When I was in high school one of my friends launched a group called Random Acts of Kindness, built on a simple principle of sharing small gestures of humanity with other peers on campus. It seemed a silly idea to me at the time.

Some days the students stood at the entrance to our cafeteria, offering hugs to kids bustling between classes. Another morning they placed yellow daffodils on the desks of each teacher. When my friend asked me to help with one of their projects — handing out small care packages before final exams — I scoffed at the idea. How much impact could these silly gestures have? Besides, I didn’t know half the students I was trading glances with.

But in light of recent tragedies — the bombing in Boston and countless other misfortunes that don’t always command the same media attention — these small acts of kindness seem to take on a new meaning, especially in an increasingly anonymous world. Like many people after hearing news of the bombings, I felt a wave of despair.

Social media sites seemed to erupt with the same anguish – users claiming they’d given up on humanity and couldn’t understand the source of such evil. “Where is the love?” shared one friend over Facebook. That frustration was hardly misplaced, but in addition to the usual fundraisers that crop up around these tragedies, there’s something to be said for such small acts of kindness.

Walking through the University of Washington campus Monday afternoon I can remember simmering in my own sadness after getting off the phone with a friend who’d be in the marathon. Rounding the corner, I came across a small cluster of students handing out flowers. One smiled ear-to-ear before passing me a tulip. The gesture was so effortless and genuine, it caught me off guard, and put me strangely at ease.

“Have a good day,” she said, as if to a friend.

Empathy can make itself felt in many small ways. It’s understandable and even important to feel moments of grief after these events, but I think one of the greatest ways to heal is to remind ourselves of the humanity around us.

I often forget it myself. Waiting for the bus at the end of a long day, my usual stance is to plug in my earphones and block out the world, shrugging my shoulders when somebody asks for bus money, even though I know I have at least a dollar to spare in pocket change.

But in an increasingly anonymous world, even a smile can go a long way. And as my high school friend understood, these gestures shouldn’t be limited to moments of tragedy.