Probably not the only one

A woman in Salalah rinses her empty tins and keeps them in a bag by the door, waiting for somewhere to take them. She has never mentioned it to the neighbours. She assumes they would find it odd, a little fussy, the habit of someone who cares about a thing most people stopped thinking about long ago.

Two floors down, a man is doing exactly the same, and assuming exactly the same about her.

People who care about doing the right thing tend to believe they are rare. Those who would like less waste, fairer pay for whoever delivers their shopping, or more honest labels on what they buy quietly picture themselves as a small and slightly eccentric group. Ask around, and the group usually turns out to be far larger than any of them guessed.

The belief has a comfortable side. If almost nobody agrees with me, nobody can expect me to do much about it. I can feel principled and stay still. It has a flattering side too: the lonely few who see clearly while everyone else looks away.

Mostly, though, it costs nerve. She does not suggest a collection point to the building manager because she imagines the eye-rolling. The shop owner on the corner does not try a refill shelf because he assumes nobody would use it. The good idea stays in the bag by the door.

The odds are better than they feel. If you care about it, so, very likely, does the person in the next flat.