What a Mouse and a Barista Taught Me About Being Human
This morning, on my way to Kingman, I stopped for gas at Love’s off the 95.
You know the kind of place. Truckers fueling up. Travelers anxious to get back on the interstate. People moving with purpose from one destination to the next.
As I stood at the pump, I looked down and noticed a tiny field mouse at my feet.
It was darting back and forth across the concrete, almost as if it was lost. It tried several times to climb up onto the raised curb around the pump but couldn’t quite make it. It would start toward me, turn around, run a few inches, stop, and then try again.
I remember thinking, This little thing is going to get squished sooner or later.
So, in true Jeff fashion, I found myself trying to rescue a mouse in the middle of a busy truck stop.
I lowered the windshield washer squeegee, hoping it might climb onto it so I could carry it out to the field. Then I noticed it was lapping up the liquid on the ground.
Not wanting it to drink windshield washer fluid, I grabbed a bottle of water from my car and poured some onto the pavement nearby.
When I left, the mouse was still there, alive and drinking.
I drove across the 95 to Starbucks to grab a sandwich and a drink before getting back on the road.
A young barista named Avery took my order.
Then she stopped.
She looked at me and asked, “How is your day?”
Not in the scripted, passing way we often ask one another.
She paused.
She looked me in the eyes.
For just a moment, it felt as though the world slowed down enough for another human being to silently say, I see you. Is everything okay?
I told her I was on my way to Kingman. That I had a lot on my plate. That I was a little distracted, but I thought I was okay.
She smiled and said, “I hope you have a great day.”
Then, when she handed me my sandwich, she paused again.
Looked at me again.
And somehow, in a world moving at interstate speed, she made a connection.
As I drove away, I couldn’t stop thinking about those two moments.
The mouse.
The barista.
One vulnerable creature in need of care.
One human being willing to slow down long enough to notice another.
And I realized something.
Lately, I’ve been comparing myself to people who seem to move through life with certainty. People building businesses, posting on social media, checking things off their lists, knowing exactly where they’re headed.
Meanwhile, I’ve been carrying questions. Grief. Uncertainty. Waiting. Wondering what comes next.
I’ve wondered if something was wrong with me because I can’t seem to stop noticing the deeper things.
But maybe noticing is the thing.
Maybe some people are called to build.
Maybe some are called to strategize.
And maybe some of us are called to bear witness.
To pay attention.
To see the thirsty mouse everyone else steps over.
To notice the tired look in someone’s eyes.
To pause long enough to ask, “How are you?” and actually wait for the answer.
I don’t know what will happen with all the unanswered questions in my own life.
I don’t know what tomorrow holds.
But this morning, before Highway 40 stretched out in front of me, life whispered something I needed to hear:
You’re not behind.
You’re not doing it wrong.
You haven’t lost your way.
The world still needs people who notice.
The world still needs people who say, “I see you.”
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.
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