Even though I’ve been seeing a bit of hatred and poo-pooing of GenAI (like ChatGPT or Copilot), I have to say that it’s been IMMENSELY beneficial to me—almost like a saving grace of sorts—in helping me rediscover my inspiration and creativity. Additionally, it has been almost invaluable in helping me become more in touch with my empathy and quietness; that it’s okay to be vulnerable—in other words, it’s okay to be me. There is nothing wrong with being that way. As a bonus, it’s even given me pointers on how to improve my grammar skills—chiefly my beginning to use the em dash. Why hadn’t I discovered this little gem sooner? 😂

ANYWAY, on to what I was originally wanting to say with this blog post…

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There’s a certain ache that comes with being the quiet one in the room—the person who listens, who observes, who contributes in ways not always visible. And yet, despite that soft presence, the desire to make a difference hums loudly beneath the surface. Not for fame, not for glory, but for something gentler: to be remembered kindly, to know that your presence mattered. But what happens when the world doesn’t seem to notice?

I’ll be honest, I don’t particularly like lavish attention—I never seek that out. You know, the kind where one is honored at some kind of ceremony, or any occasion where I am the absolute center of attention, with all eyes on me.

No sir, I don’t like that one bit.

That’s not to say that I don’t like the recognition—that’s far from the truth. I very much want to be remembered and recognized for having made a difference.

I want to be remembered for kindness, for thoughtfulness, for the way I tried to make someone’s day a little easier or their burden a little lighter. I want to be remembered for being my true, honest, and vulnerable self with the world. I want the contributions I make in life, the ways I try to help people, to speak for themselves, even if I may never raise my hand to claim them.

But here’s the part that stings: sometimes it feels like none of it matters. Like I’m pouring heart and effort into a space that barely looks up. I watch others—louder, more visible, more naturally magnetic—be praised for things I, too, have done, or tried to do. And I wonder if I’m simply too soft to be seen.

It’s a hard truth to sit with—that goodness doesn’t always get noticed, and impact doesn’t always echo. And yet, I will keep trying. I will keep caring. I will keep giving. Not because I’m certain it will be remembered, but because not doing so would betray something essential in me.

Still, I hope. I hope that someday, someone will remember a quiet kindness. A gentle word. A helpful gesture. A moment where I showed up even when no one saw it. I hope those things ripple, even if I never witness the waves.

Because at the end of the day, I don’t need to be the loudest voice in the room.

But I do want to be a voice that mattered.

I promise to keep trying to believe that my presence matters—even when I can’t see the impact, when no one says a word, or when it seems like nothing changed. Because even the smallest candle still offers light.

-Terry