There has been a lot written about screen time, so I should probably begin with a confession: I am averaging about eight hours a day this week, and I am not particularly proud of it. We are constantly told to put our phones down, stop scrolling, step away from social media, and spend more time looking at the people around us instead of the screens in front of us. Most of that is probably good advice.

But today, I want you to spend a little screen time. Pick up your phone and send four texts to four different people. The messages are simple: You are great. You are loved. This will pass. Thank you. Four people and four messages that will probably take less than four minutes to send. If we are going to spend so much of our lives looking at these little screens, we might as well use some of that time to create positive moments.

I have been thinking about this because I am increasingly aware of the things we say, the things we leave unsaid, and the people who have shaped our lives in ways they may never fully understand. Our phones are filled with emails, news, social media, work, sports, family conversations, and a thousand little things demanding our attention every day. Somewhere among all of that are people who could use a few words from us. I already know who my four people are.

You are great.

When I think about You are great, I think about Sylvia Hurtado.

I met Sylvia through the Undergraduate Research Opportunity Program, UROP, when I was an undergraduate at the University of Michigan. She was an assistant professor at the time, and she gave me an opportunity to work with her on research about Latino students and the transition to higher education. That work eventually contributed to a paper she wrote with Dr. Deborah Carter. I was getting an early look at how research actually happened, although I certainly did not understand at the time how much that experience would influence my own path.

All these years later, I understand something that I could only feel then. Professors can change life trajectories when they invite students into their work, take their ideas seriously, and give them opportunities before those students have the credentials to demonstrate what they might eventually become. Sylvia did that for me.

So my text to Sylvia is easy: You are great. Apparently, I was already trying to tell the University of Michigan that when I was an undergraduate and wrote a letter for Sylvia’s promotion and tenure file, even though I barely understood what tenure meant at the time. Decades later, I understand exactly what I was trying to say.

You are loved.

My daughter Lucia is in her first semester of college at the University of Michigan, and it seems like a new opportunity she wants to explore arrives from her in my email almost every day. I love watching it happen.

She is part of the Marsal School of Education’s LEAPS program and is already serving as a social media ambassador for the program. She works in her residence hall. She is meeting new people and spending time with women from Alpha Kappa Alpha. Every time we talk, there seems to be another event, another opportunity, another person she has met, or another experience she is considering. Her world is expanding quickly.

I want her to explore. I want her to meet people, find communities that interest her, discover new ideas, make friends, make some mistakes, and have the full experience of being a college student. I also want her to know that she does not have to have the next four years figured out during her first few months.

Amid all those new messages arriving on her phone, I want one familiar message to keep arriving from me: You are loved. Whatever opportunity comes tomorrow, whatever organization catches her interest, whatever grade appears on the screen, and whatever direction her life eventually takes, I want her to know that.

Maybe somebody in your life needs the same message today. We often assume the people closest to us know how much we love them. They probably do, but I still think we should tell them. There are some things in life worth repeating.

This will pass.

Of these four messages, this may be the one I think about most because these are words I wish I had told Jason Arday: This will pass.

There are moments when whatever is happening in our lives becomes so large that it fills our entire field of vision. A disappointment can consume us. A professional setback can make us question years of work. A relationship can change. A door we expected to open can close. Something can happen on Tuesday that makes it difficult to imagine what life will look like six months from now.

When somebody we care about is going through one of those moments, we naturally want to help. We search for advice. We try to figure out what to say. Sometimes we say too much. Looking back, I wish I had simply emailed Jason three words that I have learned to believe through my own experiences: This will pass.

Those words cannot make somebody’s problems disappear. They can remind someone that circumstances change and that a moment that feels overwhelming today will eventually occupy a different place in the story of their life. Time has taught me that things I once thought about constantly eventually became things I thought about occasionally, and some eventually became things I could look back on with a completely different perspective: This will pass.

Thank you.

When I think about Thank you, I think about Seth Bramble at CTA. When I transitioned from serving as provost back to the faculty at Western Michigan University, Seth reached out to me. I will never forget that he did. It was a simple gesture, but I remember how much it meant to me at that particular moment in my life.

Transitions teach you things about relationships. Serving as provost meant my calendar was constantly full. There were meetings to attend, decisions to make, problems to solve, calls to return, and people who needed something in ten minutes. When I transitioned back to the faculty, the rhythm of my professional life changed significantly. Seth took the time to reach out during that transition and ask how I was doing. He probably did not realize that I would remember it this clearly. I did, and I still do.

So Seth gets this text from me: Thank you. Thank you for reaching out. Thank you for thinking about me. Thank you for taking a few moments to check on someone going through a transition. I hope he knows that I remember. I suspect most of us have a Seth somewhere in our lives. Somebody did something that may have seemed ordinary to them but meant something significant to us. Maybe they called. Maybe they recommended you for an opportunity. Maybe they checked on you after something happened. Maybe they showed up when you needed someone around. They may not even remember doing it, but you do.

Four People. Four Texts.

We talk a lot about what screens are doing to us, to our eyes, our minds, our sleep, and so much more. Those are important conversations. But today I am thinking about something else: what we can send through those same screens. A few words of encouragement can travel hundreds or thousands of miles at the speed of light. They can reach a college student sitting in a residence hall, a mentor who changed your life decades ago, a colleague going through a difficult moment, or someone whose act of kindness you have never forgotten.

So I am prescribing you a few minutes of screen time today. Open your phone and think carefully about four people. Send one of them You are great. Send another You are loved. Find somebody going through something and send This will pass. Then think about someone who did something you still remember and send Thank you.

My four messages already have faces. Sylvia reminds me that an opportunity given to an undergraduate can reverberate through an entire career. Lucia reminds me how quickly a young person’s world can expand once college begins and how important it is that love remains part of that expanding world. Jason reminds me to say the words while I still have the opportunity. Seth reminds me that reaching out during someone’s transition can stay with them much longer than we realize.

Take four minutes of screen time today and use them well. Four people will look down at their phones and see something they probably weren’t expecting: You are great. You are loved. This will pass. Thank you.

Then put your phone down and go outside. Your battery is begging you to touch grass.

Please share.

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