It was at commencement in 2003 or 2004, back in my chemistry professor days. After the ceremony, a young woman, one of our graduates, came running up to me. “ Dr. Huntley! She called out, “There you are! I was hoping I’d see you. I just want to thank you. I am here tonight because your Chemistry 111 class changed my life.”

How odd. Generally when people say that introductory chemistry changed their life, they are not thanking me.

She continued, “My husband, my family and my friends told me over and over that I was not smart enough to pass the science courses needed to become a nurse. But you convinced me that I could do it! I can’t thank you enough. I never thought I’d make it, but I did!”

Teachers live for these moments. There is no greater reward than knowing you made a difference in the life of a student.

I wish I could tell you about the heroic efforts I made to help her. I wish I could tell you about my patient counsel during hundreds of office hours. I wish I could tell you that I had mentored her on a major project and helped her overcome many challenges. I wish I could tell you about how we sat together, pushing through the tears and frustration until she was triumphant. I wish I could tell you about all the motivational messages that I sent her. Actually, I wish I could tell you anything about this student.

But I am going to be very honest. I only vaguely remembered her. She was in a large class— she was one of about 75 students. In the five years or so since she was in that class, I had met hundreds more. She did not particularly stand out in any way. The truth is that I had no idea how I might have helped her.

But apparently, something I said or something I did convinced her she was smart enough. Was it a simple, “Good job” when I returned a test that she had done well on? Was it a note in the margin of an exam that said, “you’re on the right track, next time, try…” Was it a word of affirmation when she asked or answered a question in class? Was it simply my tacit expectation that of course she would be successful? I have no idea. I do know is that it was not a herculean effort on my part. I would remember that.

Serendipity is not always so kind.

Recently, I was talking to a group of black students about their experiences in college. I made the comment, as I often do, that we want all students to feel like they belong on our campus and that we are confident that they can succeed. One student glared at me and said, “If you guys want us to feel like we belong and are welcome here, why don’t you even say hello in the halls? Why do you look right past us like we are invisible?”

Ouch! It was like she me in the head with a 2×4! Guilty as charged. I am not unfriendly. But, I am usually in a hurry, often preoccupied, thinking about the next thing on my agenda, or the implications of the most recent thing on my agenda and I am not particularly aware of people in the halls. It has nothing to do with WHOM I see in the halls, but this student would not know that. Viewed through her lens, it would seem that I was at best indifferent towards her, and at worst outright snubbing her.

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In 1961, mathematician and meteorologist Edward Lorenz was running a computer simulation of some large-scale weather patterns. He was checking a previous calculation and got a little lazy. For one of his input parameters, he used value of 0.506 instead of the more exact value of 0.506127 and was shocked to see an entirely different result. That seemingly minor difference changed everything. Lorenz noted that it was like “one flap of a seagull’s wings would be enough to alter the course of the weather forever.” You have probably heard about this idea as the butterfly effect, which I guess is more poetic than the seagull effect.

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Fun fact: While most birds travel in flocks, a group of seagulls is called a colony. But better yet, a group of butterflies can be called a swarm, a rabble, or my favorite, a kaleidoscope. Hold that thought.

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In any case, the butterfly effect refers to the concept that seemingly insignificant events can have unexpectedly large impacts.

That a butterfly flapping its wings in the Sahara can cause a tornado in Louisiana.

That a simple, unremembered, act of encouragement can propel a student towards success.

That an unintended slight can feed a vulnerable student’s anxiety and convince her that she doesn’t belong in college and maybe even cause her to drop out.

We tend to spend most of our time focused on the busy-ness of our daily lives, trying to complete this task or that task between checking our cell phones for notifications of yet more tasks. We ricochet from one thing to another, like pinballs in an arcade game. We are constantly in a hurry, trying to squeeze out a 25^th hour in the day.

And all the while, we are flapping our wings like crazy in our own chaotic kaleidoscope, just trying to keep up. Just trying to get through the myriad things on our to-do lists.

And it is easy to forget that all that wing flapping can have dramatic effects. Because everything we do and everything we say has consequences. Sometimes magnified dramatically. Even when we don’t intend it. Even if we are not paying attention. Especially if we are not paying attention.

Because as we know, a butterfly flapping its wings can cause a tornado.

Or end a drought.

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I recall a particular summer bike ride from a few years ago. The early morning air was slightly cool and dewy, but the bright sunshine promised a warm day. Heading northwest, we rode on nearly deserted roads, heard the birds chirping, and saw dozens of red-winged blackbirds in the cornfields. It was one of those rides that felt effortless, when the bike disappeared under me and I felt like I was flying. I was feeling really strong and pretty darn good about myself! Shoot, I was even keeping up with my 20-something year old kids.

When we turned around, I realized that there was a strong wind coming out of the southeast. On the way home, the headwinds slowed me down, but there was nothing to do but lean in and keep pedaling.

I am acutely aware when I am struggling into a headwind, but I don’t really notice when the wind is at my back and helping me along. When things are going well and life seems effortless, I tend to believe that I am responsible for my own success and forget that I never really do anything single-handedly. There is always something at work supporting my efforts, even if I don’t know it. Maybe it is a small word of encouragement that propels me forward, maybe an affirming smile or greeting when someone sees me walking down the hallway. Maybe some butterfly, flapping its wings somewhere has created the wind on my back that helps me move forward. Who knows?

Even the tiniest action can have a major impact, especially for those members of our kaleidoscopes who are particularly vulnerable to outside influences – those who may not feel like they fit in, those who doubt their own abilities, those who doubt their own worth. For these folks, and we may not know who they are, our tiny flapping wings can contribute to either a demoralizing headwind or an empowering tailwind.

It is ours to choose if we are mindful of what we say and what we do. When I walk down the halls on campus, I remember that student who felt ignored and I smile and say hello to everyone I see. 80% smile and return my greeting. The other 20% are either in their own worlds or think I am just a crazy old lady. I’m ok with that.

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My message is simple: pay attention. Pay attention to how your words and actions may affect those in your own kaleidoscopes. And pay attention to how you are impacted by the words and actions of others.

And to the extent you can, choose to create the wind on someone else’s back.