Small Great Things

by Jodi Picoult

I’d been with that baby before anyone or anything in this world had a chance to disappoint him.

As Christina held my hand and Ms. Mina held Mama’s, there was a moment—one heartbeat, one breath—where all the differences in schooling and money and skin color evaporated like mirages in a desert. Where everyone was equal, and it was just one woman, helping another.

It just goes to show you: every baby is born beautiful. It’s what we project on them that makes them ugly.

“You’re destined to do small great things,” she told me. “Just like Dr. King said.” She was referring to one of her favorite quotes: If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way.

I may not have much say here, but I still can make the choice to not be a victim.

But some of us just fill up our gas tanks and top off our Metro cards and do the grocery shopping, because if you only see the path that’s right ahead of you, you don’t obsess over when the cliff might drop off.

How many exceptions do there have to be before you start to realize that maybe the truths you’ve been told aren’t actually true?

Maybe however much you’ve loved someone, that’s how much you can hate. It’s like a pocket turned inside out.