This past week has been a whirlwind of logistics and duct tape as we successfully launched the Access in Action conference. The speakers were amazing, and each one reinforced a shared idea: accessibility is less about grand gestures and compliance checklists and more about the everyday choices that make learning easier to participate in and engage with.
Late last week, I started to plan how to thank our speakers. I’ve always been a “thank-you card” person, so that felt like the most genuine way to express my gratitude. When I paused to think about how that gesture would actually be received, it became clear that I needed to adjust. One of our speakers is blind, so I need to make adjustments to the format, but not the intention.
Using a braille machine to create a thank-you note shouldn’t be something we frame as “going above and beyond”. Creating an accessible experience should be the expected minimum. If I’m going to make thank you cards for all my speakers, I’m going to make thank you cards for all of my speakers.
Kindness, at its core, isn’t about effort or novelty. It’s about taking a moment to reflect on how our actions land, and whether they fully and completely communicate the care we intend.
As a homeschool student, I vividly remember many, many trips to the Burton Barr Central Library, particularly for a lesson on Helen Keller. What left an impression with me wasn’t the lesson itself, but a small moment: a librarian taking the time to show my sister and I how the braille embosser worked and printing our names so we could feel them on the paper. It wasn’t presented as anything special, just someone noticing curiosity and responding with an act of kindness. I’ve remembered that moment for more than twenty years and that moment led to recognizing an opportunity to express gratitude in a more appropriate format.
My identical twin sister recently recommended Unreasonable Hospitality by Will Guidara. Although it’s rooted in the hospitality industry, I’ve been surprised by how closely it mirrors Higher Education. Both are service-driven spaces that succeed when people feel considered rather than processed. The book emphasizes how small acts of intentional kindness and proactive thinking can help others to feel seen, heard, and cared for in a way that creates a sense of belonging and leaves a lasting impression.
This act of kindness wasn’t complicated; it just required intention.
Finding a braille embosser was difficult, but it did require asking the right questions and making a few phone calls. With Burton Barr under renovation, I followed the trail to the Mesa Public Library, where a librarian and I learned to use the machine together and printed the note. I got to play with a really neat piece of technology (ask me sometime, this thing is COOL), and I now have a note for our speaker. Now that note is winging its way to Tony, and my handwritten thank-you cards are on the doorknobs of our other speakers. Mission accomplished.
This story isn’t about getting to learn a new technology (which was AWESOME) or hunting down a memory of my childhood (thought both were genuinely meaningful). It’s about demonstrating a commitment to kindness and recognizing when our practices don’t effectively serve our audience. It’s about recognizing that sometimes what might at first glance seem “unreasonable” or “above and beyond” is really just the minimum expression of demonstrating kindness and consideration.
I could have very easily sent an email or made a phone call. But the spirit of our conference is all about the choices and efforts we make in our interactions with students and each other to make our lives easier. To remove barriers and to remind those around us that they are valued members of our community… and that’s what this week’s act of kindness embodies.
Genuine gratitude isn’t about writing out the card with meaningful words, cursing my handwriting skills when my letters get sloppy, and delivering the cards to offices. The true act of gratitude lives in reflection. When we write a card, or send an IM, or tell someone “great work!” in passing, kindness shows up through intention, consideration, and the pause we take to think about how our message will be received.
So let me leave you with this thought:
Where in our lives can we pause to consider kindness? What small adjustment could help build a sense of belonging or show someone how much we value their role in our community?
In a world with so much unkindness surrounding us, it costs us nothing to practice kindness and be that light.
And maybe we’ll learn something new along the way…
For example, I gave a workshop earlier this week, and one of my attendees arrived in a wheelchair. I hadn’t set up the room to accommodate a person using a wheelchair. I quickly moved a chair out of the way to fix the problem. The situation made me realize the CTLE didn’t have a way for a person to request an accommodation when registering for one of our workshops. So I didn’t know in advance how to best prepare the room to provide an equally independent experience for all my participants. I felt bad, and I indulged in a hearty facepalm after my workshop ended. I’m disappointed in myself that I hadn’t naturally extended my awareness of online accessibility to an awareness of physical accessibility in a space I meant to be welcoming and inclusive.