Last summer, after a long, exhausting journey across the Atlantic, my California family and I finally arrived in Cambridge, England. Jetlagged and weary from 18 hours of travel, we found ourselves wandering around the historic college buildings near where we’d be staying for the month, just trying to stay awake until nightfall. It was then that I ran into an old friend, Shelley, who emerged from her apartment with a radiant smile and open arms, instantly brightening our weary spirits.
We embraced and caught up briefly. Having spent half a year in Cambridge the previous year, my family and I had grown close to Shelley, and her presence felt like a warm welcome home. Then she asked me a question that would stay with me long after that evening: “What small thing would help you right now?”
At first glance, it might seem like a simple question — but its impact was profound. It wasn’t the usual vague, well-meaning offers we often hear, like “Let me know if you need anything” (which, honestly, sounds overwhelming and unhelpful). It wasn’t the generic “How can I help?” or “Can I do something for you?” Instead, Shelley’s question was precise, actionable, and framed with kindness. It invited me to think about one specific thing, however small, that could ease my immediate needs.
After such a long trip—crammed in a crowded plane, followed by a lengthy taxi ride into the city—my daughter was begging for ice cream. Unfortunately, the nearest shop was a 20-minute walk away, something we simply couldn’t manage at that moment. So, I took a chance and asked Shelley, “Do you happen to have any ice cream in your freezer?”
Without hesitation, she went inside and returned with an ice cream sandwich. That small act of kindness — a simple frozen treat — meant the world to us. It was more than just a snack; it was a gesture that made us feel cared for and seen in a moment of exhaustion and disorientation. And I could tell it made Shelley happy to help.
This question—“What small thing would help you right now?”—has since become a guiding principle in how I try to show up for the people I care about. Often, when someone we love is facing something monumental—a painful divorce, the loss of a parent, a child struggling to find their place—it’s easy to feel helpless. We’re not therapists or miracle workers, and the weight of their struggles can intimidate us into silence or avoidance.
But what if, instead of trying to solve everything, we focus on what we can do? Sometimes, the greatest comfort comes in small, direct, and specific gestures: offering to take a walk together, dropping off a salad, picking up the kids so a friend can rest, making a phone call just to listen, delivering a favorite cookie, lending a shoulder to cry on for a little while, sending a book that might brighten their day, or sharing a quiet coffee without needing to say much.
These little actions aren’t grand fixes, but they are powerful. They say, “I see you. I’m here for you. I want to help, right now, in this moment.” They build a bridge between overwhelm and support, between loneliness and connection.
That July evening in Cambridge, Shelley didn’t know that all we would ask for was an ice cream sandwich. She didn’t need to solve our exhaustion or jetlag, but she met us where we were—tired, hungry, a little out of place—and made our arrival sweeter. We returned to our empty apartment feeling welcomed and, more importantly, seen. That feeling—of being truly seen—is one of the most precious gifts we can offer.
As I move through 2025, my hope is to embrace this approach fully: to show up for friends and family in small, specific ways that genuinely help them. Because, as I’ve learned, those small acts add up to something immense. In fact, they are everything.
In a world where suffering and stress often seem overwhelming, these eight simple words—“What small thing would help you right now?”—are a beacon. They remind us that kindness doesn’t have to be complicated or grandiose. Sometimes, it’s just about listening closely and responding with a little love, exactly where it’s needed.
And that, perhaps, is the best way we can take care of each other.
