It’s the small things. I really believe that.
The other day, I was driving and reflecting—as I often do—and I noticed just how clearly our humanity (or lack thereof) shows up on the road. Traffic is one of those places where the mask slips. We’re boxed in, rushing, impatient. But then, suddenly, something beautiful: a small act. Someone lets you merge. I raised a finger—not that one—a simple thank-you. A gesture that says, “I see you.”
That’s the magic. The small things.
We often dream of changing the world in sweeping, cinematic ways. But maybe real change starts with something smaller. Like making space. Not because the other person deserves it. Not for applause. Just because you can.
I’ve been reckless behind the wheel. I’ve tried to show off, rushed to emergencies, felt the surge of adrenaline. But these days? I find peace in driving like a human. Like someone who remembers there’s another person in that other car.
In just five minutes of traffic, I saw it all: a Porsche blocking an ambulance, a truck asserting itself in a tight spot, a long line of cars refusing to zip-merge. And then there was the moment that stuck with me—a woman I let in who didn’t even nod. Not a wave, not a glance.
It stung more than I expected. I even muttered, “You’re welcome,” to myself.
That moment reminded me how starved we are—not for praise, but for recognition. Gratitude is the quiet glue that connects us. A nod from a driver. A barista’s smile. A child saying thanks after dinner. These are the social stitches that keep us woven together.
We don’t need gratitude every time, but when it comes? It uplifts. And when you give it? You pass that light forward.
I teach my daughter this. After school, I encourage her to thank her caretakers. Sometimes it comes out more like “bye,” but it matters. Just like saying good morning. Just like rinsing the coffee machine, even when it’s not your turn.
These things won’t fix the world overnight. But they shape it. They shape us. Like threads in a vast tapestry, each small gesture helps reveal the pattern. One smile. One thank-you. One hand raised in traffic. And suddenly, we’re not strangers—we’re in it together.
Small gestures mirror big moments. A principle quietly held can ripple outward.
Take Harvard. When Trump pressured universities to punish student protesters—many of them speaking out on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict—Harvard reviewed its policy and stood firm. No press conferences. No drama. Just clarity.
He threatened billions in funding. But Harvard, albeit with $50 billion in reserves, didn’t flinch.
Sometimes, standing your ground is the most powerful small act of all.
The zigzag doesn’t just happen in traffic.
It’s life’s rhythm. A subtle dance of give and take. We move forward by making space.
In politics, at work, in families—we yield. Then we go. We say thank you. Or we don’t. We stand up. Or we stay quiet.
So I’ll leave you with this:
What are your small things?
The ones you notice. The ones you offer. The ones you wish others would, too.
They may seem insignificant. But if we all did them—just a little more often—the traffic of life would flow a whole lot smoother.
What's on your mind?