Lighting the Path Ahead
What a decades-old phone call and a 93-year-old veteran taught me about the lasting power of simply showing up for someone
Dear Readers,
As 2025 draws to a close, I’ve been reflecting on the power of small things and, specifically, how simple and sincere responses—often given without fanfare or expectation—can quietly alter the course of someone’s life or even their future.
I was reminded of this insight quite accidentally, in the ordinary way that many revelations emerge. Not long ago, I checked an old email account I rarely use and was surprised to find a message that moved me deeply. The subject line read “A Random Act of Kindness.” It was from a woman I’ll call Amy, recounting a brief phone call we had about a dozen years ago.
Amy had been having neuropsychological problems after a life-threatening illness, and someone had suggested she call me, knowing of my work with brain-injured ICU survivors. I was in my office that day and took her call. Our interaction wasn’t anything profound—I listened to her story, affirmed her in her difficulties, and offered supportive guidance. I don’t really recall the details - not at all - but I apparently reiterated that her cognitive struggles might be persistent and that, even if they were, she could still have a rich life. I told her she had to develop strategies for working around her cognitive weaknesses, ask for help, and prioritize her efforts. The one piece of advice that had the greatest impact, she wrote, was this: “You must now work twice as hard for half as much, but you can do hard things and still find happiness.” She noted that this advice was the toughest but kindest guidance she had “ever received” and highlighted that it continued to “inform” her “daily existence.”
While I’m sure I related to Amy with sincerity, I didn’t imagine that my comments or our brief interaction would be particularly impactful. She moved on, I moved on, and I didn’t hear from her again—nor did I need to.
In her email, she went on to recount both her challenges and, importantly, her triumphs in the years and decade that followed. Her story was one of eventually overcoming neuropsychological difficulties, finding a way to accept them and work around them, and crafting a lovely and rich life. She ended her beautifully poignant email by saying: “I am looking forward to the future, and that is because you took the time to guide a random lady on the phone.”
Amy’s courage in reaching out matters enormously to me. But what humbles and surprises me most is the quiet power of a response—answering the phone on an ordinary day, listening without hurry, validating her reality, and offering honest, hopeful words. A fifteen-minute conversation I’d completely forgotten helped sustain her for a decade. This same power shows up in another story that has stayed with me for years.
At 93, my patient—let’s call him Willie—carried the weight of World War II for almost a lifetime. Like 15,000 other young soldiers, he built the Ledo Road (a vital Allied supply route in Northeast India) where he battled malaria, and endured snakes and scorching heat in a grueling fight for survival. Yet, it wasn’t until his ninth decade that he sought treatment for PTSD, finally confronting scars from a war fought over 70 years ago.
His silence reflected the stoic culture of his generation, where strength meant burying trauma deep. Veterans like him were expected to “move on,” to suppress pain in service of duty or pride. For decades, he carried his memories—jungle ambushes, lost comrades, relentless fear—without a word.
When Willie finally asked for help, the response he received at an overwhelmed and perpetually undermanned government clinic —space to speak, validation without judgment—opened a path to healing he hadn’t thought possible at his age.
In both cases, someone took the vulnerable step of reaching out after carrying a burden far too long . . . I’m so glad they did.
We often celebrate the bravery of asking for help—and rightly so. Yet the other side is just as vital: how we answer when someone does. A kind reply, a listening moment, a few truthful words—they can ripple farther than we ever know.
We all have these moments—chances to offer the kind of presence that might matter more than we realize.
As we step into a New Year, my invitation is simple. Put aside the urge to make scores of sweeping changes - a well-intentioned impulse that often stands in the way of genuine transformation - and make only one instead.
Commit to being attentive to the “calls” that come your way—a patient’s question, a friend’s text, a neighbor’s tears, a stranger’s reach.
Lean in. Listen. Respond with care.
You may forget the moment entirely. But for someone else, it could light the path ahead.
The only way around is through—and our responses help make the journey possible for one another.
With gratitude and hope for 2026,
Jim