My favorite TV shows

“What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.”

Helen Keller

When I was young, I had this idea that the important things in life—the things that really mattered—were big. Grand gestures, monumental events, achievements with fanfare and applause. You know, the kind of moments you’d tell your grandkids about someday, if they cared to listen between scrolling through whatever futuristic social media their neural implants allowed.

But as the years went on, I realized that the things that truly shaped me, the ones that left the deepest impressions, weren’t loud or flashy. They were small, almost quiet, often slipping in under the radar when I wasn’t paying attention.

One of those things? Television.

Not the “I watched TV for 10 hours and felt my soul leave my body” kind of television. I mean the kind of shows that made you think, or laugh until you snorted, or—even rarer—cry when you didn’t expect it. The kind of shows that didn’t just entertain, but connected.

Maybe it’s because we all need a little escape from our daily grind, or maybe it’s just that TV has a way of sneaking up on you with profound truths, but over time, I found that some shows had become part of my emotional DNA.

This list isn’t just a rundown of my favorite TV shows; it’s a love letter to the ones that mattered. The ones that made a difference in small but powerful ways. The ones that reminded me, in the midst of everything, what it means to feel, to laugh, to think.

Game of Thrones

Some shows make you wonder why you spent weeks of your life watching them, but then there’s Game of Thrones, where you start to question whether your soul belongs to HBO.

From the moment those opening credits rolled, with that iconic theme song swelling like a promise of epic things to come, I was hooked. It wasn’t just a TV show; it was an event. Sunday nights weren’t for winding down—they were for getting swept away into a world where dragons soared, ice zombies lurked, and power plays left you breathless.

What made Game of Thrones unforgettable wasn’t just the dragons, the stunning landscapes, or the political backstabbing (though, let’s be real, all of those were excellent). It was the characters. The ones who felt like family, or at least the dysfunctional relatives you keep at arm’s length but secretly root for at every family reunion.

Jon Snow, with his brooding stares and perpetual moral dilemmas; Arya Stark, the pint-sized assassin who grew up right before our eyes; and of course, Tyrion Lannister, whose every witty remark felt like a personal gift from the screenwriters to me.

And yet, those are just the tip of the iceberg. The sheer volume of unforgettable characters is overwhelming: Daenerys, Brienne, Cersei, Jaime, Sansa, Bran, Varys, Jorah, Samwell, Melisandre, Davos, Theon, Gendry, Ygritte, Missandei, Tormund, Oberyn, Margaery, Gilly… Each name brings a flood of memories, moments, and emotions that made Game of Thrones an experience unlike any other.

Somewhere between Ned Stark’s unfortunate death and Jon Snow’s epic resurrection, it hit me—Game of Thrones wasn’t just a show; it was a full-blown obsession. I went from casual viewer to someone who cared—possibly more than I should have—about fictional medieval politics.

But that’s the magic of the show: it took me on a journey so immersive that, for a moment, dragons, ice zombies, and tyrannical monarchs felt like part of my daily life. Who needed the real world when Westeros was far more interesting?

Our Sunday nights became sacred. After wrangling the kids into bed (a feat no less harrowing than one of Daenerys’ battle strategies), we’d sit down and prepare our special Game of Thrones cocktail, affectionately dubbed “Mangria.” It wasn’t fancy—just wine mixed with something strong enough to get us through the rollercoaster of emotions the show threw at us—but it was ours. We’d toast to whatever chaos awaited us that night and settle in, knowing we were about to be swept away by a world where dragons and deceit ruled the day.

Even now, when someone mentions the show, I can’t help but smile. When I think of Jon Snow walking into the cold wilderness, Arya setting sail into the unknown, or Tyrion reflecting on the absolute mess of it all, they’re not just characters to me; they’re companions on a journey I’ll never forget.

The Wonder Years

Some shows aren’t just entertainment—they sneak in, stitch themselves into the very fabric of your life, until one day you realize you’re basically living with them like an old roommate.

For me, that show is The Wonder Years. It arrived at the perfect moment, as I was growing up, just like Kevin Arnold. The world he was trying to make sense of felt like the same one I was navigating, and every episode was like holding up a mirror to my own life. The awkward moments, the unspoken crushes, the confusion of trying to find my place in the world—it was as though Kevin and I were walking the same path, side by side.

Kevin wasn’t just a character; he was a part of me. When he laughed, I laughed. When he cried, I cried. And when he struggled with identity, I was right there, fumbling through the same identity crisis…minus the TV narrator.

His friendships, especially with Paul and Winnie, mirrored my own in such a personal way. Those early friendships, flawed but formative, shaped who I was becoming, and every time I watched them on screen, it felt like the show was holding up a window to my own experiences.

And though my family wasn’t the Arnolds, The Wonder Years still resonated deeply with me. Kevin’s family dinners, those slightly awkward heart-to-hearts with his parents, the way life moved both too fast and painfully slow—it all mirrored the chaos of my own adolescence.

The show didn’t need to reflect my exact reality; it captured something about how I saw the world. It made me reflect on those little moments in my own life that mattered more than I realized at the time.

To this day, I can’t think of another show that means as much to me as The Wonder Years. It wasn’t just television—it was essential. It captured the bittersweet beauty of growing up—the joy, the heartbreak, the confusion, and the wonder of it all. As Kevin’s older self-narrated his childhood from a place of reflection, I found myself reflecting, too.

Those moments—whether it was walking home from school or a fleeting look between him and Winnie—stayed with me, just like my own childhood memories do. It was a reminder that we never fully leave those moments behind; they become a part of who we are.

Even now, thinking about the show stirs something in me.

I remember watching it with my parents, with friends—each of us swept up in its world. We laughed, we cried, and somehow, it felt like the show understood us better than we understood ourselves. To this day, no show has resonated with me quite like The Wonder Years. It didn’t just help me see the world differently—it taught me how to hold onto the past without letting it slip away.

It was a rare kind of story, the kind that sticks with you long after the credits roll.

Ted Lasso

Some shows leave you entertained, and others—like Ted Lasso—leave you transformed.

For me, Ted Lasso is a love story, not just about a football team, but about humanity itself. I don’t use the word “love” lightly when it comes to television, but there’s no other word that captures how deeply I connected with this show.

From the first episode, I found myself rooting for every character—not just Ted, but each flawed, wonderful person trying to navigate life alongside him.

Ted’s optimism, the way he believes in his team even when the odds are stacked against him, speaks to something I’ve always aspired to in my own life. He’s the kind of leader who knows that the real magic doesn’t come from winning games—it comes from believing in people, even when they don’t believe in themselves. And that’s not just a leadership philosophy; it’s a way of living that resonates deeply with me.

A coworker once called me the Ted Lasso of our team, and I’ll be honest—it might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me, which is either touching or an indictment of my life choices. I haven’t decided yet. But Ted’s relentless optimism, his knack for spotting the best in people, and that quiet vulnerability of his? Those aren’t just qualities that make him a brilliant coach. They’re exactly the traits I’ve tried to sneak into my own work.

To be compared to Ted is to be seen as someone who lifts others up, who believes in the power of teamwork, and who approaches life with a sense of humor and a wide-open heart. That comparison didn’t just flatter me; it reminded me of the type of person I want to be.

But Ted Lasso is so much more than just a feel-good show. It’s about struggle and vulnerability, about how the people who seem the strongest are often the ones who are hurting the most.

Ted’s journey is a masterclass in embracing vulnerability—not as a weakness, but as a strength. His willingness to admit when he’s lost, when he’s afraid, when he doesn’t have all the answers—that’s where the real beauty of the show lies. It’s in those moments that we, as viewers, feel seen. We see ourselves in Ted’s mistakes, in his pain, in his quiet hope that things will get better if he just keeps showing up.

The cast of characters around Ted only deepens my love for the show. Each one—whether it’s Rebecca’s struggle for redemption, Roy’s gruff exterior hiding a heart of gold, or Jamie Tartt’s journey from selfish striker to a team player—feels like a fully realized person with their own battles and triumphs.

And yet, no matter how different they are, they all come together as a team, not because they have to, but because Ted makes them believe in something bigger than themselves.

That’s the magic of Ted Lasso. It’s a show about football, sure, but more than that, it’s about love. Love for the game, love for the people you work with, and most importantly, love for yourself—flaws, mistakes, and all. Every time I watch it, I’m reminded of what it means to lead with kindness, to put people first, and to embrace the messy, wonderful humanity in everyone around me.

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My Television Hall of Fame

Television, like a good cup of coffee or an unexpected nap, has a way of hitting just right when you least expect it. Some shows weave themselves into the fabric of your soul, making you cry over characters who don’t exist, while others simply make you laugh until you forget what you were sad about in the first place. And then there are those that arrive at just the right moment—so perfectly timed that you’re convinced the writers somehow knew exactly what you needed.

This list? It’s a collection of all those moments. Some made me reflect, others made me cackle, but every single one is here because, for one reason or another, it’s unforgettable.