It would not be wrong to say today, like any other day, like yesterday and tomorrow and June 20, 1789, is just a day and nothing more, in no way significant–in fact, simply and thoroughly an established 24-hour time period filled with birth, deaths, break-ups, make-ups, biology exams and cancer diagnoses, riddles and solutions, extraordinary events and nondescript contingencies. It would not be wrong.

But, it would not be a very good description. And, if given the blunt choice at gunpoint, knowing my answer ought be very good and not simply mediocre, I should hope to say something more.

While not inaccurate, this in no way does justice to how we experience our role in history. Our experience of the past is not as a series of events, even: it is as a single moment, the one we call ‘now,’ filled with traces and echoes of what was. Some are explicit: the history textbook has no problem presenting timeline after timeline, translating the dimension of time into the dimension of space. Like all translators, the historians must wring their hands, suffering for each bit of cultural context lost as they whittle down the story of the Byzantine Empire into a choice collection of the most relevant facts.

But this is not the only way we experience history. In fact, perhaps it is the coded way which is more interesting: the styles of architecture we admire, the figures of form in art which were once innovative and now feel somehow stale, the idiosyncrasies of languages. If I may indulge one favorite example, one Italian word for a toilet, vespasiano, is directly from the name of the emperor who first began charging for the use of public toilets in Rome. Incidentally, some people also know him for this one big amphitheater thing he built, but his name is not attached to that relatively minor accomplishment.

Today, then, may very well be just a day, but we intuitively experience it as a singular opportunity rather than a part of the endless iteration of time. This particular day, then, is not yet decided. It could very well be the best day of your life.

Why does this matter? I may venture to say that it is the only opportunity you will ever have, no matter how meager it might be. Your vote may not count for much, but “not much” is better than nothing. “Not much” is worth fighting for, and certainly not to be thrown away, especially if “not much” is the all you have. Every great accomplishment–the Sistine Chapel ceiling, the Civil Rights movement, even the entire Bring It On franchise–has been a product of this “not much,” as well as every blistering failure.

So, then, let us suppose you find the idea that each day is meaningless, irritating. It is an uncomfortable spot, by my lights. Hardly a place to hang your hat, and certainly not where I’d wish to spend any time. It is fortunate, then, that this riddle–that is, the seemingly objective fact that each day is the same–has already undone itself. Not only is each day not the same–trivially speaking, they are each different–but the only way to make something significant by our own standards is to use the “not much” and make a “something.” No saint or sinner ever had anything besides this, and even though our acute awareness that today is merely a day and nothing more is not quite wrong; it simply is not telling the full story.