The Treatment of Others
We all want to matter. Not in a loud or world-changing way, but in the quiet, consistent circles of our daily lives. To our friends. Our siblings. The ones we laugh with in the breakroom or nod to across a classroom. We hope, in some part of ourselves, to be seen—not as just another person in the crowd, but as someone whose presence tugs slightly at the center of someone else's gravity.
And maybe we’ve done kind things for them—lent a hand, made space, remembered something small and meaningful. In doing so, we often form an unspoken exchange in our minds: I noticed you, so maybe you’ll notice me too.
But then a moment comes—a forgotten message, an overlooked invitation, a seat at the wrong table—and something tightens inside. It’s not always a deep pain, but a quiet ache: the feeling that we are not as important to them as they are to us. That, somehow, we misjudged our place.
And so we ask, maybe bitterly, maybe inwardly: Don’t I deserve better?
But here’s the difficult truth—deserving is a dangerous word. It's a currency that doesn't spend well in human hearts. What we think we’ve earned—recognition, respect, reciprocation—might exist only in the accounting ledgers of our own minds. Other people are not bound to those invisible agreements. And when we start to believe we are owed something simply because of who we are or what we’ve done, the roots of pride quietly begin to take hold.
Deserved respect, earned affection—these are not badges we pin on our own chest. They are gifts, not guarantees. The moment we begin to expect them, we turn them into entitlement. And entitlement clouds the simple joy of giving for its own sake.
It is far better to be respectful than to demand respect. To admire someone’s sacrifice without imagining our own deserves applause. Humility begins when we stop keeping score and start simply showing up—for others, not for reward, but because it’s right.
And still—we are human. It hurts to be passed over, to feel like the friend who’s chosen last, or not at all. But the lives around us are in constant motion, swayed by stress and circumstance, mood and chemistry. No one can make all the right choices all the time. And we—soft, longing creatures—are not always at the top of the list.
But maybe that’s okay.
Maybe there is something noble, even gentle, in allowing ourselves to sit at the edge instead of the center. To let someone else have the seat we wish we’d been given. A humble person does not hunger for the spotlight, not because they are weak, but because they understand its warmth is meant to be shared.
Of course, our friends may hold us close nine times out of ten. But on that tenth time—when the phone doesn't ring, when we feel like an afterthought—it can feel like the world goes gray for a moment. Our vision narrows. The heart stings.
Still—does it need to ruin us?
Kindness, true kindness, is unglamorous. It lives in the small things: a door held open, a genuine smile, a name remembered. A humble life is not a life of invisibility, but of steady, graceful presence. To be a quiet force of good, even if no one notices. Especially if no one notices.
Let pride pass like a wave. Do not build a throne for it in your mind. Because once it settles in, it grows. And it will whisper to you that your worth is measured by how others treat you. But it isn’t.
Your worth is not up for auction.
You are not defined by who chooses you first, or who forgets you once. What is within your control is the posture of your own heart. You get to decide how you walk through this life—whether your hands are clenched or open.
If you want peace, choose gentleness. If you want connection, choose consideration. If you want a life that matters, choose humility—and offer it freely, to everyone you meet.
That is the recipe. That is the light.
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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