I bit my tongue.

But honestly… even when I hold back, that doesn’t always mean my thoughts are as pure as the freshly fallen snow. If you push me too far, I (probably) won’t say the words, but this is what I’ll be thinking:

I hope every time you wear a new pair of socks, you step in something wet.

May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits.

May all your babies be born bald.

There, that feels better. I think I just earned myself a merit badge.

As a kid, I had a hollow book on my shelf. From the outside, it looked like any other novel, but inside was a hidden compartment where I stashed my treasures: cool bottle caps, dog-eared baseball cards, a few quarters.

I like to think I have a similar place in my mind. A quiet nook behind a cover titled, On The Other Side. In that deep, secret area, I store the questions too big for answers in this life, the mysteries I can only hope to understand once I step into the great by and by.

Yesterday, I added some new contents. It involves the tragic crash last night of a commercial jet and a military helicopter in D.C. No one survived.

And then there’s this: Jess has a first cousin whose wife is an American Airlines attendant. She was scheduled to work that flight but called out sick before her shift.

Ok, my frontal lobe just melted. How is that explained?

Of all days, of all flights, she felt too ill to go. And her life was spared. Was it chance? A thread in some unseen matrix? And why does the pattern always seem to weave tragedy for some and a narrow escape for others?

Sigh.

On the other side.

Every morning starts the same. Shower. Walk downstairs. Work out. It’s usually still dark outside, and about 99.9% of the time, I do not feel like exercising.

But I have a trick. I tell myself: Brian, once you’re done, you’ll enjoy the newspaper and a hot cup of coffee.

Start the Rocky music. Knowing my “reward” keeps me moving. Eye of the tiger.

And here’s what I’ve realized — one of the most underrated secrets to a happy-go-lucky heart: Always have something to look forward to.

It’s about savoring the present by anticipating the future. What gets me through a cold January? Counting down the days until our family beach trip, where I slather on sunscreen and throw a frisbee with the kids and walk on the pier and stare at the ocean and shine a flashlight at night searching for crabs in the sand.

The same trick works in daily micro ways. A long drive becomes a break when I have a podcast or audiobook queued up. Cleaning the garage or tackling yard work feels less like a chore when there’s a little treat at the end. Maybe a McDonald’s sweet tea. Or a Starbucks latte. Hey, I earned it.

The power is always in my hands to plan a fun future. That way, even dreaded tasks lose their bite when something good waits on the other side.

Might be time for some more push-ups.

Financial planning frustrates me. Why? Because math and I don’t always get along. Honestly, I’d rather walk barefoot on Lego’s than study a spreadsheet. But it’s kind of like organizing a closet or scrubbing dishes or going to the dentist. Once I do it, I feel much better.

Thankfully, I married a woman who’s a whiz with numbers. This human calculator can slice and dice with the best of ‘em. Funny how opposites attract. And I’ve learned that in great partnerships, 1+1 somehow equals 3.

Take that, math.

Haircuts can be stressful because I’ve had my share of bad ones. For a long time, I bounced between several franchise spots, with wildly inconsistent results. Just when I’d find someone good, they’d vanish, and the search would start all over again.

A couple of years ago, my son recommended a private shop owned by a stylist. I had nothing to lose, and it turned out to be a smart decision. The haircuts are always fantastic. But there's one thing this place does that keeps me coming back, something none of those chains ever thought to do.

At the end, she applies hot shaving cream to my neck, followed by a straight razor shave. Then she wraps a warm towel around my head for a scalp and shoulder massage. Ahhh, any tension melts away. I tell people about it all the time. Plus, it’s included with each cut.

Sometimes what sets you apart doesn’t have to be a grand gesture; it can be the little, thoughtful extras that no one else offers. Shaving cream, a razor, hot towel.

Small things matter.