A friend of mine used to work for one of the federal agencies that’s been practically shuttered under the current administration. Back in the days when Elon and DOGE seemed to be calling the shots, she was required to email her “five things she accomplished that week.”

No one really knew what happened to those lists. Maybe they vanished into a data abyss. Maybe an AI was the only one who ever read them. My friend joked that somewhere out there, a machine might be quietly enjoying the song lyrics she sometimes slipped in. And every week, without fail, her final item read: Upheld the Constitution.

It was a line that turned compliance into quiet rebellion.

Months later, long after her agency was dismantled, she revisited that old format — not because she had to, but because she chose to. She posted her five things again, this time about the good she’s still doing: small acts of kindness, creativity, and care. And yes, her final line remained the same. Upheld the Constitution.

That consistency stopped me. It was a reminder that even when systems crumble and leadership falters, people still find ways to hold onto integrity — to stand for something that matters.

It brought to mind Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning, where he wrote that “everything can be taken from a person but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances.” My friend’s “five things” embodied that freedom. What began as a bureaucratic chore became a declaration of principle — a refusal to surrender her humanity.

It also echoed the late John Lewis’s call to make “good trouble.” His message wasn’t just about public acts of protest, but about everyday courage — the quiet insistence on doing what’s right even when no one is watching. My friend’s posts carried that same spirit: steadfast, moral, and defiantly human.

I wasn’t a federal employee. I didn’t experience DOGE firsthand. But I am with her in spirit. Because in a time when so much feels uncertain — when institutions are hollowed out and leadership seems to prize loyalty over service — choosing meaning, conscience, and compassion is its own form of good trouble.

Maybe that’s what we need more of — not proof of productivity, but proof of humanity.

So this week, I might write my own five — not to measure progress, but to honor the quiet courage of showing up. Because sometimes, reflection itself is resistance. And in moments like these, even the smallest acts of good trouble still matter.

Your turn:
Write your five things this week. Don’t make them a report — make them a reminder. What did you do that mattered, even a little? What quiet act of good trouble are you proud of? Post them. Share them. Speak them out loud. Because choosing meaning, especially now, is the kind of rebellion the world still needs.