It was 60 years ago today, Nov. 8, 1965, “Days of our Lives” premiered, and the sands began slipping through the hourglass.

For some, that hourglass wasn’t just a symbol of a daytime drama—it was part of the rhythm of our lives. I grew up with this show. I grew up in Salem, in a way. The Bradys, the Hortons, the DiMeras—they’re not just fictional families. They feel like part of mine.

For decades, “Days” has been a constant. Through school days, college years, life changes, heartbreaks, illnesses, summer breaks and holidays. It’s been there.

And not just as background noise, but as a thread—a familiar presence that grew and changed with me. Every dramatic twist, every outlandish plot (every baby stolen, DNA switched, elevator shaft “death”) is a moment of real emotion that made its mark. And still does.

I remember Marlena’s first possession storyline like it happened yesterday. The absolute audacity of it. I’d never seen anything like that on daytime TV. The levitation. The eyes. The chapel scenes. It was over-the-top and absolutely unforgettable.

During a medical recovery years ago, I found the storyline pieced together on YouTube and relived every moment.

Then, years later, they “Days” did it again. And somehow, it worked—again. Marlena, the heart of Salem, taken over by the devil—not once but twice. Deidre Hall carried those storylines with elegance and fire, grounding even the wildest scenes in something deeply human.

And then came Will Horton’s coming-out story. The way it unfolded felt real, complicated, emotional. It didn’t just check a box—it honored a journey. Watching Will wrestle with his truth, watching Marlena support him, seeing that story handled with such depth—it meant something. For a lot of people, it was the first time they saw a version of themselves on daytime TV. For others, it was a master class in empathy. I remember watching those scenes and thinking: this show, for all its outlandishness, has never been afraid of telling human stories.

Then this year, we lost John Black, as Drake Hogestyn died in 2024. And for longtime viewers, that was a gut punch. John Black wasn’t just another leading man. He was the rogue, the anchor, the protector, the lover. His chemistry with Marlena was lightning in a bottle. When the show said goodbye to him, it was heartbreak on top of heartbreak. But it was also beautiful. Thoughtful. You could feel the love behind every scene, both from the cast and the fans. That’s what this show does best—it honors its own history and the people who helped build it.

Even the move to Peacock—controversial at first—ended up feeling like an evolution. There was frustration, sure. Watching a show that had been free and broadcast for decades shift to a streaming service felt like a loss, like something being taken away. But there was something gained, too. Freedom. Flexibility. The show could push boundaries again, try new things, be a little bolder. And somehow, “Days” found a second wind there. A new generation found it. Longtime fans stayed. We adapted—because that’s what fans of this show have always done.

And still, through all of it, nothing gets me like the Horton Christmases. The tree. The ornaments. The way each family member carefully hangs a name, a memory, a legacy. It’s a small moment, but it hits deep every single year. It always has. Because “Days” has never just been about love triangles and evil twins and wild plot twists. It’s been about connection. Family. Resilience. The way we carry on.

It’s also something I love sharing. One of the best parts of being a “Days” fan is connecting with friends who watch, too. Whether it’s texting after a Friday cliffhanger, swapping theories about who’s behind the latest drama or just laughing about a classic Sami move, those conversations add another layer of joy. We speak the same Salem shorthand. We notice things the other missed. We catch up, fill in gaps, revisit old storylines and carry the show together. It’s more than just watching—it’s a shared habit. A language. A bond.

Sixty years. And somehow, it feels both like forever and like no time at all. I think about all the people who’ve come and gone—on screen and off. The ones who’ve grown up, grown older, left the show, returned again. The ones we’ve lost. And the fans, too—the ones who’ve been watching since day one, and the ones who just started. We’re all part of this story now.

So today, I celebrate not just a show, but a legacy. A lifeline. A constant companion. “Days of our Lives” isn’t just television. It’s memory. It’s comfort. It’s home.

And I’m grateful—for every melodramatic moment, every ornament on that tree, every hour that passed through the hourglass.