A Quiet Lesson From a Squeaky Wheel

In the kitchen, there was a cabinet dolly with a loud, grating cry, as if it were protesting the weight it carried. Apparently, no one had bothered to fix it. I considered fixing it myself, but when I learned it had been like that for quite some time, I let it be. The other dollies passed unnoticed, their wheels blending into the background hum. But this one—flawed and stubborn—radiated a quiet defiance. It announced itself unapologetically, as if to say: I am here. I exist. 

The squeak is not just noise, it is rebellion, a defiant cry against the illusion of order in a world ruled by chaos. In its defiance, I saw myself—a refusal to fade into silence, a need to be heard, imperfections and all. It didn’t hide its struggle or pretend to be something it wasn’t. It reminded everyone in the kitchen to pause, to notice, to care. It reminded me that some wheels don’t need fixing; some just need to be heard.

In that kitchen, I realized I wasn’t just noticing the dolly—I was understanding something about myself. Maybe we all squeak when the weight becomes too much, and maybe that’s exactly what keeps us moving forward. Life itself is a bit of a squeaky dolly—imperfect, messy, loud—but it carries its load all the same, and in those flaws, we find its beauty.