My coworker Lidia brought me coffee every Monday for a month. I thought she was just kind. When she suddenly quit, I found a Post-it on her monitor: “Things to do: make someone happy on Monday. Make someone feel seen.”
I never knew she chose me because I carried quiet pain—Mondays were brutal after losing my brother years earlier. She never pried; she just showed up with coffee and a smile.
After she left, I missed it more than I expected. One Monday, I bought two coffees and left one for Sam, a shy new intern who looked lost. He was surprised, then grateful. I kept doing it. Eventually, he brought me one. “My turn,” he said.
The gesture spread. Cookies appeared. Jokes on sticky notes. A quiet Monday tradition was born.
Later, I discovered Lidia had written a book, “You Are Seen,” about her year of small Monday kindnesses. She described me anonymously: the coworker who looked like he carried something heavy. Reading it, I cried in the bookstore aisle.
I bought copies for everyone in our kindness chain, with a note: “You are seen.”
Years later, the ripple kept going. Sam survived his own grief because of those coffees. A stranger built her company around Monday kindness after an anonymous cup saved her darkest day. I spoke at her launch, sharing Lidia’s story—only to learn Sam was in the audience, now thriving.
It all began with fourteen words and a cup of coffee.
You don’t have to save someones life. Just remind them they have one.
So every Monday, I still bring two coffees. One for me. One for someone who might need to feel seen.
Pass it on. You never know whose storm you’ll quiet with one small gesture.
