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My Uber driver pulled over halfway through the journey. I thought something was wrong with the car. Engine trouble. Flat tyre. Something. But he just sat there. Hands on the wheel. Not moving. "Sorry," he said. "I just need a minute." I didn't understand. "Is everything okay?" He turned around. And I saw his face. He'd been crying. Quietly. The whole drive. I hadn't noticed. "Your jumper," he said. "The front . I've been reading it in the mirror." I'd forgotten what I was wearing. Just grabbed something on my way out the door. "I'm having a really hard time," he said. "My wife left. My kids won't talk to me. I've been driving twelve-hour shifts just to avoid going home to an empty flat." He paused. Wiped his face. "I was reading the back of your jumper at every red light. And I just... I needed to stop. I needed to tell you that I saw it." I didn't know what to say. This stranger. This man I'd never see again. Breaking down in the front seat. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't know." "How could you?" he said. "Nobody knows. I don't tell anyone. I just keep driving." We sat there for a few minutes. Parked on some random street. Two strangers who'd never met before. Then he said: "Can I take a photo? Of the back? I want to remember it. For the bad nights." "Of course," I said. He took the photo. Then he apologized again. Started driving. When we got to my destination, he turned around one more time. "Thank you," he said. "You don't know what that did for me today." I got out. Gave him five stars. Never saw him again. But I think about him constantly. Because he wasn't supposed to read it. He was just driving. Glancing in the mirror. Doing his job. But the message found him anyway. That's the thing about wearing it. You can't control who sees it. The person behind you in the queue. The driver checking his mirrors. The stranger on the street who glances at your back for half a second. Any one of them might be barely hanging on. And the words on your back might be the first kind thing they've heard all day. Front says "You're Enough." Back says "Dear person behind me, the world is a better place with you in it. Love, the person in front of you." I wear it everywhere now. And I pay attention to who's behind me. Sometimes it's nobody. Sometimes they don't even notice. But sometimes — like that Uber driver — they read it at exactly the right moment. And that's enough. You never know who needs to see it. So I make sure it's always there to be seen.