The turkey's been gobbled, the pie plates licked clean, and I'm sitting here in my post-feast tryptophane glow, thinking about gratitude.

You know how sometimes the universe hands you exactly what you need, even when you didn't know you needed it? That's been my 2024.

Let me share my gratitude list with you.

First, there's the big stuff — the treasures that make life worth living. My wife, the wisest and most beautiful person I know. My family, who make me proud. Our pugs, who make me laugh every single day and remind me that joy can be found in the simplest things (like a squeaky toy or a good belly rub).

But then there are the surprises. The unexpected gifts that showed up this year.

One of the biggest is rediscovering that less really is more. After years of growing Sketchbook Skool bigger and bigger — more staff, more teachers, more courses, more students — we decided to go small. Really small.

I closed down our Spark Program and became the only teacher. Just me, sharing my ideas, unfiltered.

You'd think having fewer people would make the load heavier. But the counterintuitive thing is it made everything lighter. I stopped being a businessman and administrator and went back to being what I love most — a teacher and artist, making stuff just for me.

I'm grateful for the constants, too — the rhythms that keep me creating. Every Thursday for five years now, I've hosted "Draw with Me." It's still a highlight of my week. Artists join us from Toronto to Tasmania, Rio to Reykjavik, speaking in our common language of art and sharing their art from the week before. Some folks have been with us since day one, others are brand new, and JJ (my Ed McMahon) keeps me on my toes with her wit and wisdom.

Many of our readers and viewers write to us c/o our post office box. They send letters and art and cookies and, every so often, some art supplies. I'm not sure who it was that mailed me a small box of tempera sticks, but I stuffed them in a drawer, thinking, "Sure, I'll use these... someday." Months later, feeling stuck, I dug them out. Those "crude children's art supplies" turned out to be creative dynamite. Now I have two big rainbowy boxes of paint sticks and use them every. They've brought an explosion of color and energy to my drawings.

I'm also grateful that we are in an incredible golden age of technological advancement. I’ve been fascinated by artificial intelligence for twenty years and have tried many tools emerging from Silicon Valley. These huge leaps forward will make the lives of everybody on this planet safer, healthier, and longer. I know there's a lot of skepticism about this, but I've read intensely on the subject for the last few years and I remain an optimist.

I'm a terrible typist, but finally, I have a flawless dictation tool that allows me to sit with my feet up and just talk, watching my words typed out on the screen. I love to write, but I don't particularly like to type, and now it's no longer a chore. I can even write when I’m walking my dogs. Our neighbors just assume I’m on the phone.

I've worked on several major creative projects this year, and AI writing tools have helped me organize massive amounts of information into coherent structures.

My gratitude list wouldn't be complete without teaching.

Millions of people have watched my YouTube “How to Draw” videos. And I get to make new essays and demos twice every week to inspire and encourage total strangers all over the world. I’m helping change their lives.

This spring, I created a course to help folks start their visual memoirs — creating legacies for their families. Seeing what they made of their memories has been so moving and cool.

And now... well, I'm cooking up something new for the new year. It's still under wraps, but I can't wait to see the art that emerges from the hundreds of brave souls who've already signed up, sight unseen.

Then there's this weekly letter to you.

For several years now, I've started each week by organizing my thoughts and sharing them with people who actually want to hear what I have to say. Your responses—hundreds of emails sharing your own stories and encouragement—make this one of my favorite creative collaborations.

You're the reason I write (or dictate) these essays each week. Without you, I'd probably just be watching Wheel of Fortune, clipping nose hairs, or practicing my putt.

Thank you so much for keeping me busy and out of trouble.

Your pal,
Danny