What if You Are the Shift?

"Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom." - Viktor Frankl

Recently, I was standing in line at a Peet’s café in Berkeley, California, when an older woman in front of me fumbled with her app, holding up the line. The individual behind me let out an impatient sigh. I felt it, too — that small, irritated urge to hurry things along. But then I saw the woman’s hands tremble. And I wondered, was she not feeling well? Nervous? Or?

It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.

That moment still sits with me — not because I did something grand but because it reminded me how often I move through life forgetting that every person I encounter is carrying something unseen.

How many times have I been in her position, struggling with something others couldn’t see?How many times have you found yourself in similar shoes?

What if we remembered?
What if we chose softening over impatience?
What if we didn’t assume we had the full story?

What if we stayed curious?
I’m reminded of a Zen parable.

A learned scholar once visited a Zen master, eager to discuss philosophy and understanding. As they sat down for tea, the Zen master quietly poured tea into the scholar’s cup.

He kept pouring. And pouring.

The tea overflowed, spilling onto the table and the floor.

The scholar finally blurted, “Stop! The cup is full. No more will go in!”

The Zen master smiled. “Like this cup, you are full of your own ideas and assumptions. How can I show you anything new unless you first empty your cup?”

How often do we assume we already know the full story? And how often do we miss what’s really going on, just because we didn’t approach the moment with a little less certainty and a little more curiosity?

What if we acknowledged our shared humanity?
I’ve been wondering about these small moments of recognition. A neighbor. The school crossing guard. The dental receptionist. The barista. What if these tiny acknowledgments of each other’s humanness matter more than we realize? Perhaps these simple exchanges — a warm smile, a moment of eye contact, a genuine greeting — remind us that we have a role in seeing and affirming one another’s humanity, even in the briefest encounters.

What if we ask, “tell me more”?
My walking partner and I were on the waterfront path when she mentioned something had happened with her daughter. Her voice tightened. I could feel the weight behind her words. Instead of jumping in with advice or sharing my own story, I gently asked, “Do you want to tell me more?” She paused. Then slowly, the story came. I wonder how many moments of potential connection we let slip through our fingers — not because we don’t care, but because we don’t create a heartfelt space for someone to share.

What if we didn’t try to fix everything?
Not every mess needs tidying. Not every problem is ours to resolve. It’s taken me years to learn this. I used to jump in, offering solutions, trying to make things better — quicker, cleaner, easier. But life isn’t always tidy. What if, instead of resisting the chaos, we learned to witness it with open awareness? What if we remembered that all things — pain, joy, confusion — are interconnected; that they arise, exist for a time and pass on their own?

What if the most powerful shift is about becoming vulnerable?
What if our willingness to be seen — really seen — in our uncertainty, our fear, our not-knowing, is actually our greatest strength? I’m learning that vulnerability isn’t weakness. To say “I don’t know” or “I’m struggling” or “I need help” is the most genuine form of authenticity — the willingness to stand in our truth, just as we are rather than what we wished for. This isn’t easy. But maybe that’s the point. The unfiltered (imperfect) version of you is exactly where real connection lives.

What if we choose to forgive?
Forgiveness isn’t about excusing harm or pretending it didn’t matter. It’s about choosing — when and if we’re ready — to put down the burden we’ve been carrying. Sometimes, it’s our ego that clings to the hurt — wanting to protect, to be right, to feel safe, to stay in control or to hold onto a sense of identity shaped by the wound. But when we release the weight of resentment, we free not just the other person, but ourselves.

That choice is rarely easy and not always possible. Some wounds take time, tenderness or may never fully heal. But when forgiveness does become possible, it can be a courageous act of compassion — for ourselves and maybe even for the other person.

What if everything we’re looking for begins with a single choice?
Just like Viktor Frankl said, “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.” Like the butterfly resting momentarily on a flower, there’s beauty in that pause — the brief stillness between movements. I think of it as the sacred pause — that infinitesimal moment between stimulus and response where our power lives. Where transformation is born. Where we become the shift.

Back at Peet’s, the woman finally figured out her app. As she turned to leave, she gave me a grateful smile and said, “My condition makes these touchscreens impossible some days. Thank you for not making me feel worse about it.” I nodded, realizing again how little we truly see of others’ lives.

What if we remembered? What if that choice changed everything?

What if the world responds in kind?
This is my most hopeful reason for reflecting on our intentions: because I believe our everyday choices shape more than just our own lives — they quietly shape the kind of world we’re all living in. Every small interaction — every choice to listen, to soften, to stay open — sends something out. A ripple. A signal. An invitation. Every small interaction — every choice to listen, to soften, to stay open — sends something out.

What if, through these countless moments, we could create communities where empathy is the norm rather than the exception? What if our individual choices ripple outward — until our shared spaces reflect the very connection we all long for? Where being seen, heard, treated with kindness and knowing we matter becomes not the exception, but the collective experience?

What if we all carried this awareness with us?

What if this awareness became our practice?

The shift begins with a question, not an answer.

What will yours be?