We are always told “It’s the little things in life that make it worth the trip.”

It’s the people who hold the elevator when you are in a rush, or who stop and wave you into traffic, rather than rushing past as so many have done before. However, how often do we pay attention and really appreciate the little things with our frantic lifestyles? Although the answer is different for everyone and certainly different in all parts of the world, the general consensus is that random acts of kindness just do not happen all that often anymore.

Think back through your week, how many times have you held the door for someone, given up your seat on a CyRide bus, bought someone lunch when they did not ask you to or any other unprompted gesture? One would hope the number would be at least in the double digits, but the reality of the world we live in is that we have all become too focused on the prize and the destination, and no longer take the time to look around on the way and reach out our hands to someone who has strayed, or fallen from the path.

Recently I was gifted with such a selfless act as to shake my grasp on the world, and make me once again realize great things still do happen when you are least expecting. The act, while minuscule in the span of a lifetime, a year, a month or even a week, was beyond epic and influential on that day.

Picture the day: the bus comes to a halt at the commuter lot, positioned between Stephens Auditorium and Jack Trice Stadium, and everyone gets to their feet and exits the bus. Students break off in numerous directions, in search of their dormant automobiles and an escape from the brisk Iowa winter. Just like the others, you make your way to your vehicle, which just happens to be closer to Stephens Auditorium than Jack Trice, and proves quite a distance to cover when it’s cold.

Upon reaching your automobile you slide into your driver’s seat, slip your key into the ignition, as you have done so many times before, hearing the frozen pins scrape against the equally cold ignition key. You twist the key and – silence. Your face grimaces as you look to see that your headlights are still fixed in the on position, but now fail to grant the illuminating glow they did earlier that morning.

To your surprise, there’s a note on your windshield. Although your mind is still fixed on your situation, and who you might call to get a jump, you read the note which says, “I noticed that your headlights were on. There is a jumper pack in the back of the red Jeep parked beside you. I have left it unlocked for you. Just make sure the pack gets put back.”

You sit and stare at the note in disbelief, and then finally emerge from your vehicle and make your way to the adjacent parking spot to find the red Jeep with a jumper pack in the back, and the doors unlocked. You quickly make your way to your dead battery, connect the cables, jump your vehicle, replace the pack in the Jeep and head back to the windless confines of your driver’s seat.

Most would think this story near impossible in the here and now, but these words are nothing but the truth, and I should know. It happened to me. What could have ended up being a wrench in a seemingly regular day, turned out to be the high point, and story of a week to pass along to friends in disbelief that it actually happened.

So, this week I urge every reader to open their eyes to the little things that we have all been closed to as we make our speedy routes to classes.

Hold a door for someone you don’t know, stop the bus for the passenger sprinting up from behind so they do not get left behind, buy an unsuspecting friend lunch or offer up that ever so comfortable seat on the bus. Whatever it is you do, let us all re-embrace humanity with open arms and prove that our demeanors do not always have to parallel the weather. Lastly, to the owner of the red Jeep, thanks again, Jake.

Rusty Anderson is a senior in liberal studies from Fort Dodge.