While I remain an eternal optimist—deeply attuned to the abundance of good in the world—it’s hard not to notice that civil society sometimes feels a little less civil these days. Our news feeds overflow with dramatic headlines, yet our everyday lives are woven from countless small, quiet moments: a held door, a shared smile, a patient pause in a conversation. These ordinary interactions are where civility truly lives—and where we can nurture it further with just a few subtle shifts in how we speak and act.
Consider this: instead of asking, *“Do you need help with that?”* try, *“May I help you with that?”* The difference may seem slight, but it’s profound. The first question puts the other person on the spot—they must admit a need, which can feel uncomfortable, especially across differences in age, gender, or status. The second frames your offer as a gesture of respect, not rescue. You’re not highlighting their vulnerability; you’re inviting them to let you be of service.
Imagine an older man boarding a plane, struggling slightly with a heavy bag. He’s spent a lifetime helping others—lifting suitcases, offering his seat—and isn’t eager to acknowledge his own limitations. If you say, *“May I help you?”* you’re not pointing out his struggle; you’re giving him the dignity of choice. You’re asking for the privilege of assisting, not diagnosing a deficit.
This same principle applies powerfully in professional settings. Recently, I had to step away from work unexpectedly due to a family emergency. My colleagues didn’t say, *“Let me know if you need anything.”* Instead, they offered specific, actionable support: *“I have bandwidth this week—would it help if I took over the client deck?”* or *“I can cover the team sync on Thursday.”* They removed the burden of asking. They acknowledged reality—deadlines don’t pause for personal crises—and made it easy, even graceful, for me to accept help. That’s civility in action: practical, precise, and profoundly considerate.
True support doesn’t take control—it empowers. Think about physically assisting someone across the street. Grasping their arm and steering them puts you in charge of their pace and pressure. But if you simply offer your elbow and let them hold on, they decide how tightly to grip, how quickly to walk, and when they need steadying. You’re present, ready, and respectful of their autonomy.
Transfer that to the workplace: when a colleague shares an idea in a meeting that could use clarification, avoid rephrasing it for them (*“I think what Jay means is…”*), which can unintentionally sound patronizing. Instead, say, *“Jay, I really like where you’re going with that. To make sure I’m following—do you mean X or Y?”* Now Jay stays in the driver’s seat, clarifying their own thinking while feeling supported, not corrected.
At the heart of all this is a simple but powerful discipline: minimize assumptions. Stick to what you actually know, not what you imagine it implies.
I’ve seen this play out on airplanes more than once. Someone glances at their boarding pass, sees a seated passenger, and snaps, *“You’re in my seat!”*—instantly creating tension. In one case, the accuser had misread their own ticket; in another, the seated passenger had. Either way, the confrontation was unnecessary. A neutral statement like, *“My ticket says 14C—could we double-check?”* paired with a warm smile, would have turned a moment of friction into a shared problem-solving exchange. Mistakes happen; how we handle them defines the tone.
At work, this happens constantly. We see a metric dip and declare, *“The Alpha team missed their target,”* putting Nancy on the defensive. But what if we said instead, *“Nancy, I noticed X—what factors were at play?”* and followed up with, *“How did those affect the outcome?”*
I call this the **“Two-Question Rule.”** Before jumping to conclusions about any data point, I try—emphasis on *try*, because I’m as prone to snap judgments as anyone—to ask two open, curious questions. Not to interrogate, but to understand context and consequence. More importantly, those questions create a pause—a breath of humility—between observation and reaction.
Yes, these gestures involve nuance. They might even seem unnecessary to some. But that’s precisely the point. Kindness doesn’t have to be essential to be valuable. Small acts of grace—choosing words that honor autonomy, offering help without presumption, questioning before concluding—accumulate. They soften our days, deepen our connections, and remind us that civility isn’t about grand declarations. It’s about the quiet, consistent choice to treat others with dignity, one interaction at a time.And in doing so, we don’t just witness the good in the world—we help create it.
While I remain an eternal optimist—deeply attuned to the abundance of good in the world—it’s hard not to notice that civil society sometimes feels a little less civil these days. Our news feeds overflow with dramatic headlines, yet our everyday lives are woven from countless small, quiet moments: a held door, a shared smile, a patient pause in a conversation. These ordinary interactions are where civility truly lives—and where we can nurture it further with just a few subtle shifts in how we speak and act.
Consider this: instead of asking, *“Do you need help with that?”* try, *“May I help you with that?”* The difference may seem slight, but it’s profound. The first question puts the other person on the spot—they must admit a need, which can feel uncomfortable, especially across differences in age, gender, or status. The second frames your offer as a gesture of respect, not rescue. You’re not highlighting their vulnerability; you’re inviting them to let you be of service.
Imagine an older man boarding a plane, struggling slightly with a heavy bag. He’s spent a lifetime helping others—lifting suitcases, offering his seat—and isn’t eager to acknowledge his own limitations. If you say, *“May I help you?”* you’re not pointing out his struggle; you’re giving him the dignity of choice. You’re asking for the privilege of assisting, not diagnosing a deficit.
This same principle applies powerfully in professional settings. Recently, I had to step away from work unexpectedly due to a family emergency. My colleagues didn’t say, *“Let me know if you need anything.”* Instead, they offered specific, actionable support: *“I have bandwidth this week—would it help if I took over the client deck?”* or *“I can cover the team sync on Thursday.”* They removed the burden of asking. They acknowledged reality—deadlines don’t pause for personal crises—and made it easy, even graceful, for me to accept help. That’s civility in action: practical, precise, and profoundly considerate.
True support doesn’t take control—it empowers. Think about physically assisting someone across the street. Grasping their arm and steering them puts you in charge of their pace and pressure. But if you simply offer your elbow and let them hold on, they decide how tightly to grip, how quickly to walk, and when they need steadying. You’re present, ready, and respectful of their autonomy.
Transfer that to the workplace: when a colleague shares an idea in a meeting that could use clarification, avoid rephrasing it for them (*“I think what Jay means is…”*), which can unintentionally sound patronizing. Instead, say, *“Jay, I really like where you’re going with that. To make sure I’m following—do you mean X or Y?”* Now Jay stays in the driver’s seat, clarifying their own thinking while feeling supported, not corrected.
At the heart of all this is a simple but powerful discipline: minimize assumptions. Stick to what you actually know, not what you imagine it implies.
I’ve seen this play out on airplanes more than once. Someone glances at their boarding pass, sees a seated passenger, and snaps, *“You’re in my seat!”*—instantly creating tension. In one case, the accuser had misread their own ticket; in another, the seated passenger had. Either way, the confrontation was unnecessary. A neutral statement like, *“My ticket says 14C—could we double-check?”* paired with a warm smile, would have turned a moment of friction into a shared problem-solving exchange. Mistakes happen; how we handle them defines the tone.
At work, this happens constantly. We see a metric dip and declare, *“The Alpha team missed their target,”* putting Nancy on the defensive. But what if we said instead, *“Nancy, I noticed X—what factors were at play?”* and followed up with, *“How did those affect the outcome?”*
I call this the **“Two-Question Rule.”** Before jumping to conclusions about any data point, I try—emphasis on *try*, because I’m as prone to snap judgments as anyone—to ask two open, curious questions. Not to interrogate, but to understand context and consequence. More importantly, those questions create a pause—a breath of humility—between observation and reaction.
Yes, these gestures involve nuance. They might even seem unnecessary to some. But that’s precisely the point. Kindness doesn’t have to be essential to be valuable. Small acts of grace—choosing words that honor autonomy, offering help without presumption, questioning before concluding—accumulate. They soften our days, deepen our connections, and remind us that civility isn’t about grand declarations. It’s about the quiet, consistent choice to treat others with dignity, one interaction at a time.
And in doing so, we don’t just witness the good in the world—we help create it.