The joy of serving others

The recycling bin slalom of Clacton

The other day, I was walking to the gym when I noticed four recycling containers had been blown onto the road by the wind.

Usually, I’d just pick them up and put them back on the pavement. But with amusement, I thought I’d see how this would unfold!

I watched one car carefully weave its way through the boxes, and with some curiosity, I decided to wait and see how many more would do the same.

In total, four drivers slowed almost to a stop as they carefully navigated the recycling slalom. Each driver took about 15 to 20 seconds to get through. Multiply that by four cars, and we’re looking at roughly 70 seconds spent weaving around a very fixable problem.

Then came a Good Samaritan.

This person stopped their car, got out, picked up all four containers with a smile, and returned them to the edge of the pavement. The whole thing took 20 seconds.

It might sound like a small thing, and it is, but it also felt like a symbol of something bigger. Four people managed the inconvenience without fixing the problem. One person quietly took care of it.

I don’t judge the slalom drivers! Who knows what was going on in their day. But I did notice the quiet joy it brought the good Samaritan, and the simple good it did for everyone else.

And that, to me, feels like a solid metaphor for how we build a better world.

Every day, we’re presented with small chances to make things better, to choose action over avoidance. It could be holding a door open, smiling at a stranger, offering your seat, checking in with someone who’s struggling, picking up a bit of litter, or yes, moving recycling boxes from the road.

I don’t like to think about how many times I haven’t been the Good Samaritan. Too often, I’ve chosen the easy thing over the better thing. But I know this: life feels richer when we do good things. Small acts of kindness compound. They shape the energy of our shared spaces. And the opposite is also true.

The world feels increasingly frantic to me. And there’s plenty of evidence that communities are fraying. But it doesn’t have to be this way.

The big fixes are complex, but we can all start small. With a pause. A gesture. A willingness to do a little more than we have to. There’s real joy in that.

Thank you for reading, great blessings, and take care. May your light shine!

Benjamin