What a Bowl of Soup Taught Me About Being an EA
Why the little things aren’t so little
When I worked at Dropbox, there was a chef named Tilak — Nepalese, always smiling, and spoke Korean fluently. We had an amazing in-house cafeteria called the Tuckshop run by an incredible head chef (Chef Brian!!) and an equally incredible team of the best chefs in the Bay Area. It was fast-paced, nonstop, and every day was a new menu — no repeats (like literally not joking, not repeating the menu was their thing!).
One year, on my 30th birthday, I walked into the cafeteria in the morning, and Tilak handed me a bowl of miyeok-guk — Korean seaweed soup.
If you grew up Korean, you know that soup. You eat it on your birthday. It’s a tradition, something a loved one typically makes you. It’s simple but meaningful and def not something you find in a tech startup cafeteria.
He didn’t make a big pot for everyone, and it wasn’t on the menu for the day. He made a single pot just for me, in the middle of his packed morning, prepping for the day’s food, for a company of around 400 people. Because he knew I was Korean. Because he remembered it was my birthday. Because he cared.
And I’ll never forget it.
That moment stuck with me because it wasn’t big or loud. It was personal. Quiet. Intentional. He saw me, and he went out of his way to do something special for me.
That’s the kind of care that can’t be taught in an onboarding doc or at school.
As Executive Assistants, we move fast, but we need to always lead with this kind of care. Our jobs are messy and unpredictable, and no one is handing out gold stars for going above and beyond. In fact, some people might say “you’re doing too much”, “you’re being extra”, “that’s not in your job description”. But the best people in this role (the ones who get brought into rooms early, who get trusted with the real stuff, who won’t get replaced by AI) are the ones who see the people behind the calendar invites and titles, and the ones who remember the little things and act on them.
It’s not about overextending yourself or being a hero. It’s about care and awareness. It’s about quietly choosing to go beyond the job description — not for recognition, but because it’s who you are, you notice it, and you want to.
What Tilak did wasn’t flashy. It was just soup.
But here’s the thing: it’s never just soup. It’s the gesture. The timing. The intention. The thoughtfulness. It’s going above and beyond what’s expected of you, not because someone asked, but because you noticed. Because you cared.
And people notice when you care. They notice when you take the time to remember their birthday, or how they take their coffee, or that they had a hard week and might need a quiet morning. They feel it when you go out of your way to add that extra touch of delight and when you anticipate instead of react.
That level of thoughtfulness, empathy, and emotional intelligence? That’s what sets great EAs apart. It’s what builds trust. It’s what makes people feel safe and supported. Those are things that can’t be automated.
AI can schedule meetings. It can take notes. It can even summarize conversations better than most humans. But what it can’t do is feel what someone needs. It can’t walk into a room and sense the energy shift. It can’t read the subtext, adjust the tone, hold space, or bring the kind of care that makes someone truly feel seen.
That’s the work. That’s the part of this job that isn’t in the job description, but it’s the part that matters most over the long run. And it’s what will separate you from all the other EAs who just do their job.
So yes, I still think about that bowl of seaweed soup. Not because it was extravagant, but because it was human.
And in a world that’s moving faster and becoming more automated by the day, being deeply human in your work is no longer a “nice to have”. It’s the whole point.