Good deeds come in all shapes and sizes. Some are spectacular, like heroic rescues that put the rescuer’s life at risk, or stunning acts of generosity. These are front-page good deeds, deeds that get attention and public praise. But they are rare.

I’m interested in good deeds that are small and unsung; not newsworthy, but frequent to the point of being commonplace. These are acts that involve little or no risk, nor even much inconvenience, but collectively have a pervasive influence on people’s well-being.

They are acts that most of us engage in, and benefit from, daily. They are the kind of acts that, when we observe someone else perform them, we say to ourselves: “Well, that was a thoughtful thing to do,” or “How considerate!”

Here are some typical considerate acts: giving up your seat on the bus to someone for whom standing is difficult; removing your Stetson at an outdoor concert; positioning your shopping cart so it doesn’t block the aisle while you decide what to buy; waiting until 10 a.m. on Saturday to mow your lawn instead of doing it at 7 a.m.; not assuming, when at a restaurant or coffee house, that your table’s conversation will be of interest to other tables, i.e. using what your mother called your “indoor” voice.

How shall we characterize these considerate acts? You would probably not be called a “good person” for doing them, nor would you be thought “bad” for failing to do them.

They may fall within the purview of the golden rule, but certainly don’t relate to the Commandments, and your minister is unlikely to have mentioned them in a sermon. There is no real sense in which such acts are morally (or legally) obligatory, or even expected by those for whom they are performed.

It might be said that being considerate is the same as being polite, but I don’t think they coincide perfectly. A great many polite acts are no more than ritualistic gestures of deference or respect, triggered by generic situations.

Removing one’s hat in an elevator, for example, doesn’t involve any real concern for another’s welfare, or any specific intent to benefit someone.

Also, I regard considerate acts that affect those with whom you have a close relationship as belonging in a separate category. Being considerate is, to some extent, what sustains such relationships.

It brings rewards, including reciprocation. I am more interested in considerate acts involving strangers — people that you interact with at the grocery store, or the ball park, or the restaurant, or on the highway — people that you will probably never see again. There is a certain purity in good deeds performed for such people.

But what sort of general value — aside from making you think well of yourself — do such acts have? I think it might have something to do with the way that they lubricate the social machinery; the way they reduce the friction that tends to wear away our good humor when we are in the company of strangers.

The essence of a considerate act is that it is behavior that produces some modicum of benefit for someone else, but at a relatively small price in terms of self-denial or effort.

It represents, at heart, an awareness that other people are like we are, that they have lives, problems and plans, that they are in a hurry or anxious or impatient, just like us, and deserve a little help or encouragement if we can provide it without serious inconvenience to ourselves.

In some circumstances, especially in restaurants, bars and stores, it is a considerate act simply to acknowledge the humanity, the personhood, of someone who serves you.

Eye-contact and a friendly nod or word will often suffice. More concretely helpful acts are, of course, also appropriate. Gathering together a meal’s debris to make it easier to for the waiter to clear the table is a way of saying to that waiter: “You have a hard and ill-paid job; I’ll try to make it a little easier for you.”

Often, the way to perform a considerate act is to simply avoid committing an inconsiderate one. When you reach the checkout cashier at the grocery store, and there’s a line behind you, don’t prolong the transaction by striking up a conversation with the clerk, or wait until the total is rung up before you begin to search for your debit card.

And when you exit the store and cross the roadway to reach your car, don’t saunter along a diagonal path and thereby lengthen the wait of the drivers who have stopped to let you cross.

Considerate acts, I must add, are deserved not only by humans. There are your pets, for example. But come to think of it, they fall into that “close relationship” category. There is the planet itself. Not letting you car idle on a cold day while you shop represents a small sacrifice for the well-being of the earth and its creatures.

A final word of caution: If think yourself excessively victimized by other people’s inconsiderate acts, you may be right. But you also might have an unrealistic notion of just how smooth your own path through life should be.

Leonard Hitchcock of Pocatello is an alumnus of the University of Iowa and did graduate work at Claremont Graduate University and the University of California, San Diego. He taught philosophy in California and Arizona for 15 years. In 1985, after earning a library degree, he was hired by Idaho State University. He retired from ISU’s Oboler Library in 2006.