I love road trips. As a member of my family’s bluegrass band, I’ve spent a fair bit of time staring out the windows of my family’s ancient converted passenger bus.

The thing about this bus is that it likes to chill out below the speed limit on the highway, which means most of the other people on the road have to pass us. It also has four seats facing backwards, which makes it easy to see through the windshields of all those passing vehicles. 

Naturally, my sisters and I started waving madly at the passersby and tallying up how many strangers we could get to wave back. 

It was a very simple activity. The stakes were low. We probably didn’t change anyone’s life (but, hey you never know.)

Still, it mattered to me.

Maybe it was because of that moment years ago when a stranger on a street corner gave me a genuine smile when I was driving in the city. It touched me that someone I didn’t know was paying enough attention to the world to see me through the window of the passenger seat, and that she cared enough to make friendly eye contact instead of awkwardly ignoring me.

Maybe it was my desire to remind a world of individuals enclosed in speeding bubbles of glass and aluminum that they’re part of a community. That the vehicles around them are driven by humans with real significance and value. That what you do between destinations matters.

Maybe it was the pleasure of watching my sisters engage in our little act of social insurrection, each in her own signature style. Especially sister #2 as she led the charge with a running commentary on who was driving distracted, why large trucks with multiple passengers were the most likely to respond, and the emotional nuance of the various types of waves people sent back.

Maybe it was my belief that a smile and a moment of human connection can make a more powerful difference than we expect. Maybe it was also a bit of schadenfreude at the awkward responses of the people whose comfortable delusions of invisibility got shattered.

Maybe it was that we got a wave from a guy driving a really cool construction crane.

The meaning of a personal experience isn’t so much about what happens as it is about why you care. Without the unique memories, philosophies, personality, and relationships I brought into the experience, this experience would have meant nothing more than my hand flopping around on the end of my arm.

I’ve read/watched so many action-packed fight scenes where the fate of kingdom or the world is at stake. Few of them have given me good reasons to care deeply. On the other hand, I’ve also read/watched many scenes where something seemingly insignificant moves me because it is significant to one of the characters.

The outcome of an event is only as meaningful and compelling as the perspective and desires of the person experiencing it. A swordfight is just a couple of sticks clanging around if the characters don’t have specific, personal reasons to care about the people or values they’re fighting for. But with the right reasons, flailing your arm in front of a window can become an experience worth remembering.

To clarify, I’m not saying that our perspectives authoritatively determine the value of everything that happens to us. Ultimately, our experiences matter because God cares, even about the things we devalue or completely miss. His value system is flawlessly objective. The story and shape He’s given each of us gives us a unique window into the meaning He gives to reality, though sin messes up our vision. One day, many of the things we value will be revealed to be worthless. We’ll also see that many forgotten acts of kindness and moments of pain are of great value to God.

However, our choices, histories, insights, blind spots, expectations, and relationships define what we notice and what we feel. And those are the things that will mean the world to your readers.

I haven’t saved the world very many times over the course of my life. Maybe I have low expectations, but I’m guessing you haven’t either. But I know you have stories to tell—stories you care about.

I’m sure that if I could see those experiences the way you did, I’d care too.