My life pretty much runs at 100% all the time. It’s hard for me to slow down, but honestly, my on-the-go lifestyle doesn’t usually feel abnormal. Fortunately or unfortunately, it’s my norm.
Last week I had surgery, which obviously forced me to slow down. Short of having the flu several years ago, I’m not sure I’ve ever spent so much time in bed… then on the couch… and then back to bed again. But it’s okay. I’m not in a rush. I understand my body needs to rest and recover, and no one, including me, has any expectations right now other than to take it easy.
And that’s exactly what I’m doing. 😊
As I’ve gotten older, the slowdown comes in other forms—the pause. I read a line recently that stuck with me: “The pause is where wisdom lives.”
I pause before responding to emails or situations that might have fired up “younger Jess,” who would have sent off a quick, snappy reply. Some days I still write that response, but I save it for the next day and re-read it. If I still feel that fire in my belly, I send it. More often than not, my emails get rewritten in a softer, more concise tone. I’ve still been known as the queen of writing a “strongly worded email” to get my point across, but most times, by that point, it’s warranted.
As a writer and as someone who likes to think I’m a pretty good listener, I’ve become more attuned to what people are really trying to say. In everyday conversations, I can look beyond a person’s knee jerk reaction and dig deeper into what is really stressing them out. It’s probably one of my ‘superpowers’ that I feel gets stronger as I age.
One of the many hats I wear in the animal welfare industry is that of a public relations representative, where my superpowers are put to test.
Recently, I received an email about a kitten who had become very ill post-adoption. The tone and accusations implied that we didn’t care. But one sentence in that email caught my attention: the adopter’s other treasured cat at 20 years old, had just passed away.
I knew immediately that this man was grieving.
He was grieving and felt guilty for having taken in two new cats, one of whom had gotten sick. Whether he realized it or not, he was scared to lose another cat while still mourning the loss of his beloved companion. I could have replied defensively, pointing out that he’d missed some important steps in his adoption contract like not contacting us immediately when symptoms arose and waiting too long to bring him to a vet, but instead, I chose empathy.
While I gently mentioned the missed steps, I focused on how we could help. I asked him to send his veterinary invoices so we could cover the costs. I asked about his 20-year-old cat. I asked about the sick kitten (who, thankfully, made a full recovery). I listened, because I genuinely cared. Why did I choose this path?
Because I knew he was a good pet owner. He loved his cats. He wasn’t a bad guy; he just didn’t realize his anger was really grief in disguise. He was a human going through a tough time. A few emails later, he said he was surprised by my compassion and response. I wanted to say, “Buddy, we are in the business of rescuing cats—why would you think we wouldn’t care about a sick kitten?” Instead, I paraphrased that sentiment and explained that this season had been particularly hard for shelters, with many viral outbreaks spreading across our area, some even having to close temporarily to get things under control.
His perspective shifted when he paused. He put down his guard, reevaluated, and listened. The situation did a complete 180 in the right direction.
Every few weeks, I still receive photos and updates on his cats. They make me smile.
A little slowdown, a little pause, a little empathy, and a little kindness and understanding can go a long way.
Sometimes wisdom really does live in the pause…