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Hey friends, I haven’t been consistently publishing this newsletter and as a result, I missed my first anniversary of this newsletter's publication [June 14, 2023].
I don’t think I ever told you the circumstances surrounding the date of starting this publication. Turns out, I was on an emergency trip back east to my parent’s house after my mom was bitten by a dog while on an out-of-state trip. Residing in the state next over, I flew there to help her navigate the rather severe injury and then helped her fly cross-country to her home on the East Coast.
Despite the unexpected events, it was the first time I had experienced quiet in a long time. While my mom rested and recovered, I found myself without distractions of screaming kids or screens.
Silence has a sound. For me, it’s often my own thoughts rising to the surface of clarity after percolating in the depths of uncertainty.
I say down to pen my first publication and hours later, Humans in Healthcare was born. A newsletter about humanity more than healthcare. An invitation to curiosity, compassion, and courage.
Flying back home, I shared these thoughts about my experience with quiet:
I was flying back home yesterday after an emergency trip cross country to my parents house. (everything is ok sans a severe dog bite 🐶 on my moms leg that will leave a gnarly scar. A story for another day).
On the flight, a passenger was trying to connect to in flight Wi-Fi to respond to work related emails, but was having difficulty connecting. The flight attendant jokingly asked if they were an hourly or salaried employee to which the person replied “salaried”. The attendant, lovingly, but firmly said, “so what does it matter? You’ll get it done when you get it done. Just enjoy the time.”
Gosh, it made me pause.
I see so many productivity posts about getting to inbox zero on flights and hey, I get it. I’ve done it too. And it makes sense since there are limited distractions on flights most of the time.
But lately, I’m just cherishing the time in the air. The stillness. My thoughts. No screens.
And it makes me think about how many times I’ve let life fit into my work instead of the other way around. How much my stance has changed that work should fit into life, not the other way around.
I had an English professor always say that if you don’t notice much in literature, you don’t notice much in life. I reflect on this often.
It was a call to curiosity. To connect to the words. To unlock meaning. To engage in connection. To notice people and the world around you.
If we don’t notice much in life, do we really…live?
If our noses are stuck to screens, do we ever connect?
If we’re always getting to inbox zero do we end up at…zero?
I find it interesting that the more overly connected we are, the more disconnected from ourselves and others we can become.
Maybe on your next flight, consider leaving the computer tucked away, turning to your neighbor, and making a connection you may otherwise never have.
Or if conversation isn’t your thing, listen to others and lean into your curiosity. Or look out the window at the clouds and dream. Be unproductive.
It will get done when it gets done.
Living happens even in stillness and quiet.
Disconnect to reconnect.
Begin to notice much in life so you can truly live.
Ironically, a year later, that’s exactly what I needed to do again — disconnect to reconnect.
See, the world was becoming much too noisy for me, especially the ‘creator’ world. Relentless creator mode can take a toll. Further, when you dare to show up and share or to create or to be authentically you, one of the risks is that you make yourself accessible to the narrow opinions or judgments of others. I was on the slippery slope of letting people try to tell me who I was without even knowing me at all.
So I had to disconnect to reconnect with my inner voice. I deleted social media from my phone. I stopped consuming. I stopped writing for and about others. And I started listening to the silence again.
What did I hear?
To keep going. To keep building. To keep believing.
To continue to create something meaningful, even if it’s not for everyone, it might be for someone. To strive for significance of impact — not size of impact.
That my pain will not be in vain. I am a surthrivor, through and through.
(surthriving is the word I made up to describe the tension between surviving and thriving — grieving the good in our lives because some of it came out of the pain and suffering that preceded it).
And to keep writing. But this time — for me.
Keep awake, alive, new. Perform the paradox of being hard and yet soft. Survive without calcification of the tender membranes. Be a poet. Be alive.
See, when I’m building the blocks of (figurative) architecture or painting strokes or writing words, I can’t always see the fully developed masterpiece yet to be — what is already inside of me.
That’s why creating has to start with you. Not for others. For you.
A reminder — that it does matter. If it makes you come alive, deep in your soul — it does. You are meant to create. Even if it’s just for you. You must celebrate you.
So here’s to you and here’s to me, too.
Your own reasons to make art are reasons enough. Create whatever causes a revolution in your heart.
This newsletter has never been about news or trends or even healthcare. It’s about humanity. About stories. It’s real. It’s raw. It’s mine. And I’m done apologizing for taking up space.
So though this ‘newsletter’ might look a bit different moving forward and on a less frequent and less consistent basis, I’ll be writing it again. But this time, I’m writing it for me.
To those who have stuck around for a year — thank you.
And for those of you who have taken this next step of building this community with me — to show up even when you don’t need something — to give something even when you don’t know the outcome — you know who you are and I can’t do this without you. Deeply grateful for you.
See you in your inbox soon!
ℹ️ Learn more about the Humans in Healthcare Network + Community here
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