“We are not rich by what we own, but by what we can appreciate.” Immanuel Kant
The Wait That Changed the Way I See the World
Have you ever been so tired that your soul feels heavy?
That was me last week. I had just flown in for a conference. After two delayed flights, a missed connection, and a three-hour layover that felt like ten, I was finally at my hotel. I had imagined this moment for hours: dropping my suitcase, removing my shoes, breathing out deeply as I fell into a clean bed. But instead of that long-awaited relief, I was greeted with something else.
“Your room isn’t ready yet,” the front desk attendant said with a kind smile. “Our janitor is still finishing up.”
I smiled politely and nodded, but inside, I was tired, cranky, and barely holding it together. I walked over to the nearest chair in the lobby and sat down with a thud. My neck ached. My mind was spinning. And now, on top of everything, I had to wait for a janitor?
But something made me look up. And that’s when I saw her.
She wore a simple uniform, gloves on, hair pulled back, no name tag, and no attention drawn to her. She was walking past the hallway with a cleaning cart, neatly organized, everything in its place. She moved quickly but carefully. Spray bottle in one hand, clean towels in the other. I watched her wipe door handles twice. She stepped back from each room she cleaned, looked over the space, adjusted something small, and moved on.
In that moment, something inside me paused. I realized this woman was doing more than cleaning a room. She was preparing a space, not just for a stranger, but for me. I hadn’t thought about it like that before.
She didn’t know my name. She didn’t know I was tired or overwhelmed or frustrated. And yet she was making sure my room was clean, safe, and ready. Not because she had to impress anyone, but because that was her job, and she was doing it with care, even though no one was watching.
The Invisible Labor That Holds the Visible World
There are people all around us who make our lives better, cleaner, safer, more comfortable, and we barely notice. We pass them in hallways, sit next to them on buses, see them sweeping floors, delivering food, replacing light bulbs, fixing toilets, restocking soap in public restrooms. They are janitors, maintenance workers, housekeepers, street cleaners, farmers, bus drivers, kitchen staff, people whose names we rarely know, but whose work supports our lives in quiet, constant ways.
“Work is love made visible.” Kahlil Gibran
And those who clean our rooms, mop our hospital floors, and sanitize our world, they do so with a kind of unspoken love, for strangers, for humanity, for us.
They are not doing it for recognition. Most of the time, no one claps or compliments them. But they show up, every day, to do the work many of us would never volunteer for, the cleaning, the lifting, the serving, the repairing. Their work is not glamorous, but it is essential. Without them, life as we know it would fall apart.
At some point, we were taught that the more visible or prestigious a job is, the more valuable it is. But think about it, when the toilet is broken in a busy office, who do we call first? When the hospital room isn’t clean, who gets paged immediately? When the cafeteria doesn’t get cleaned, who gets blamed? It’s not the CEO who fixes these things. It’s the janitor.
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We Can’t Eat Degrees or Sleep on Status
We are often conditioned to admire the visible: the ones with awards, credentials, the corner office. But in reality, you don’t eat a degree. You eat what a farmer grows. You don’t sleep on your résumé. You sleep in a bed made by someone whose job is to make sure your room is clean. You don’t walk on ambition. You walk on floors someone else mopped. You don’t rest on fame or influence. You rest on the quiet work of people you don’t even see.
The farmer, the cleaner, the mechanic, the cook, their work is foundational. It is quiet power.
“The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.” Mahatma Gandhi
That day in the hotel lobby, I waited almost 30 minutes for my room. But those 30 minutes gave me something I hadn’t expected, a deep sense of humility and gratitude. I saw that woman doing her job without fuss, without asking for attention, without any recognition. And I realized: she is the reason my room will be ready. She is the reason my day will end with comfort and peace. She changed me, without saying a word.
We often think dignity comes from status. But dignity comes from effort, from care, from being someone who shows up and gives something, even when no one says thank you.
A Small “Thank You” That Meant More Than I Knew
Later that evening, when I finally got the call that my room was ready, I didn’t rush up, I waited. When the janitor walked past me in the lobby with her cart, I stood up, smiled and said softly. “Thank you.”
She turned to me with surprise. Then she smiled, just a small, tired smile. But it felt like the kind of smile that holds back tears. The kind of smile that says: I am not used to being seen. That moment has stayed with me.
“The smallest act of kindness is worth more than the grandest intention.” Oscar Wilde
“The function of freedom is to free someone else.” Toni Morrison
And maybe dignity works the same way. Maybe the more we honor it in others, especially in those the world tends to overlook, the more we remember our own.
Since that day, I have made it a habit to greet janitors, thank cleaners, talk to drivers, nod at the busser clearing tables in restaurants. It costs nothing, but it reminds me that no one is invisible, unless we choose not to see them.
Reflection: Who has Been Making Your Life Easier Behind the Scenes?
When was the last time you truly noticed someone doing the work no one wants to do?
Who cleans your office, your school, your hotel room, and have you ever said thank you?
Do you measure a person’s value by their title, or by their contribution?
A Gentle Invitation: Before You Walk Past Again…
Let’s choose to see the people we were never taught to see. And if this story touched you, let it change something.
The next time you enter a clean room, use a public bathroom, walk a spotless hallway, or enjoy a fresh meal, take a moment. Look for the person behind that experience. Say thank you. Ask their name. Smile. Recognize their dignity.
And if this story resonated with you, share it. Tell someone. Talk about the people who do essential work quietly. And if you want more stories that open your heart, deepen your vision, and guide your growth, subscribe to Ascent to Virtue. We are all walking each other home.
