Thanksgiving Reflections: A Moment on the 37 Bus.
by Richard Valdez - www.RichardValdezRE.com
This Thanksgiving, I found myself pausing a little longer than usual to reflect. What am I truly thankful for this year?
Of course, I’m grateful for the love of my husband, the loyal chaos brought by our four dogs, and the blessing of good health. But this year, gratitude felt different—less automatic, more thoughtful. I found myself reaching beyond the obvious, digging into the moments that often pass us by unnoticed.
San Francisco, our beautiful city, is healing—slowly but surely. We’ve endured so much together: a pandemic that tested our resilience and a reckoning with racial injustice that challenged our unity. But we are moving forward, and that in itself is something to be thankful for.
Still, I wrestled with what else to name, what else to hold up with thanks. And then, something small—something ordinary—reminded me.
Just the other day, my husband and I were riding Muni Bus 37 from Market Street up toward Twin Peaks. It was a typical San Francisco day. The bus was full of people—neighbors, strangers, all making their way through the city. Our driver, a Black woman, made sure everyone was safely seated before rolling forward. She had a calm authority about her, the kind that made you feel taken care of.
A few stops in, there was a sudden commotion. A grocery bag tipped over, spilling a carton of eggs and strawberries across the bus floor. The eggs rolled, the berries scattered—a small, messy moment. But before anyone could even react, a young Chinese woman stood up without hesitation. She knelt down and began picking up the strawberries, carefully helping the person who had dropped them. The bus driver saw what was happening in her rear-view mirror and gently pulled the bus to the curb, giving everyone time to clean up without rush or pressure. Not a single egg was broken.
That moment stayed with me.
In a time when so many of our communities are facing division, where people are being unfairly judged or targeted based on how they look or where they’re from, it can be easy to feel discouraged. Easy to believe the worst in each other. But on that bus—among strangers—there was kindness. Quiet, simple, human kindness.
And that’s what I’m holding on to this Thanksgiving.
I am thankful for the people who show up in quiet ways. The ones who extend a hand, pick up a berry, wait patiently. These small acts remind me that we are still connected—that beneath all the noise, there is goodness. And that is something powerful. Something hopeful.
This year, I’m not just thankful for what I have—but for what I’ve seen in others. For the reminders that we still care for one another. That we still belong to each other.
And that, I believe, is something truly worth celebrating.
Happy Thanksgiving.
