The Next Right Thing

There’s this quote that’s been stuck in my head lately:
 “Do the next right thing.”

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It’s simple. Almost too simple. But it hit me like a punch in the gut. Not do everything right. Not fix all your mistakes. Just… do the next right thing. And sometimes, that’s enough.

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A couple of years ago, I was sitting in a university lecture hall, over halfway through a computer science degree. On paper, everything made sense. I had a clear path ahead of me—graduate, get a tech job, climb the ladder, build a life. But my gut was screaming at me. While I was learning about systems and data structures, kids across the world were learning how to survive airstrikes. I didn’t want to wait for things to “settle down.” I didn’t want to sit on the sidelines and tweet "thoughts and prayers" and support from a distance.

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So I left.

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I quit university, booked a flight, and moved to Ukraine. I didn’t have a grand plan—just the conviction that this felt like the next right thing.
Nothing prepares you for the emotional whiplash of living in a warzone. One day, you're helping deliver supplies to families in a bombed-out village. The next, you're teaching English to wide-eyed fifth graders who still flinch at loud noises. Every night you hear drones and missiles flying to create more destruction. You learn to live with uncertainty. You learn to adapt. And you learn that helping doesn’t always look like heroism—it often ends up being something as small as giving someone a smile.
There’s beauty too. A kind of raw, unscripted humanity that’s hard to describe. You laugh harder. Cry faster. Hold each other tighter. The world feels smaller here. Not in a limiting way—just in a real way.

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I didn’t move here to be a savior. Those who know me know that's certainly not me. But I came to show up. To do what I can. To do the next right thing, over and over. Sometimes, that means something practical like delivering food or humanitarian aid. Sometimes, it means just listening. Sometimes, it means building something—something small, maybe, but real. And you know what? That’s enough because doing the next right thing has a way of leading you toward purpose, even if the road is messy and not so straightforward.

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I’m not here to tell you what to do. But if this resonates—even a little—maybe it’s for a reason. Maybe your next right thing isn’t quitting your job or moving across the world. Maybe it’s something smaller: showing up, paying attention, choosing to care.

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I didn’t have a grand plan. I still don’t. But this work—helping kids who’ve lived through more than most of us can imagine—feels like the next right thing. Every day, we take one step. One story. One box of supplies. One hug. One smile. And if you’ve made it this far, maybe your next right thing is walking with us—helping us keep doing ours.

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Preston Button is from New York State, USA. He has worked for Novi for a year and a half. When not teaching kids English, social sciences, or literature, he helps us with anything data and computer related. When not doing that, he helps us with our reporting and assessments. Preston is getting better at speaking Ukrainian every day.

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