Random acts of niceness
~ quiet moments crack something open
The invisible power of casual conversations …
Almost nobody, almost always.
A five-minute wait at a crosswalk.
A conversation in a checkout line.
A seatmate on a plane or a bench.
We don’t know their name. They won’t remember ours.
But for a few odd minutes, we talk.
Sometimes lightly, sometimes meaningfully.
Often about nothing—but sometimes, it hits something.
Why do those small moments linger?
We don’t follow up.
No next time.
No contact info.
No second chapter.
Still, something shifts.
Something lands.
Not life-changing, but life-noticing.
And maybe that’s enough.
We live in a world rich in noise but poor in connection. So when someone talks to us for no reason at all, when there's no agenda, no pitch, no transaction, it jolts something back to life.
We’ve all heard or told stories like this, like when a woman in line behind me started talking about rain. Then politics. Then something about her neighbour’s dog. I didn’t say much, but I listened. And something softened. Not in her. In me. [This didn’t happen - I made it up to illustrate my point]
When we have these moments, we sometimes remark that it makes us wonder how many of these “small” conversations we dismiss. How often we label these moments as random, pointless, and disposable.
They’re not.
These encounters are friction. The good kind. They rub away at our assumptions, poke little holes in our well-armoured routines. Most of all, they remind us that every human walking past us carries a galaxy of worries, opinions, losses, and joys.
Now and then, for reasons we never quite understand, they crack open and share one odd, intimate slice of it with us.
It’s not always welcome. It’s not always profound. But it’s real. And it matters.
Not because it changes the course of our day, but because it changes the temperature of it. Just a bit.
And it might change someone else’s day … without realizing it, it changes us.
There are no do-overs in our days - they are our days.
We can go through a whole life simply enjoying our days and our encounters - there is no rule against them and no policy or law that favours them.
There are days when someone, often people we don’t expect and sometimes we’ll only encounter once in life, might change us completely.
We live in a world rich in noise, poor in connection.
So when someone talks to us for no reason—no agenda, no pitch, no transaction—it jolts something back to life.
We’ve all had those moments.
Someone behind you in line starts talking about rain.
Then politics.
Then their neighbour’s dog.
You don’t say much.
But you listen.
And something softens; not in them, in you.
Moments like that make us wonder how many “small” conversations we’ve dismissed. How often we label them as random, pointless, and disposable.
They’re not.
These encounters are friction, the good kind.
They rub away at our assumptions, poke holes in our well-armoured routines.
They remind us that every stranger carries a galaxy of worries, joys, fears, and thoughts.
And sometimes, for reasons we can’t explain, they crack open just enough to share one strange, intimate slice of it with us.
It’s not always welcome.
It’s not always profound.
But it’s real.
And it matters.
Not because it changes the course of our day,
but because it changes the temperature of it.
Just a bit.
And sometimes, it changes someone else’s.
And without even realizing it, it changes us.
There are no do-overs.
Our days are our days.
We don’t need a reason to enjoy them or the people who bump into them.
Some days, it’s the people we least expect, and might only meet once, who change us most.
We chase meaning in the familiar: friends, colleagues, inner circles.
But meaning doesn’t wear a name tag.
Sometimes it arrives in the form of a stranger, someone who says something true, raw, or unexpectedly funny before walking away forever.
Those little collisions aren’t background noise.
They’re proof we’re not walled off.
That we’re still porous.
Still paying attention.
Still capable of being moved, for no reason at all.
That’s the quiet magic of it:
Strangers, reminding us what being human feels like, without ever meaning to.
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