I fall into sociological rabbit holes more often than I mean to. Those “why is society like this?” thoughts that sneak up while I’m brushing my teeth or watching YouTube shorts. Little existential side quests.

This morning’s spiral started with considerations about police. I was considering how, a few years ago, someone severely dented my car while it was in a parking lot. I reported the incident to the police, and got the distinct impression that they weren't going to follow up. I ended up doing the legwork myself. I tracked down a security video showing the incident. I tracked down the man in the vehicle (had to do a little crowd-sourcing on social media, but found people who recognized him.) I researched the man and found his address, and then went there and found the truck. I went onto his property and took pictures of the truck, the license plate, the damage on his vehicle, which matched with what the video showed. I brought all the evidence to the police and they finally agreed to follow up. Nothing came of it. The guy claimed he 'didn't notice' (even though the video is very clear that he saw the damage he caused.) Thankfully, insurance would cover it, because I found the perpetrator. But if I hadn't, I would've been out of luck.

So, thinking of that event, my thoughts wandered into the ongoing dissonance between what people expect from policing and what actually plays out on the ground. I ended up wandering through some familiar territory: the social contract, legitimacy, institutional trust, systemic inequality, and the difference between what feels symbolic and what’s actually substantive.

Symbolic policing puts on a show: flashing lights, visible patrols, high-profile arrests that make the public feel like something’s being done. Substantive policing, on the other hand, means showing up for the boring stuff. It’s preventative. Investigative. It’s putting in the work even when there’s no spotlight.  But increasingly, what we get feels more like the illusion of safety over the reality of it.

And when institutions prioritize appearance over action, it reduces our trust in them. What's the point of bringing my legitimate harms to the police, if the police are just going to document that it happened, and forget about it? We surrender certain freedoms (vigilantism, vengence) in exchange for a promise: that the state will wield its power fairly, protectively. But when obvious harms go ignored, and justice becomes selective or performative, that social contract starts to feel more like a suggestion, and less legitimate.

It’s not just about power being used. It’s about who it’s used for, and who it’s used against.

And that got me thinking about something even closer to home. Not about institutions, but about me.

Because I do this too, in smaller, more intimate ways. I engage in symbolic behaviors. I show up for the conversations that feel exciting or affirming, but not always for the ones that are quiet, slow, or difficult to read.

I’ve started noticing how I instinctively gravitate toward certain people. It’s often the ones who match my tempo, who are quick with wit, who pass bacuriosity and insight with energy and clarity. People who play with ideas, who are emotionally agile but not reckless. People who give the impression that they “get it,” that they see something beneath the surface.

And even with some close friends, if I’m honest, part of me writes them off as less intuitive, less sharp, less interesting. I don’t always ascribe to them the full value they deserve, unless someone lights up my emotional radar. It’s not a conscious decision. But I notice it.

And that realization stings.

Because if I believe in nuance, if I value people for their substance, why do I so easily overlook the ones whose signals don’t match the frequencies I’m trained to notice?

Symbolic interactionism tells us that meaning isn’t fixed. It’s built in real time, through our interactions. And that includes how we assess people. Every time I nod politely and move on, or fail to circle back to someone’s insight, I help set the terms of who matters in that space. It’s not malicious. It’s patterned. It’s cultural. And it’s mine to unlearn.

Not all connections click. But the ones that don’t? I’ve sometimes labeled them as less meaningful, not because of who the person is, but because their energy didn’t mirror my own.

Maybe they speak too softly when I’m moving fast. Maybe they take longer to open up. Maybe they’re too vulnerable when I’m guarding my own tenderness. Maybe they're just too far ahead of my own development, or too far behind, and I move past them, not because they lacked value, but because their cues didn’t plug into my recognition system.

That’s on me.

Because emotional compatibility shouldn’t be the measure of someone’s worth. But in practice, it often becomes the gateway. And that’s a quieter kind of social exclusion, a redistribution of attention that mirrors the very inequities I claim to resist.

I'm starting to worry I've missed some of the most extraordinary people in my life, not because they weren’t compelling, but because their brilliance didn’t arrive in the packaging I was looking for. Maybe I’ve cast people as background characters because they didn’t amplify the story I was trying to live. And if I want to be someone who truly sees others, that means unlearning the scripts that taught me how to filter.

So I’ve been paying attention to the people I admire (especially Ali.) She's someone who who makes others feel heard, feel safe, feel valuable. She doesn't center herself, even though she easily could. These types of people are often brilliant, but they carry it lightly. They listen generously. They echo others’ ideas without needing credit. They distribute attention like it’s abundance, not currency. And I want to be more like that.

So now, I want to do it differently.

I want to stop trying to be exceptional, and start becoming someone who helps others feel exceptional. Not to center myself by association, but to quietly shift the balance of who gets to feel seen.

I want to be deliberate in how I show up. How I notice. How I hold space for the kind of brilliance that doesn’t always shine on cue.

Here’s how I’m going to try:

• When someone says something and it gets ignored, I’ll loop back. “Hey, can we pause there? What you said was actually really thoughtful.”
• When someone gets cut off mid-sentence, I’ll steer us back. “Wait, you didn’t get to finish, can we go back?”
• When someone shares something vulnerable and it falls flat, I’ll name it. “That stuck with me. I just didn’t know how to respond in the moment.”
• When someone says something wise in private, I’ll echo it in public. “You know, Lynda said something in a hallway chat last week that’s been echoing ever since...”
• When I notice someone who’s always in the background but quietly brilliant, I’ll say it out loud.
• When I see someone trying to belong in a room that wasn’t built for them, I’ll lean toward curiosity instead of comfort.

Because social capital gets built. Reinforced. Passed. And it can be redistributed. I can’t fix the whole system. But I can shift the weight of my own attention. And in a world where so many people feel invisible, strategic attention - real attention - might be one of the most radical things I have to offer.

And, to be fully transparent, I'm hoping that it can transform me. I'm hoping that it will lessen my own need to be seen as exceptional, and instead shift my need to be seen as someone who helps others feel exceptional.

Because, that's where the real value starts.