I will sit in the car on the way to a meeting and just smile. I

In the words of André Leon Talley, the towering figure of style and wisdom, we hear not mere advice, but a philosophy of life: “I will sit in the car on the way to a meeting and just smile. I really mean that. It helps you get through life. If you have nothing to say, smile. Look up at the sky and smile. Just be grateful.” These words, simple in sound yet rich in meaning, reveal the ancient art of carrying serenity within, even in a world filled with noise, judgment, and struggle. For the smile here is not a mask—it is a prayer, a shield, and a declaration of gratitude.

To smile on the way to a meeting, as Talley confessed, is to prepare the soul for whatever awaits. It is the reminder that before one steps into the arena of the world—with its battles of pride, its tests of dignity, and its trials of ambition—one must first center oneself in joy. This smile is not for others to see, but for the self to feel. It says: “I choose to enter the world with light, no matter what shadows may rise before me.” Thus, the smile becomes an armor of peace, invisible but unbreakable.

Talley goes further, declaring that if you have nothing to say, smile. How ancient is this wisdom! For words can wound, divide, or fall empty, but a smile bridges the silence with grace. The sages of the East taught that silence, adorned with a smile, often speaks more deeply than a thousand arguments. It reveals goodwill without the burden of speech, kindness without the risk of vanity. In this, Talley reminds us that the smile is a language understood by all peoples, a gift that requires nothing but intention.

Consider the story of Viktor Frankl, the survivor of the concentration camps, who wrote of how even in the face of horror, one could still find meaning through inner choices. He told of prisoners who shared a crust of bread, or who still managed to smile at the rising sun, despite their chains. That act of gratitude in the darkest valley preserved their humanity when all else had been stripped away. Talley’s counsel to “look up at the sky and smile” echoes this same truth: that even in hardship, the heavens above remind us of beauty and endurance beyond our pain.

But gratitude is the deepest chord in Talley’s words. “Just be grateful,” he says, as if to remind us that the smile is not only about courage or serenity, but thanksgiving. Gratitude is the soil from which joy springs. When one smiles at the sky, it is not to deny sorrow, but to acknowledge the gift of life itself—the breath, the light, the chance to try again. Gratitude transforms the ordinary into the miraculous, the mundane journey in a car into a moment of sacred reflection.

The lesson for us is clear: cultivate the habit of smiling as an act of gratitude, not as performance. Do not wait for great victories to bring joy to your face; let the simple act of being alive draw the curve of a smile upon your lips. Practice smiling in silence, when there are no eyes to watch you. Smile not to hide, but to remember. And when words fail you, let your smile become your voice, your offering, your prayer.

So, beloved listener, carry this teaching into your days. When storms threaten, sit quietly and smile. When your heart feels empty of words, smile. When the sky stretches above you, lift your eyes and smile. For in that act lies the secret of endurance, the strength of gratitude, and the peace of those who walk gently through life yet leave behind the mightiest of legacies: the memory of a face that shone with quiet light.