10 Feel-Good Shows to Watch Right Now

As We See It centers on the perspectives of its three leads: Jack, Violet, and Harrison, twenty-something roommates who happen to be on the autism spectrum. Along with their caretaker Mandy and a small but loving group of friends and family, they embark on a journey of self-improvement that is sometimes heartwarming, sometimes heartbreaking, but always funny and kind.

Despite zeroing in on a very specific disorder, the struggles and accomplishments of As We See It’s characters feel universal and wholly relatable. The nuanced and refreshingly humane characterizations, along with an impressive balance of comedy and drama, are what make As We See It truly special. It is an underrated, enjoyable gem of a show, and quite digestible too since it only runs for eight episodes. 

Abbot Elementary is a mockumentary that follows a group of well-meaning but cash-strapped teachers trying to make their school a better place. The premise sounds simple enough, but the show’s big heart and sharp observations about the rotting U.S. education system make it a breath of fresh air in the sitcom world. Abbot Elementary’s characters are funny and likable, while also being fearless, defined, and nuanced. 

The show manages to do the seemingly impossible: genuinely and lightheartedly uplift the people it represents. It shines some much-needed light on the public service these undervalued teachers provide, without ever sounding too preachy or patronizing: an impressive feat for such a progressive show.

Featuring almost no external conflict for its protagonist to face, this story of a young, ill-tempered calligraphy artist—sent to recollect himself at an island community—makes the private process of soul-searching as inspiring as it is cathartic. It’s a series that understands how one’s art is informed almost subliminally by the smallest observations and interactions, transforming the act of personal expression into a tribute to the people and places who give this expression real weight. So even if Barakamon spends most of its time on quaint, everyday experiences without any heightened drama, you get the sense that something significant is shifting within Seishu with every day that passes. It’s a warm, beautiful anime about some of the biggest existential questions, delivered in a modest, good-humored way.

This spiritual sequel to director Crystal Moselle’s Skate Kitchen gives that movie’s characters a fresh slate but retains all of its gentle empathy and dreamy vibes. Revolving around a diverse group of girl skaters in NYC — the real streets of which the show is shot on — Betty sensitively explores the usual facets of teen dramas (love, drugs, identity, friendship) without ever breaking into the melodrama that often colors the genre. Amidst all of the freewheeling skate montages and killer tunes, there are (unfortunately) relatable issues like sexual assault and emotional manipulation getting thoughtful — and, crucially — empowering treatment from the young cast. In the show’s lighter moments, the girls’ authentic chemistry shines through in the frequently improvised dialogue, which gives the show both a warm, inviting feel and a number of standout comedy moments (often courtesy of Nina Moran’s stoner girl Kirt). With six half-hour episodes per season (of which there are a much-too-short two), Betty covers admirably diverse ground while retaining a gorgeous hang-out vibe that makes it an addictive — even healing — watch.

Vibrant and quirky in a way that always rings true for its plucky protagonists, this abruptly cancelled children’s series embodies the optimism and empathetic spirit that we should all hope to gain from the younger generations. By starting their own neighborhood business, the core characters of The Baby-Sitters Club (played with undeniable star power and chemistry by its young ensemble) learn how to bring joy and healing to others while facing everything from discrimination and generational trauma to their own imperfect family lives. Behind the club’s humorous, sugarcoated antics is a real sense of helplessness that each character struggles with—forging ahead and doing whatever they can to fix things that they’ve been told are out of their control. It’s an unexpectedly touching gem of a show that proves kids’ entertainment can be truly beautiful.

The scene: 1717, the Golden Age of Piracy; the people: brute criminals living on nothing but loot. Seems typical enough for a pirate story, but more than just an action-packed swashbuckling treat, Our Flag Means Death is also a raging ensemble comedy that is both modern and subversive as it dares to recast masculinity in a whole new light. 

The show follows Stede Bonnet (Rhys Darby), a flamboyant aristocrat who leaves his pampered life and turns to the sea in search of deeper meaning and purpose. Specifically, he’s out to figure out, once and for all, what it means to be a man. Does it entail remorseless murder and a stoic acceptance of one’s responsibility, as he’s been taught and taunted to do for so long, or is there more to it than that? The wannabe pirate gets closer to answering these questions when he meets and eventually falls for the legendary Blackbeard, played warmly and hilariously by Taika Waititi.

Trying is a realistic but charming take on couples venturing to build a life and stable future for themselves. Heavy themes are tackled here, like infertility, infidelity, and parenthood, but the immensely likable couple that is Nikki and Jase guide us through the murky ups and downs of them all. Their heart and humor aren’t just comforting to watch, they’re also inspiring in a TV age obsessed with heavy dramatics. Like Ted Lasso, Abbott Elementary, and other well-meaning shows like it, Trying is a bit of lighthearted fare that we’d do well to indulge in every now and then.

If you mention “coming-of-age show” and “Judd Apatow” in one breath, chances are people will think you’re talking about Freaks and Geeks, the highly revered series about a group of friends trying and failing to fit into high school. Despite being a commercial bust, it cemented Apatow as a tragicomic giant and launched the careers of Seth Rogen and James Franco (among many others) as the figures to watch out for a slapstick good time. But there is another series that falls into this category: the little-known but brilliant Undeclared, which also follows a group of young people (Rogen included!) trying their best to figure things out. 

Undeclared is set in college, however, and its main protagonist is Steven Karp (Jay Baruchel), a freshman who has a year to decide what he’s majoring in; until then, his status is undeclared. He’s joined by his roommates and the girls next door, and together they experiment—with class, ideologies, fraternities, and each other. The sky’s the limit for these newly independent adults, and as such, Apatow doesn’t hold back in his humor and subject matter. Undeclared captures that weird mix of apathy and ambition and awkwardness that college makes you feel, making it perfectly relatable for many of us. 

It’s also worth mentioning that a great deal of comedians, both established and up-and-coming at the time, make cameos here, including Will Ferrell, Adam Sandler, and pre-dental-surgery Amy Poehler.

Sometimes, nothing beats the easygoing entertainment of watching two attractive characters flirt and fall in love on screen, or seeing a group of ride-or-die friends get into trouble together. HBO’s Insecure, which ran for five successful seasons, knows that it doesn’t need to exaggerate or put a subversive twist on the romantic comedy to find relatable and affecting storylines. The series stays mostly locked in to South Los Angeles, California as it follows Issa (Issa Rae) navigate the modern dating scene, try to settle on a career path, and manage her friendships as an ambitious and somewhat awkward thirtysomething Black woman.

Even if you don’t have much in common with Issa, Insecure is a massively comforting watch. Rae and co-creator Larry Wilmore have an impeccable eye for the messy, unspoken rules of social and romantic interaction that other shows might write off as too trivial. But this show lives and breathes in the ordinary, realistic problems—while still indulging in the warm and fuzzy feelings brought about by meeting someone new or seeing yourself grow up just a little more.

Based on Epic magazine’s column of the same name, Little America is an anthology series based on real-life immigrant stories. The episodes vary in plot, topic, and even era—they’re as diverse as the characters themselves—but they are all connected by one thing: the hope of achieving the American Dream. In one episode, an Iranian father sets out to build his family’s dream home in a bid to prevent his son from moving out. In another, a second-generation Korean-American struggles to find his calling, much to the dismay of his war-survivor parents (“What do you know about suffering?” the mother, played by Parasite’s Lee Jung-eun asks when her son complains about med school).

Co-created by Lee Eisenberg, Kumail Nanjiani, and Emily Gordon (The Big Sick) and directed by Sian Heder (CODA), Little America is a heartwarming collection of stories, as moving as it is urgent. It’s easy to miss this over splashier shows on TV, but trust that this one’s worth tuning into.