Standing Out by Not Standing Out

There’s a verse in the Bible about becoming nothing. Actually, there are several. The first will be last. Humble yourself. The Son of Man made Himself nothing.

Last week, one of them took on new meaning at work.

I was late on an expense report. Not intentionally; I just didn’t know how to do it, and instead of asking, I quietly hoped it would… solve itself. Magical thinking at its finest.

But someone else had to handle it. Someone with the administrative skills I don’t have; the kind of person whose invisible work keeps the rest of us moving. And there I was, adding stress to her day because I didn’t take ten seconds to ask a question.

When I finally submitted it, I apologized. She said the familiar line:

“It happens all the time.”

That phrase used to be my reminder to be kinder. Kinder to the people whose names we only know when something goes wrong. Kinder to the ones who fix what we break, smooth what we wrinkle, and catch what we drop. Yet here I was; becoming one of the reasons she has to say that sentence at all.

And then I did it again. A disputed charge, another misunderstanding, and now two people were dealing with it. Two people pulled off their tasks because I assumed instead of asking. When I apologized (again), one of them smiled and said,

“Oh Honey, you’re not a problem child.”

I believed her. But I didn’t want to be anywhere near the category she was reassuring me about.

I don’t want to be the person whose name floats around the office right before a sigh.
I don’t want anyone cheering because I managed to turn in a report only two weeks late.

I want to be invisible to the people who are usually invisible to the rest of us.

I want to be invisible in the best way; the kind of quiet, steady presence the admin team doesn’t have to think about twice.

Not because I crave approval, but because I know what it’s like to be on the other end.

For twelve years I built electrical control panels. I know what it feels like to wrestle with a design that should have been easy but wasn’t. I’ve scraped my knuckles trying to reach components that didn’t fit. I’ve begged physics to bend. I’ve MacGyvered more than a few things because “it looked good on paper.”

So now, when I design, I think about the builder first. I think about the next person in line. I think about the quiet, unseen labor that keeps everything functioning.

Maybe that’s what I’m chasing; a kindness footprint.
Not a carbon footprint, not legacy, not recognition.
Just the discipline of leaving less mess behind me.

I don’t want to be the exception to the rules. I don’t want to be the hiccup in someone’s day. I want to work in a way that lightens someone else’s load rather than adding to it.

So the next time someone says, “It happens all the time,” I want it to be because kindness is what keeps happening; not carelessness.

The Continuum of Kindness



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