There’s a reason that quote sticks with people. It sounds almost playful at first, maybe even a little funny. A mosquito? Really? But anyone who’s ever spent a sleepless night swatting at the air knows exactly what it’s pointing to. Something tiny, something easy to dismiss, can completely change how a night unfolds.
We grow up believing that impact belongs to the loud, the large, the obvious. The people with titles. The ones with platforms. The ones who seem to enter a room already carrying influence with them. Somewhere along the way, many of us quietly decide that unless we’re operating at that scale, our contribution doesn’t really count.
But life doesn’t actually work that way.
Most change doesn’t arrive with a drumroll. It creeps in through small decisions, repeated actions, and moments that don’t feel historic while they’re happening. A single conversation that shifts how someone sees themselves. One honest piece of feedback that nudges a team in a better direction. A quiet refusal to accept “this is just how things are.”
Think about the people who’ve left a mark on you. Chances are, they weren’t trying to be extraordinary at the time. They were present. They listened. They showed up when it mattered. They said something simple at the right moment. Their influence didn’t come from size; it came from intention.
The mosquito metaphor works because it’s uncomfortable in the best way. It reminds us that power isn’t always about force. Sometimes it’s about persistence. About being impossible to ignore, not because you’re shouting, but because you’re consistent. Because you keep showing up in the same small, deliberate way.
In work, this is especially easy to forget. We wait for permission, for seniority, for the “right time” to speak up. We assume that strategy is set elsewhere and that our role is just to execute. But culture is shaped in the everyday. In how you run a meeting. In whether you give credit or take it. In whether you choose curiosity over cynicism.
Small actions compound. They always have. The problem is that compounding is invisible at first. On day one, it looks like nothing. On day ten, still nothing. Then one day, without much warning, you realize the tone has shifted. The trust has grown. The direction has changed. And suddenly, that “small” thing doesn’t feel small at all.
The same is true outside of work. Being kind when it would be easier to be indifferent. Choosing patience when frustration is justified. Standing up for something quietly but firmly, even when it would be simpler to stay silent. These moments don’t make headlines, but they shape lives.
We often underestimate ourselves because we’re measuring our impact with the wrong ruler. We compare our behind-the-scenes to someone else’s highlight reel. We forget that scale is not the same as significance. A mosquito doesn’t need to be big to matter. It just needs to exist, persist, and do what it does.
So if you’ve ever felt too small, too early, too insignificant to matter, take this as a gentle correction. Your voice counts. Your choices ripple. Your presence changes rooms, even when you don’t notice it happening.
Extraordinary change doesn’t always come from extraordinary people. More often, it comes from ordinary people who stop underestimating the power they already have—and use it, one small moment at a time.
Kenrick Vaz 