Done deserves
confetti.

Before you try it

• Why do I remember what went wrong today, but not what went right?

  Your brain is built that way. Bad news gets priority; good news slips past unsaved. Psychologists call it the negativity bias — it kept our ancestors alive, and it quietly runs your evenings now. The good moments were there. They just didn’t get stored.

• Isn’t celebrating yourself a bit… much?

  Someone who celebrates everything, loudly, all the time is exhausting — agreed. But someone who never acknowledges anything that went well is just as far from the truth. Both are inaccurate. This isn’t about thinking positively. It’s about not lying to yourself in the other direction.

• What can a few seconds possibly change?

  More than you’d think. “Emotions create habits,” writes Stanford behaviour scientist BJ Fogg in Tiny Habits — the feeling right after an action does more to make it stick than repeating it does. So celebrating a small thing genuinely makes the next one easier.

  It’s also why athletes and top performers do it constantly and deliberately: the fist-pump after a good point isn’t showing off, it’s trained. Sport psychologist Nate Zinsser, who has worked with Olympic medallists and NFL teams, calls it a deposit into your mental bank account.

  And it isn’t only about habits. When Harvard’s Teresa Amabile analysed 12,000 daily work diaries, what set good days apart from bad ones usually wasn’t a breakthrough. It was small progress — exactly the kind that slips past unnoticed.

• What’s actually worth celebrating?

  Anything you got done. And especially anything you had to push yourself to do — the email you’d been avoiding for two weeks, the walk you nearly skipped. Not just the impressive things: “I read a page” counts. “I finally booked the dentist” counts. If you’re wondering whether something counts, it probably does.

• I know I’ll forget to do this.

  You will. Everyone does. Noticing what went well is a skill, and it takes months before it happens on its own — that’s not a flaw in you, it’s the actual difficulty, and it’s the reason this is an app and not a notebook. We’ll nudge you, quietly, until you don’t need us to.

• Why does this exist — and why with other people?

  Because we used to sit in one room. Nobody had to keep anyone posted — people just noticed. You’d get a “nice one” on the way to the kitchen. Someone would shout across the desks when something went right, and somebody would ring the gong for the big ones. For a moment the whole room lifted. Those were our most productive years, and our happiest.

  Then we went remote. Better in most ways — except that all of that quietly disappeared. Nobody decided to stop. It just stopped.

  So we’re building it back, deliberately small — an app with one job: noticing and celebrating what got done. You can use it on your own, or with two or three friends, your partner, your team. It’s closer to a group chat that only carries good news than to anything you have to keep up with. And not only work: the run, the dreaded call, the afternoon you spent looking after someone.

  It sounds small. It isn’t.