A few years ago I ordered a hundred tiny plastic ducks, each about a centimeter tall, mostly on a whim. I started hiding them around my workplace with no note and no explanation. I didn't have much of a plan, just a hunch that finding something small and unexpected might make someone's day a little better.
It did. People started noticing them, then looking for them, trying to solve the mystery of where they were coming from. Before I knew it a few pieces of plastic had turned into a reason to pay attention, something that broke you out of autopilot and made you smile even for just a moment, and a silly little sign to appreciate the small things.
Unintentionally I had begun a quest to discover the power of little things.
Not long after, I left the country on a one-way ticket, with no return date, not much of a plan and barely enough saved to last a year. I brought the ducks with me.
On the road, I got to see what something that small could actually do. I'd keep a few in my pocket and hand one to a stranger or a friend when it felt right. Sometimes it broke up a bad day. Sometimes it was a tiny thank you, the only gift I had to give but something tangible and surprisingly meaningful. Sometimes it just made a moment stick, one that otherwise would have blurred into everything else. There were no words attached, no message or lesson, just a tiny duck placed in someone's hand. Somehow that was enough. It felt like a piece of myself, the moment, and a piece of love always got passed along with it, even though neither of us could have explained how.
Eventually I started wondering what would happen if the object carried something intentionally: a line of wisdom, a question worth sitting with, a piece of faith without a sermon attached, a challenge to grow. A coin felt like the perfect vehicle. Small, cheap, ordinary, and easy to give away without a second thought. Coins have always moved from hand to hand, passing through places and lives we’ll never know. I wanted to give that ordinary journey a little more meaning. The coin itself isn’t the gift though, it’s what the coin carries, and what happens because someone chose to pass it on. A reminder. A moment of connection. A little bit of wisdom, kindness, or faith, carried into someone’s life when they might need it most.
Somewhere along the way, I wrote down a line for myself that I’d heard many times before but had adopted with a new passion:
Leave every place, every person, just a bit better than you found it.
It’s not a new idea, but it’s one worth putting into practice. And maybe it starts with something as simple as noticing someone, offering a little kindness, or giving someone a reason to see the world differently. That’s the hope behind every coin. Maybe you keep one as a reminder. Maybe you give it to someone who needs it. Maybe you leave it somewhere for a stranger to find, or forget about it in a drawer until the day you need it most. Each coin will follow its own path, gathering its own story along the way. And all along that path, perhaps by chance, perhaps by a timing you could never have planned, it might find its way into the hands of someone who needs exactly what it carries.
There’s no instruction manual, no right way to pass one along, and no need to know who will receive it or when. A coin doesn’t need a straight line to find where it belongs. It might take a detour, sit forgotten for years, or travel farther than anyone could have imagined. The beauty is that you don’t have to control where it goes or what it becomes. You only have to be willing to carry something small for a while, and then let it go.
Somewhere out there, someone might be having a day that could turn on a small act of kindness. They might need a reminder of something they’ve forgotten, a reason to pause, or simply a moment that makes them feel a little less alone. You may never know who they are, what the coin means to them, or what they go on to do because of it. But perhaps they’ll carry it forward, too. Perhaps a small moment of connection will become another, and another, until something that began with a single coin has had an effect nobody could have imagined. Maybe that’s how we make the world a little better. Not all at once, but one small act, one person, one moment, one percent at a time.
So take one. Carry it with you. Let it be a reminder. Or give it to someone who might need it. Carry something good forward, and leave something good behind, and trust that even the smallest things can find their way into something bigger.
Small things can make a big difference.