#180 Doing It Like It Matters

Every morning at 7:20 AM, I wait at the intersection of Irvine Blvd and Jeffrey Road for bus number 167. It’s not the most poetic place in the world but just a regular bus stop, a traffic signal, some sleepy commuters, and me trying not to spill my coffee while pretending I’m fully awake.

But something oddly beautiful happens every morning when the bus pulls up.

The driver stops. He opens the door. People climb in, some slower than others, juggling bags, adjusting their jackets, fumbling for their passes. And then… nothing. He just waits.

He doesn’t slam the door and take off the second the last person’s foot hits the floor. He waits for everyone to sit down. Like actually sit. Every single day.

And I don’t know why, but that small act just hits different. You know what I mean?

We all studied Newton’s First Law of motion in school—“an object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by an external force.” Well, this guy is the external force that keeps us from flying down the aisle. He gets it. He doesn’t want someone to fall, spill their coffee, or start their morning with a bruised ego and a bruised knee. And honestly, he doesn’t have to care. There’s no medal, no applause, no end-of-year certificate that says “Best Application of Physics in Public Transport”. But he still does it. Every single morning.

And that’s when I started thinking—how are some people this committed to what they do?

It’s the same bus, same route, same pay. But the way he does it feels… different. Thoughtful. And honestly, that’s the bar.

It’s about doing your job with intention. With awareness. With the kind of care that says, “this matters, even if it’s small.”

Most of the world is busy chasing “big impact” moments. Promotions, fame, applause-worthy achievements. But the truth is, the world actually runs on small, quiet acts of responsibility. That bus driver might never go viral, but he’s someone’s reason for not falling flat on their face at 7:30 in the morning. That matters.

It’s the waiter who brings an extra napkin before you even ask. The engineer who adds that extra validation check so no one sees a confusing error. The teacher who stays an extra five minutes after class because a student looked unsure. The doctor who goes the extra mile to comfort a patient and not just prescribing medicines.

These aren’t headline moments. No one’s giving standing ovations. But this is the stuff that makes people feel seen. Safe. Considered. Doing your job with intention means showing up like it’s not “just a job.” It means noticing what others might miss. Fixing what others might ignore. It’s not about overworking or doing more - it’s about doing things right. Even when nobody’s watching. And I think we’ve all been on the receiving end of that kind of care.

Like when someone at work sends you a reminder with the Zoom link, not just “pls join.” Or when the dry cleaner folds your clothes just a little neater than expected. When your friend rewinds the youtube video exactly by 2 seconds because they want you to catch the joke. Or when a teammate covers for you without making a fuss, just because you looked a bit tired that day.

You don’t always remember the big deliverables. But you remember those people. That’s the bar. Showing up with the mindset that if you’re going to do something, anything, you might as well do it like it matters. Because it does.

And here’s the funny thing—when you do your work with that kind of care, when you move through the world with that kind of presence, other things often follow. Respect. Trust. Sometimes even recognition, or what we call “fame” in today’s social media dictionary. But I think that shouldn’t be the goal. The goal should be to take people along with you. To make the ride smoother for everyone. To leave things just a bit better than you found them—whether it’s a codebase or the back row of bus 167. That’s the real flex: empathy. I once wrote about what it means to be an Avatar—not in the blue CGI sense, but in the ancient, spiritual one. Someone who walks ahead but brings everyone along. Someone who leads without leaving others behind.

And maybe that’s what we all should aim for? Not just to move forward fast, but to move forward with intention, with empathy, and with a little consideration for the person still finding their seat. Because what’s the point of racing ahead if you’re the only one who makes it to the destination, and everyone else is still on the floor, clutching their coffee and rethinking their life choices?

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