Today, I had all four tires replaced at a small shop. Instead of waiting inside, I decided to watch.

The first wheel clattered against the technician’s workstation, its surface dulled and scarred from years of use. He hooked the metal arm under the thick edge where the tire clung to the rim. A twist of his wrist, a quick pull, and the rubber loosened, hissing as the last of the air slipped away.

Beside him lay the new tire, and I asked how he could tell which side belonged on the outside. He traced a finger over the sidewall and tapped at a row of small raised letters.

“Right here, OUTSIDE,” he said. “You just have to know where to look.”

The answer was so plain I almost laughed.

It made me think of the times I’ve tried to decide the “right side” of things—relationships, choices, people—and assumed the answer was hidden. But sometimes it’s right there, stamped where only a practiced eye will see.

On the way home, the idea stayed with me. Maybe the work isn’t to dig for what’s buried, but to spot the quiet signs along the edges.

Often, the right side of a choice, like the outside of a tire, is already marked; we just have to learn where and how to spot it.