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When we think about
the most meaningful jobs in the world,
firefighters are among
the top of the list, right?
While most of us run from danger,
they run straight into it,
risking their lives to save ours.
The impact of their work is undeniable.
At least that's what I had always assumed,
until I met a firefighter named Greg,
who told me that even
firefighters can struggle
to see the impact of their work.
"Really? How? How can that be?"
I remember asking Greg.
And he explained with a story.
When he was a rookie,
he and his crew were called
to a horrific car wreck.
A woman was trapped inside.
Her legs were pinned
under the twisted steel.
Greg's training took over.
He looked for an opening
and he found a jagged opening.
Slid through to put his heavy bunker coat
around the woman
to shield her from the glass
as they worked to rescue her.
Greg promised he would stay by her side
and they would get her out,
and they did.
But here is the part of Greg's story
that stuck with me.
After that intense experience,
Greg would never know what happened next.
Did the woman survive?
Did she ever walk again?
Did their efforts that night
make any difference?
It surprised me to learn
that firefighters rarely hear
about the outcomes of their rescues.
Over time, that lack of closure
can erode morale,
fuel burnout, even cynicism.
So years later,
when Greg became fire chief,
he created a system to change that.
He tracked the outcomes of rescues
because he wanted his firefighters to know
when their efforts had saved a life
or eased someone's suffering,
because Greg knew something vital:
It is not enough to do important work.
We need to know
our work makes a difference.
We need to know we matter.
I'm a journalist,
and for the past six years,
I've interviewed hundreds of people
around the world like Greg,
asking them a question.
Do you feel like you matter?
For too many, the answer was no.
A doctor I interviewed
described feeling powerless
now that insurance companies were denying
her patients the care they needed.
A college student described
feeling like she only mattered
when her GPA was high
and her weight was low.
An elderly man described feeling
like he mattered less this way.
He said, the hardest part of aging
is that people stop relying on you.
What these stories
and the scientific research make clear
is that to thrive in life,
we need to know we matter.
That is, to feel valued
and to have an opportunity
to add value to the world.
When we feel like we matter,
we show up fully.
We want to connect. We want to engage.
We want to contribute.
But when we are made to feel
like we don't matter,
we often withdraw.
Some of us might turn
to substances or self-harm
to try to alleviate that pain.
Others lash out in anger.
Road rage, online attacks,
political extremes.
These are all desperate attempts to say,
"I'll show you I matter."
And this is about to get worse.
As AI erases jobs that once gave people
a sense of identity and purpose,
millions more will face
this crisis of mattering.
The job ahead for us
is not just to keep up with machines.
It's to protect what it means to be human.
To feel valued,
and the responsibility we have
to remind others that they are valued too.
In my research, I found that the places
where we live and work
can either fuel this crisis
or be a key to solving it.
I visited a factory
in Phillips, Wisconsin,
where each workstation had a card
that talked about how the piece being made
fit into the final product.
On that card was a photo and a story
of the person who would one day use it.
That story card was
a powerful reminder to workers
that they weren't just assembling parts,
they were building something meaningful.
Mattering at work is not
some soft, squishy, nice-to-have idea.
It's actually good business.
When employees know they matter,
they work harder, they stay more loyal
and they bring more energy to their roles.
To matter, we need to feel valued,
but we also need a chance to add value.
And in my research,
I uncovered a formula for doing this.
Identify a need in the world,
or in your community
or in your neighborhood,
and then use your strengths,
your resources, your talents to meet it.
I interviewed a woman named Julie
outside of Boston
who discovered this for herself firsthand.
For two years, Julie was
her mother's full-time caregiver.
When her mother passed away,
Julie described
feeling unmoored, purposeless.
But instead of retreating
inward in her pain,
Julie had the courage
to look outward for a new way to matter.
And when she did, she noticed
two needs in her community.
Grieving families like hers
who were struggling with what to do
with their loved ones' belongings.
And other families
who were rebuilding after a fire
or experiencing homelessness.
So Julie connected the two.
With a friend, she started to collect
gently used home goods
and deliver them to people
who could use them.
That simple act of care
has transformed thousands of lives,
including Julie's.
All of us here will go through
painful life transitions,
the loss of a loved one, an illness,
maybe an empty nest, even retirement.
These transitions can shake
our sense of mattering to its core.
But like Julie, we have an opportunity,
even a responsibility,
to make ourselves useful again.
The way back can start small,
checking in on a neighbor
or appreciating out loud a colleague
who's always so kind and supportive.
What you will find is that the fastest way
to feel like you matter again
is to remind someone else why they do.
Now at this point,
some of you may be thinking,
the problem isn't that I don't matter.
It's that I matter too much.
At home, at work.
What you wouldn't give
to matter just a little bit less.
Am I right?
Well, this too can be thought of
as a crisis of mattering.
True mattering is not about stretching
ourselves to the breaking point.
It's about balance.
Balancing our own needs
with the needs of others.
For years, I have personally struggled
to find this elusive balance.
And then I read a study
conducted at the Mayo Clinic
that showed me how.
Researchers there
were testing a simple intervention
to strengthen resilience.
They recruited a group
of medical professionals
and they had them meet for one hour a week
to share their struggles
and to support one another.
After three months,
the researchers found
significant improvements
in these participants'
mental health and well-being.
Their cortisol levels,
the stress hormone, had dropped.
These women also reported
feeling like better parents.
Why?
Because as caregivers,
when we are surrounded
by a strong network of support,
we've become more resilient,
and that resilience
ripples out to our kids.
This is not an isolated finding.
Decades of resilience research
find that a child's resilience
is rooted in the resilience
of the adults in their lives,
and adult resilience is rooted
on the depth and support
of our relationships.
Now as caregivers, we're often told,
put your oxygen mask on first.
But this research
revealed something deeper to me.
Friends are the oxygen.
We need one or two
or three people in our lives
who know us intimately,
who can see when we are struggling,
and who will reach over
and put that oxygen mask on for us.
That is a very different level of support
than we normalize
in our busy culture today.
But here's how I've come to look at it.
When I don't reach out for help,
not only do I deny myself
the support I need,
I also deny my friend
the chance of being a helper,
of feeling needed, like she matters to me.
So the next time you hesitate,
I hope you'll remember this.
Asking for help isn't weak.
It is an act of generosity.
Now to matter,
it is a very personal experience,
but it's also relational.
And it has the power
to connect our disconnected world.
A wonderful example of this
is taking place at the Dutch
supermarket chain Jumbo,
where they have instituted
slow checkout lanes
where the cashiers
take extra time to chat,
especially with elderly customers.
Amazing, right?
This simple fix for loneliness
has now been rolled out
in nearly 200 locations.
The lesson for us?
We don't need to build new spaces
to unlock each other's mattering.
We just need to be more intentional
about the spaces we already have.
Once you see the world
through the lens of mattering,
you can't unsee it.
It may even start to feel
like a responsibility.
It has for me.
It has changed how I show up now
for my family, my friends, my colleagues,
even strangers I meet on the street.
Affirming each other's worth,
it's not just the right thing to do,
it is the glue that holds
a healthy society together.
And we need this now more than ever.
What I have learned in these hundreds
of conversations is this.
That deep down, we are all
searching for the same thing.
To know who we are and what we do,
make a difference in this world.
We want to know that our lives,
our very existence,
matters.
Thank you.
(Applause)
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