Don’t Be Someone’s Story

Don’t Be Someone’s Story

I just got back from a very special trip to New York City. It was full of adventure! Learning to navigate the city and using the subway! Or is it metro? Or train?  Honestly, I’m not sure what New Yorkers call it. I’m not sure I heard anyone say it.

This blog post is inspired by the mad dash to catch our train.

Apparently, on Saturdays sometimes the train stops in the middle of the platform. We were standing at the end of the platform. (Of course, right?) It was a mad dash to get to the middle of the platform. We tumbled onto the train, with all the other people who didn’t know or remember this. (It wasn’t just a me thing. Good to know.)

We were packed into the train, hanging on tight as it banged around the rails. As I hung on for life, I noticed a sign above a passenger’s head. (Aren’t the signs on the metro the greatest education?)

It said,
“Manners matter. Don’t be someone’s subway story.”

(Disclaimer. It could have said metro. I tried to commit it to memory, but I'm not sure I did.  I thought about taking a picture, but couldn’t figure out how to  without weirding out the man sitting under the sign. Also,  letting go of the pole to get my phone from my purse meant landing in someone's lap.)

The message stuck, even if I may have butchered it a bit.

I kept thinking about all the stories we have. Those tales we tell our friends later with all the drama we can muster about the person who rolled their eyes at us, the driver who cut in front of us. The barista who barked at a customer. An impatient phone call. A terse remark.

It’s the kind of interaction that leaves a mark, and not in a good way.
The story often begins,
“You will not believe what just happened.”

That sign got me thinking:

What would happen if we just… didn’t become someone’s story?

If we were the one who kept our cool.
The one who offered a smile.
The one who let it go.

Wouldn’t that feel better?

Here’s the hard part, as I thought about it:

I’m pretty sure I have been someone’s story before.
I snapped when I didn’t mean to.
I was distracted and didn’t notice someone who needed help.
I blocked someone in.

It’s humbling to admit that.

It’s more humbling to realize we may never know who tells a story about us, or what kind it is. And most of these stories don’t feel like things we can fix. Maybe we will never see that person again.

This is the kind of awareness that I am trying to learn and embrace. Not like walking around on eggshells. It’s like walking through the world awake.

What if we measure our success not by how much we got done or how right we were, but how gently we moved through the day?

What if today we just said,
“I’m going to try not to be someone’s story.”

Or, if I am,
Let it be the good kind.
The kind of story we hope for on our worst days.

It’s not flashy.
It won’t go viral.
But maybe that’s what makes it hit home.

Whether you’re riding the subway (or Metro?), standing in the grocery line, or answering another email you didn’t want to get—
may your presence be a quiet kindness in someone’s day.

May the stories told about you be the kind that heal, not harm.
The kind that feel like kindness in a world that’s bracing for impact.

I’ll be cheering you on and crossing my fingers that someone snaps a photo of my sign and sends it to me.