The Monday Coffee That Changed Everything
It began with a coffee and a Post-it note. A simple gesture, almost forgettable. But when Lidia disappeared one Monday, leaving only a cryptic note on her desk, I realized how profoundly small acts can touch lives—mine, hers, and those I hadn’t yet met.
Lidia was quiet, almost invisible on most days, yet she had this Monday ritual. She’d bring two coffees into the office: one for herself, one for me. I never questioned it. I just thanked her. When I offered to return the favor, she would wave me off. “Maybe one day,” she’d say, smiling behind her glasses.
Then one Monday, she didn’t show up. Her desk was empty, neat, sterile. But a note on her monitor stopped me cold:
“Things to do: make someone happy on Monday. Make someone feel seen.”
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t preachy. It was human.
Mondays had always carried weight for me. Two years earlier, I’d lost my brother on a Monday, a grief I carried silently. Lidia had noticed anyway. Her quiet acknowledgment had reminded me that someone saw me, even on my darkest mornings.
Weeks passed, and I missed her small ritual. Then one Monday, almost instinctively, I brought two coffees: one for myself, one for the new intern, Sam. At first, he looked puzzled. But slowly, the ritual sparked conversation. He shared his struggles; I listened. No judgment, no advice, just presence.
The act spread naturally. The next week, someone left cookies on desks. A handwritten note appeared in the break room. Lidia’s quiet kindness had grown roots.
Months later, in a small bookstore, I discovered Lidia’s story. Her book, You Are Seen, documented a year of Monday kindness challenges. She had deliberately chosen me—not to fix anything, but to remind someone weighed down by life that they mattered. I bought ten copies and distributed them to everyone who had joined our Monday chain, each with a simple note: “You are seen.”
Years passed. Sam was promoted and later confided that those coffees had helped him survive a dark period after losing his father. Ana, a former intern, later told me that receiving a Monday coffee had inspired her to start a kindness ritual at her own company.
All of it began with fourteen words:
“Things to do: make someone happy on Monday. Make someone feel seen.”
Lidia left a legacy not through grand gestures or accolades, but through small, intentional acts of noticing.
✅ Conclusion
Kindness doesn’t have to be monumental to matter. A cup of coffee. A note. A smile. These small gestures ripple outward, touching lives in ways we may never see. Lidia reminded me that seeing someone—truly seeing them—can echo across years and places.
Now, every Monday, I bring two coffees: one for myself, one for someone who might need it. No expectation. No applause. Just a quiet reminder: You are seen.