On an ordinary October evening, a personal reflection took an unexpected turn that would reshape how I understand human connection. I had just finished drafting a short column about the power of care, and sent copies to two friends: one living in Sri Lanka, who once shared photos of Badulla’s temples with me years ago, and another who I met during a media project in Beijing, now based in Afghanistan. For years, we have stayed in touch, and I have often tried to encourage him to keep going amid the constant uncertainty and instability that defines life in his home country. I only expected a quick note of approval, maybe a simple “well written” or a thumbs-up in reply. What I received instead was a reflection that has stayed with me every day since.
In his message, he told me he had been reading my column while watching a documentary exploring the relationship between humans and the natural world. One segment of the film stuck with him: a new rehabilitation program that gives prisoners the responsibility of caring for vulnerable living creatures, from small animals to reptiles like turtles. The rules of the program are simple: inmates spend time with the animals, tend to their needs, and build a quiet, low-stakes bond with another living being. The results of the program were staggering: the documentary reported that incidents of violent clashes between inmates had dropped dramatically since the initiative launched. My friend was not surprised by this outcome. He connected the story of the prison program to one of the longest-running scientific studies in modern history, the Harvard Study of Adult Development, which launched back in 1938.
After nearly 90 years of ongoing research tracking participants across generations, the study reached a clear, profound conclusion: happiness is the foundational key to long-term health, and caring for other people is the foundational key to lasting happiness. Study participants who prioritized looking after the people they loved consistently scored the highest on measures of happiness and life satisfaction, far outperforming peers who prioritized wealth, fame or career success. He closed his note by writing, “Your big heart is a clear example of that. and thanks for sharing this.”
I read his message over and over again. What touched me most deeply was not the kind compliment, but the quiet image of the prisoner stroking a turtle. There was nothing dramatic about the act: just a human being taking a few minutes to care for a small, vulnerable creature that asks for nothing in return. Violence in the prison did not drop because harsher punishments were introduced, or because new restrictive rules were put in place. It dropped because inmates had something outside of themselves to care for.
This image brought me back to the core idea I had written about in my original column: care begins with truly seeing another person, and the next step is sharing that care, whether through a text message, a handwritten note, an unspoken prayer, or a small gesture that takes only a minute of effort. My friend demonstrated this truth perfectly in practice. Living in Afghanistan, where showing care for people outside your immediate circle is not a given, and where sharing personal thoughts can even put you at risk, he still took the time to watch a documentary, see the connection to my work, and share that insight with me. He did it not because he had to, but because he understands that love only becomes real when it is shared.
Out of curiosity, I looked up the Harvard Study of Adult Development for myself, not because I doubted my friend’s words, but because I wanted to understand the full scope of the research. In 1938, researchers in Boston launched the study by recruiting a cohort of young men, then tracked their lives decade after decade, eventually following their spouses and children as well. For generations of researchers, the core questions remained the same: Who do you share your life with? Who do you care for? What makes you feel whole? Time and time again, the answer that rose to the top was not fame, not wealth, not professional success. It was connection. People who consistently cared for others lived longer, had better physical and mental health, and reported far higher levels of happiness than their peers. This is not because caring for others is a “good deed” that gets rewarded; it is because the act of caring itself sustains you.
This reflection made me think of all the people I keep in touch with, even those who live thousands of miles away, even those who often go weeks without replying to my messages. I do not focus on the things I leave undone; I focus on the small things I keep doing: sending that text even when it feels inconvenient, saying that silent prayer even when I do not know if it will reach the person it is for. Caring feels like spreading a warm blanket out for someone, even if they do not pick it up right away. Sharing is something I keep doing, even if an answer never comes. When my friend writes that my big heart is an example of this principle, I do not know if I can claim that. But I know he means it, and that those words carry far more weight coming from a place where simple gestures of connection are not a given.
I cannot stop thinking about that turtle in the prison. It is just an animal that exists, asks for nothing, demands nothing. But giving an inmate the chance to care for it changes everything. For a person who may have spent years only thinking of their own survival, only focused on getting through the day without falling apart, suddenly having something outside of themselves to care for shifts everything. And as a result, violence goes down. If this simple approach can work inside the walls of a prison, why can it not work in a neighborhood? In a family? Across an entire divided country?
I think of my friend in Sri Lanka sending me photos of a Badulla temple. I think of my friend in Afghanistan sharing the story of the turtle. I think of all the people I miss, who I keep texting even when replies never come. All of them show me that another way of living is possible. One sends a photo of a temple. The other sends a story about a turtle. Both are saying the same thing: I thought of you. I wanted to share this with you. I did it not because I had to, but because I could. And that is enough. Two small thoughts, that is all it takes.
I will never know if the prisoner who strokes that turtle will ever find out that his small gesture traveled through a documentary, through a message from Afghanistan, through a column in Suriname, to land with me. He almost certainly never will. But that does not matter. Some things do not need to be known. You only need to keep doing the small good that is in front of you: spread the blanket, send the text, stroke the turtle.
