Tending to the Sidewalk

46th Edition - February 2, 2025 - Controlling what we can, recognizing our power, and making connections

When you live in a small town or city in the U.S. and own property, you’re typically responsible for keeping the section of public sidewalk (or pavement, if you’re reading this from the UK) clear of debris. This is especially important in northern climates during the winter, when snow and ice pose a slip-and-fall risk for passersby.

It’s one of those unspoken social contracts—a quiet agreement that even though the sidewalk belongs to the public, it’s still our responsibility to maintain our little section of it. We can’t control whether someone else down the street clears theirs. We can’t guarantee that every sidewalk will be safe to walk on. But we do what we can with the space that’s ours.I’ve been thinking about this concept a lot lately—not just in terms of literal sidewalks, but in a broader sense of how we show up in the world.

In a time when everything feels overwhelming—when global and domestic issues loom large, when division feels inescapable, when the weight of the world can make us feel powerless—it’s easy to wonder what difference we can actually make. Maybe the answer isn’t as complicated as we think. Maybe it starts with something as simple as keeping our own side of the street clean. This idea has been sitting with me for a while, but one particular experience keeps bringing it back into focus.

The Stranger Who Became a Friend

In the summer of 2015, I found myself in a tiny rural village in the Puglia region of southern Italy called Speziale. We were in the middle of a two-week trip—our second visit to the country—and getting ready to celebrate my wife Amy’s birthday at a trattoria called Il Cortiletto.

As Americans accustomed to 6:00 PM dinners, we had booked the absolute earliest reservation—8:00 PM. Naturally, we arrived way too soon, driven by my travel anxiety that convinces me we’ll always be late. With nothing else to do, we wandered into the only other open spot in this town of fewer than 500 people—a combination bar-café/convenience store. After resisting a pre-dinner slice of pizza, we stepped outside to sit and pass the time.

That’s when we met Firas.

He was sitting nearby, and when he heard us speaking English, he called out to us—excited, since English speakers were rare in this part of Italy. We quickly learned he was from Beirut, Lebanon, spending the summer with his Italian friends, soaking up the slow rhythm of life in the countryside.

We got to talking—about travel, about culture, about how sometimes the best part of being somewhere new isn’t the sights, but the people you meet along the way. He told us about the hoops he had to jump through just to get a visa to visit Italy, which reminded us of all the things we take for granted as Americans.

It was a simple, unexpected conversation with someone from a part of the world I’d had little experience with. And it could have been skipped entirely had any of us chosen to stay in our own bubbles. But we didn’t. And because of that, a small but meaningful connection was made.

Of course, we were still starving, so as 8:00 approached, we said our goodbyes and walked to the restaurant. As we left, I felt a pang of regret for not exchanging contact information. He seemed like such a genuinely kind person. But I figured it was just one of those passing travel moments that I’d recall fondly down the road.

Sunset, and Firas, in Speziale | July 2015

That evening, I posted about the encounter on social media, reflecting on how these small moments—where we meet people we never would have otherwise—are often the most rewarding part of travel. I included a photo I had snapped of Firas mid-conversation. And that, I assumed, was the end of the story.

The Ripple Effect of Connection

Six months later, I got a notification on that same social media app. It was Firas.

"Tim… a friend of mine saw your post… I really can’t describe my feelings… thank you… it was just beautiful. Glad to have found you here, and hope you’ll make it to Beirut sometime… or Istanbul, where I am currently. Regards to your family… and let’s keep in touch."

It turns out his Italian friends had been scrolling through the hashtag #Speziale on the same social media platform when they came across the picture I had posted of him. And just like that, a fleeting moment of connection had become something more lasting.

Nearly a decade later, we still check in on each other. We like each other’s posts, send the occasional message, and in these small ways, remind each other that we haven’t forgotten that moment in a small town a world away. Will we ever see each other again? Probably not. But that doesn’t seem to matter.

I think about this often—the way a seemingly insignificant conversation on a warm summer evening turned into something that still lingers. It reinforces something I believe now more than ever: We don’t have to change the entire world. But we do have a responsibility to take care of our small piece of it.

What can we control?

The world is overwhelming. Lately, weeks feel like months. There’s no getting around that. The issues we’re facing—division, misinformation, emerging authoritarianism, systemic injustice—are massive. They aren’t problems any one of us can solve alone. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have power.

Our power is in the small, daily choices, in the things that we can control:

• Being honest and ethical in our decisions, even when those in power are not.

• Treating others with kindness, even when it’s not easy.

• Showing up for people who need us—whether they’re a lifelong friend or a stranger we may never see again.

• Choosing connection over indifference.

Choosing connection over indifference.

Choosing connection.

I think we sometimes convince ourselves that in a society where clicks, views, and likes seem to matter more than much else, only grand gestures make a difference. But what if the real impact happens in the small, everyday choices? What if we make the world better not by trying to fix everything, but by making sure our small corner of it is a place where kindness, honesty, and connection thrive?

Firas and I spent maybe 30 minutes talking that night in Speziale. We didn’t solve any global problems. We didn’t know we’d still be in touch years later. But we chose to engage. And that mattered—for us, in that moment.

Focus on the Sidewalks

So here’s my challenge—to you, and to myself:

Tend to your part of the sidewalk. Keep it clear, safe, and open—not just for yourself, but for others who may be passing through. Because the world doesn’t change in grand moments. It changes in the spaces between us—the small kindnesses, the unexpected conversations, the decision to be present instead of indifferent. And if we all do that, if we all care for the space that’s ours, maybe—just maybe—the world begins to shift. One small act at a time.

Until next time, stay hydrated and take good care.

Tim

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What I’m Thankful For

I was on a podcast! Seriously, this was such a fun way for me to kick off the new year. I completely forgot to include a link in last week’s post, but I was honored to be invited to talk with writer and international educator

Daniel Puzzo

on his January 23rd, 2025 video podcast episode about New Year’s resolutions (or lack thereof). It has been one of my goals for quite some time to be invited to participate in someone else’s podcast. I’m so thankful that Daniel was willing to entertain my ramblings on this topic. It turns out that, for the most part, I’m easily pleased. All you have to do is offer an opportunity for me to talk at you with a microphone in front of my face. Check it out below!

To hell with resolutions: it's a Beyond Our Walls podcast

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What I’m Reading

• Gregory Garretson
  hit it out of the park once again last week when he wrote about travel and the power of talking to strangers. How could I not include it with this weeks writing?

• Speaking of

  Tina Hedin
  , the piece Gregory mentioned in his post is another great, on-theme piece from one of my favorite newsletter authors. There are connections waiting to be made all around us, and some of them may be life-changing. You’ll never know unless you are willing to be seen and see others.

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