Most of us wander anonymously about the planet for most of our time here, living for the things we live for — our children, our friends, our passions, our secret and not-so-secret delights and indulgences, and the larger Moments of Glory — the job is ours, we got the scholarship, our co-workers threw us a surprise party!

And then there are those instances which can’t accurately be characterized as moments we live for; if those larger moments are the sustenance, this is the spice: You’re going about your day, focused on the Now Thing and the Next Thing, and suddenly your boss says, “I don’t know what I’d do without you!” Or a friend tells you that out of all her friends, you’re the one she feels safest with. Or a stranger in the market compliments you on how well-behaved your children are. Your heart area gets all glowy, and everything feels lighter and you feel the unnameable thrill of knowing that, just for now, it’s all working — you’ve somehow triumphed over the mysteries.

We are always in possession of this power — the power to bring someone’s world to a happy halt in just that fashion. “Abracadabra” is from the Hebrew and it means “I create as I speak.” For when you choose words with which to express your appreciation to another human, you do indeed create: connection, deep satisfaction, perhaps even the momentary lifting of a burden. With your breath, you usher into existence joy, wonder and gratitude. It’s true magic.

When we are the recipient of these word-embraces, we usually don’t know how to respond and so, at a loss for the just the right words, we speak a smaller truth, acknowledging the power that our benefactor possesses: “Wow, thanks — you just made my day!”

Go ahead, make someone’s day.

The other morning I was stopped at a traffic light heading out of town. It was a breezy day; as I watched, a gust of wind blew from its frame a large, handwritten advertising posterboard which a local merchant had placed in front of his shop. The posterboard landed in the right lane of Highway 12. I thought to myself, “In a little bit the owner will come out, see the ad, figure out that the wind dislodged it, and set it to rights.” However, just as a pickup truck approached from the other direction, another large gust of wind picked up the posterboard and plastered it against the large grille of the truck — just as the light turned green and the truck sped through the intersection and away into the distance.

This time I thought, “The poor shopkeeper is going to be convinced that someone made off with his carefully hand-lettered sign. That, after all, would be the simplest explanation: vandalism.” I almost wanted to park my car, find the poor guy, and explain what happened just so he could retain his faith in humankind. But my light was green: I had things to do. I could only hope that it didn’t ruin his day. Or that maybe the trucker would discover the sign and return it. As a friend of mine says, You never can tell.