When I was nineteen, I transferred from the University of Texas to the University of Utah. My sister was getting a divorce that summer and asked if I would come out and be there in Salt Lake City with her and her kids. I was happy to do that since I knew she needed some support, plus the idea of living out of state for the first time felt exciting.

I lived in the dorms on campus that first summer, and every day on the way to the cafeteria, I passed a fellow who was about my same age. We smiled at each other and said, “Good morning,” and it quickly developed into one of those silly, sort-of private jokes we shared after only a few days. A greeting and a smile, day after day.

I saw that same fellow over the next three years, occasionally in the student union or en route to class, and we always repeated our smiles and salutations. It was as if we were old friends though we had never said more than those two words to each other. Just before I graduated, I saw my “friend” at the University pool. Unlike the other times, he walked up to me and said, “Could we talk for just a minute?”

“Sure,” I said. “Maybe a real conversation is in order.”

My friend looked serious and said, “I need for you to know something about me.”

“Okay.”

“That summer we were both in the dorms was a really terrible time for me. My dad had just died, and I was so depressed I was considering suicide.”

“Oh, goodness.”

“Knowing that you were going to give me that big smile of yours was the one thing I held onto that whole summer. Your smile saved my life.”

I did not know what to say.

He touched my arm. “Never underestimate the power of a smile. Sometimes that’s all a person needs until life turns a corner.”

We hugged and said good-bye.

Over these many years since college, I’ve made a point to smile at people when I walk down the street.

After all, you never know when someone might be waiting for life to turn that corner.