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Sixty Cans
Sixty good, small, ordinary things that anyone can do — for each other, and for the one planet we all share.
The cans
Sixty cans, with a tip of the hat to Andy Warhol. Each one holds something good. Tap a can to open it.
Sixty things you can do
No grand gestures required. Pick one. Then another.
- You can hold the door a beat longer than you strictly need to.
- You can learn the name of someone you see every day but have never really met.
- You can grow something. A pot of basil on a windowsill absolutely counts.
- You can mend it instead of replacing it. Sew the button, glue the handle, patch the knee.
- You can ask someone how they are, and then actually wait for the answer.
- You can cook from what’s already in the fridge before buying anything new.
- You can make the short trip on foot. You’ll notice things you’ve been driving past for years.
- You can write a thank-you note by hand and post it. Paper still delights.
- You can join your local library. It’s still one of the best deals in town.
- You can turn peelings and coffee grounds into rich, crumbly soil.
- You can carry a bottle you refill and a cup that’s yours.
- You can give blood, if you’re able. One donation can help up to three people.
- You can teach someone a skill you take for granted.
- You can let the other car in, and let the slow walker set the pace.
- You can leave a corner of the garden a little wild for the bees and the beetles.
- You can pick up one piece of litter on every walk.
- You can laugh at yourself. Often, and out loud.
- You can ring an older relative or friend just to chat. No reason needed.
- You can lend the ladder, the drill, the tent. Most of them sit idle most of the year.
- You can go somewhere properly dark and look up for ten whole minutes.
- You can give an afternoon to a beach clean, an animal shelter or a community garden.
- You can look for it secondhand first. Someone’s attic is full of exactly what you need.
- You can be the first to say sorry.
- You can cook a little extra and take it next door.
- You can ask “why?” the way a five-year-old does. Then ask it again.
- You can get up early and watch the sun come up at least once this year.
- You can switch off what you aren’t using. The planet and the bill both say thanks.
- You can tell someone exactly what they did well. Be specific; it lands better.
- You can plant a tree, or look after one that’s already there.
- You can leave your phone in another room for a whole evening.
- You can learn to recognise three birds by their song alone.
- You can pass on the clothes, books and toys that still have plenty of life in them.
- You can make the new person feel welcome — at work, at school, on your street.
- You can eat what’s in season and grown nearby. It tastes better, too.
- You can put down an old grudge. You’re the one who’s been carrying it.
- You can eat outside more often. Bring a blanket.
- You can ask a child what they think about something, and really listen.
- You can host a swap: books, seeds, clothes, jigsaws.
- You can catch rainwater for the garden.
- You can smile at strangers. Most of them smile back.
- You can write a letter to yourself, to be opened in ten years.
- You can leave a glowing review for a little local business you love.
- You can ask an older person to tell you their story, and write it down.
- You can ride a bike somewhere you’d normally drive.
- You can look closely at something small: frost on a window, a snail shell, the veins of a leaf.
- You can ask for help when you need it. It lets someone else be kind.
- You can rest without feeling guilty. You are not a machine.
- You can sing badly and loudly, and dance in the kitchen.
- You can bring your own bag, your own cup, your own box.
- You can celebrate other people’s wins as loudly as your own.
- You can start something new at sixty. Or sixteen. Or ninety-six.
- You can spend a couple of hours a week outdoors, among green and growing things.
- You can check on the neighbour who lives alone, especially when the weather turns.
- You can name three good things from today before you fall asleep.
- You can quietly pay for the next person’s cup of tea.
- You can cut a small gap at the bottom of your fence so hedgehogs can roam.
- You can rinse and recycle your cans. A recycled can can be back on the shelf in about sixty days.
- You can help someone who’s just starting out where you once started.
- You can believe that people can change. Including you.
- You can start today. Pick a can — any can.
Can do.
Sixty Cans is a small, cheerful idea: that the world gets better mostly in small, ordinary, everyday ways. A held door. A mended jumper. A neighbour checked on. A hedgehog let through the fence.
None of it needs permission, money or a platform. It just needs someone who can. And you can.