I’ve never really been very good at saying thank you for the little things. Sure, I’ll say thank you when someone passes me food during a meal or when a kindly stranger opens the door, but I’ve never really acknowledged the presence of the smaller things.

Coupled with my inability to say thank you to the more mundane things in life is my constant failure to acknowledge and appreciate moments that will become beautiful memories. It’s hard for me to live in the moment because, as a millennial, I’m constantly organizing and planning for my future. I keep forgetting that life happens while you’re busy planning everything else. You can’t press a magical button that allows you to truly be present in the moment while also looking forward to the future. It, unfortunately, doesn’t work that way.

So I figured that, with this article, I’d say thank you to something that many people don’t pay attention to and that most don’t fully appreciate. I want to say thank you to my goose bumps.

It was spring of my freshman year. The sky was slightly overcast and the trees were swaying to and fro from the gentle caress of the wind. It was probably going to rain. The crisp smell of clouds and water filled the air.

I was hiking with a member of my Greek family who needed me to take a picture of her on the top of a nearby hill for a project. When we finally got to the top, I could see an endless expanse of hills, trees and sky. Washington State is in bumf*** no-where-land, but the surrounding fields and pastures look like they are straight out of a Hallmark card. I could see it all.

The brown and green grass, the horses in their pastures, the cows grazing the fields, I think there was even a moose. The trees looked like they could touch the sky, and the fields stretched farther than my eyes could see. I began to feel small drops of fresh rain on my face and the chirping birds and animal sounds quelled until it was silent all around me. I was in the middle of a dream. I felt little pricks traveling up and down my arms and legs; my goose bumps were rising because I was in such awe of the beauty that surrounded me. My goose bumps were letting me know that I needed to cherish this.

I was in England, I was sitting in a pub, and it was summer. The heat was noticeable but comfortable, and I was surrounded by good friends. It was also the night that the American Soccer team was playing Ghana, and the American team won. The Americans around me erupted into a giant mass of screaming, happy patriots who were so happy that our team had triumphed that they were jumping around and near tears. I held my glass of beer up with complete strangers, pranced around the bar with the American flag, and screamed random American chants at the top of my lungs.

We spilled onto the London Streets and screamed our heads off. The sky was riddled with stars and the air was warm, clear, crisp and calm. Goose bumps erupted up and down my arms, letting me know that this moment was one to be cherished. It was magic.

It was summer, and I was in Mexico. My family stays in a little suburban town, just outside of Puerto Vallarta called Bucerias, every year. It’s kind of our escape from the world.

The days are hot, and only get hotter. When night comes, it’s a relaxing reprieve from the blazing heat. I was walking with my family after a filling meal when I decided that I wanted to take a stroll on the beach. I stepped off the board walk, removed my sandals and stepped onto the smooth, clean sand.

There were softly blazing torches to my right and left, illuminating the area. Couples danced around me, gently swaying to the rhythm of the bands in the restaurants lining the boardwalk. Children ran around them, making the parents smile. They laughed and laughed and laughed; the picture of innocent fun.

I continued down the beach until I reached a sparsely populated area and walked forward toward the water. I stood at the precise point where the water lapped at the sand and let my toes sink in. I could feel the lukewarm sand seep in between my toes and the water periodically splash up against my feet. It wasn’t too hot, it wasn’t too cold. It was strangely calming.

I looked up at the sky and saw the brightest stars I’d ever seen. They lit up the sky like fireworks and surrounded the moon like they were protecting it. God, it was beautiful. The air was warm with a small, cool breeze. I could hear the distant laughter of my family. I could feel the water softly grazing my skin. Yet again, my goose bumps rose up and down my body. Their gentle pricks alerting me to their presence. I needed to cherish this moment. I needed to appreciate it.

My final anecdote comes, again, to the beach. I was in Puerto Vallarta, doing laps up and down the beach. I was passing the time before we got picked up by a boat that was going to take us out to the reefs of the sea for snorkeling and free-diving. The boat finally pulled to shore, and we hopped on. A stout little man, Fausto, was there to greet us. He was with his companion, whose name escapes me.

We all sat on the front of the boat and Fausto drove up out to a small, private reef. I dove into the water without my life jacket because I wanted to dive and my brother, mother, and father quickly followed suit. Fausto, the adorable old man that he was, leapt into the water and dove straight down to the clear, sandy green bottom and brought me up a puffer fish.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a puffer fish… But let me tell you: they look nothing like Mrs. Puff. They’re angry, prickly and intimidating. I held him for a few minutes but then let him swim away to freedom. Fausto then taught me how to hold my breath properly and dive to the bottom of the reef. I closed my eyes, sank into the water, and opened my eyes to see swarms of fish in such varying shades of neon and blue that it looked like I was swimming in a cartoon.

They swam up next to me, touched my hand and ran away. They were beautiful, colorful and calm. I just floated there in the silence of the water, letting the beauty of the moment envelope me.

After about an hour or so, we got back onto the boat and started out into the ocean. We stopped at a small island, reserved only for locals, and got some of the best pie and quesadillas I’ve ever had. We visited with the locals, had margaritas with way too much tequila, and we strolled on the seemingly endless beach until the weather cooled and the locals began to trickle back into their worn-down houses.

We got back on the boat and began the trek back to shore. On the way there, Fausto leapt up and shouted, “STOP! Look look! There!” And we all turned to see a teeming mass of what appeared to be some very large fish. I was interested, but fish didn’t really pique my fancy. It was when my brother shouted “Holy crap!” that I really started to look.

They were dolphins. Dozens and dozens of dolphins swirling in a mass of fins and flippers just above and below the water. They swarmed around our boat, splashing and diving up and down in the blue-green water. We idled there for a long time, just watching the beautiful sea creatures surrounding us. They were so calm, brilliant, and unafraid. They kept poking their heads up out of the water to look at us, trying to discern whether or not we were a threat. I admired their beauty and grace. They were stunning.

We slowly began to go back to the shoreline, and they followed us all the way back. Leaping in and out of the water in front and behind the boat. It was so magical and serene a moment that, even thinking about it now, I can still smell the salt and hear the splash of their fins against the waves.

My goose bumps, yet again, appeared. Letting me know to cherish this moment, this memory and this time. It was magic.

So here it is: thank you goose bumps. Thank you for being the constant, unyielding reminder to stay in the present and appreciate the moment. Thank you for allowing me to recognize beauty. Thank you for allowing me to be able to recall these wonderful memories.

Thank you, goose bumps.