Can I go to the bathroom… You may.
Can I go to the store… You may.
May I ask you to read on?
There’s something about it.
“May” carries a certain tone. A kind of polish that feels almost out of place in everyday conversation. It brings to mind a classroom, with a teacher gently correcting, or someone with a sharper ear for language than most. It can sound formal. Even a little… elevated.
Maybe even a bit pretentious.
I used to think that too.
A friend of mine once noticed that I often said “May I” or responded with “You may” when we talked. She asked me why.
The answer goes back further than I expected.
When I was a child, I had hearing issues. I missed a lot of school, and even when I was there, I wasn’t always fully present in the way other kids were. I didn’t ask many questions. I didn’t speak up. I assumed the world sounded the same to everyone as it did to me.
Eventually, after years of frustration, doctor visits, and earaches, my mum pushed until the issue was properly addressed. Surgery helped correct my hearing, but by then, I had already missed pieces—small but important parts of language that most people pick up without thinking.
It always felt like I was trying to assemble something with a few pieces missing.
As I moved into adulthood, and into a career where writing and communication mattered, I started paying closer attention. I looked things up. I studied patterns. I made small adjustments where I could.
“May” was one of them.
So, I started using it. Quietly, at first. Just here and there.
And something interesting happened.
When I said, “May I,” the people who noticed would respond with “You may.” Not always—but often enough. And when they did, there was usually a slight smile in their eyes. A brief pause. A shared understanding.
A small, almost invisible moment.
For a second, it didn’t matter where either of us came from. We both sounded a little more thoughtful. A little more deliberate. Maybe even a touch British… without the accent.
In the workplace, it created a different kind of ripple. Not dramatic, but noticeable. Conversations would slow by just a fraction. People would register it, even if they didn’t say anything.
Not a correction.
Not a statement.
Just a subtle shift.
Of course, not everyone sees it that way. Some might think it sounds a bit much. And maybe it does.
But for me, it became something else.
A small choice.
A quiet refinement.
A way of shaping how I show up in the world.
I may still get things wrong. Probably more than I realize.
But this is one thing I’ve learned.
So next time you ask if you can do something…
you might try asking if you may.
You might notice something shift.
Or maybe… someone notices you.