I’ve been thinking…6 min read

“I’ve been thinking…”

My husband believes those are three very dangerous words. Perhaps he’s right. Over the past few months being unable to walk, being sick, and being tested……I’ve had more time than usual to sit with my thoughts. Life has felt like a funnel, with so much pouring in and only a slow drip coming out the other end.

Lately, it feels as if I’ve been placed in the observation chair and told to sit, listen, and take everything in. No driving, no constant motion…..just observing.  This is unfamiliar territory.

Normally, I’m in the driver’s seat, pedal to the metal, moving full speed ahead. What I’m beginning to understand is that when you move that fast, it’s almost impossible to truly see or hear what’s around you.

From Full Speed to Stillness

Recently, life has gone from sixty to zero.

This season has become a lesson in patience, in slowing down, and in surrender. Accepting help has not come easily. That delicate line between independence and dependence feels thinner than ever.Asking for help feels vulnerable. It stretches every part of who I think I am.

And yet…

Kindness has met me at every turn. Strangers hold doors as I navigate on crutches. Friends show up with meals. Messages, check-ins, and small gestures appear daily, each one meaningful. Being on the receiving end of so much generosity has filled me with gratitude. More than that, it has renewed my belief in humanity.

When we slow down enough, goodness becomes impossible to miss.

When You Can’t Speak, You Listen

One of the greatest lessons during this time has been learning to listen. Not just to my body, but to everything happening around me.

Last week, I collapsed and ended up in the ER. I’m fine now, so no need to worry. Still, the experience left a lasting imprint. As paramedics loaded me into the red truck, everything became blurry. Awareness faded in and out. By the time we reached the emergency room, I couldn’t open my eyes or speak but I could hear everything.

What I heard is something I cannot stop thinking about.

The Woman Behind the Curtain

Inside the ER, doctors and nurses moved quickly around me. Their voices blended into a steady rhythm of urgency and care. Beyond the curtain next to me, another story quietly unfolded.

The patient beside me was an elderly woman. From her voice alone, I could sense her grace, her precise words  and her calm tone. The doctor explained that she needed surgery immediately. Then came a simple question: “Who can we call?”

Silence followed.

After a moment, she said she needed time to think. Gently, she explained that her concern wasn’t who to call. Instead, she worried about who would take care of her cat. My heart broke.

As the doctor and nurse reviewed forms, I could hear her discomfort. Pain slipped through her voice as she responded. A single thought kept repeating in my mind: Who is helping her? Wanting to speak, to advocate, to do something….I couldn’t. Tears streamed down my face as I listened.

A Life of Order, A Moment of Uncertainty

Soon, a social worker arrived. Questions began about the cat….its age, food, medications, and care instructions. Each answer came with remarkable clarity and detail. The woman described exactly where everything was and how it all worked.

Impressed, the social worker commented on her organization. With quiet pride, the woman replied,
“Of course there is a system for everything. I would like you to know, young lady, that I was a librarian for over forty years. Everything has a system.”

In that moment, I could see her clearly. Her life, her order, her independence and her dignity. Still, one question would not leave me…

Who would take her home after surgery?
Was there anyone to check in on her ?
Who would care for her?

The Questions That Stay With Us

That moment has stayed with me. It returns in quiet spaces and unexpected pauses. Beneath it all lies a deeper question:

How does someone end up alone?

Human beings aren’t meant to live in isolation. We are wired for connection, built for community, and designed to belong. But over time, however, connections fade. People move. Life shifts. Loss enters. Gradually, sometimes without notice, the circle grows smaller. Eventually, it can become just one person… and a beloved cat… facing a moment no one should face alone.

The Power of Asking and Receiving

Here is what I keep coming back to and what is dropping out of the funnel. The power of asking for help… and the power of connection. These two forces are deeply intertwined.

During this season, asking for help has stretched me in ways I never expected. What I’ve discovered is that asking doesn’t weaken us but rather it creates space for others to step in with love. Offering help matters just as much. Noticing someone. Reaching out. Showing up before the need is spoken.

Because not everyone can ask.

What We Can Do

So what do we do with this awareness? We reach out, we check in and  we build connection before we need it.  Then we step into someone else’s world when they do. Notice the neighbor you haven’t seen in a while. Call the friend who has gone quiet. Offer to pick up groceries, share a meal, or simply sit and listen.

Connection begins with small choices. Every act of kindness, no matter how simple, carries weight. Sometimes, those small acts are the difference between someone feeling invisible… and someone feeling seen.

A Final Thought

I don’t know what happened to the woman behind the curtain. Whether someone showed up for her. If her cat was cared for. Or whether she had someone waiting on the other side of surgery. What I do know is this:

She changed me.

That moment reminded me that life isn’t about constant motion or endless productivity. True meaning often reveals itself when we pause long enough to notice others. Maybe my husband is right…” I’ve been thinking” can be dangerous.

Because once awareness begins, it doesn’t stop. Once you truly see… you cannot unsee. And what becomes clear is this: We need each other. Always.

In the end, the smallest act of kindness may simply be making sure someone knows they are not alone.