On Compassion

Definition of compassion (Merriam-Webster) – sympathetic consciousness for others’ distress together with a desire to alleviate it

Synonyms – mercy, leniency, tolerance, humanity, kindness, warmth, love, tenderness, care, concern


While we lived in Fort Collins, I had the privilege of working with a coalition of residents who lived in several very low-income neighborhoods around town. Most of the residents were Hispanic, some were undocumented. I worked in public health, immersed in data about the inequities that exist within our systems and institutions. I learned that health outcomes are systematically worse for Americans living in poverty and for those who aren’t white. I learned that where we live has more of an influence on our health than our personal habits or whether or not we have access to a physician. I learned that these are well-researched facts which articulate the harsh realities that many Americans face every single day. (Go here if you want to read more about the social determinants of health.)

The residents I worked with were honest, kind and hard-working. They worried about their kids, worried about their parents, and enjoyed talking about all of the same things I talk about with my friends. And they lived in the deepest poverty I’ve ever witnessed first-hand.

As I’ve listened to the political discourse over the past year, I’ve thought often of those residents. I’ve been deeply empathetic for as long as I can remember, but there’s a new dimension when you’ve worked closely with others to address the systemic challenges they’re facing, especially when those individuals’ experiences are vastly different from your own. Every time there’s a conversation about immigrants, I think of them. Every time someone makes an assumption about those who are undocumented, I think of them.

Throughout this election, I’ve spent a considerable amount of time thinking about compassion. After listening, listening and listening some more, my perspective is that as a society we’ve lost ours. Recently, caring about the welfare of others is something to justify, to defend. Or at least it has been for me. Compassion transcends politics, is beyond red and blue. Compassion is acknowledging the very real disparities that exist, politics is disagreeing on the solutions.

When we live in a world where we can create online and in-person communities that reinforce our own beliefs, that insulate us from natural tension and discourse, it becomes easier to make assumptions about those who are different, whatever different means. Whether that’s urbanites and rural Americans, straight and LGBTQ, white and brown, rich or poor, we are inherently weaker with a myopic view. And we lose the middle, the 1000 shades of grey in between. It becomes harder to cultivate compassion for those who’ve walked a different path. With regards to our politicians, they are merely a reflection of the reality we ourselves have created. When we become more, they will be more. It’s like that old business saying…culture eats strategy for breakfast. We are the culture.

So compassion. Of all of the challenges facing us, compassion is fundamental. Until we (the collective we) rediscover our humanity, become invested in the success of all Americans, we’ll continue down this path. It’s a step back from politics. Questions that remain unanswered for me…how do we cultivate compassion? How do we personalize the challenges facing marginalized and vulnerable communities, how do communicate their unique challenges so that their stories are accessible and relatable? (These two questions are incredibly relevant to my professional life as well, so if anyone has any answers, please share.) Most importantly, how do we funnel that compassion into meaningful change? Caring for and about one another is strength, acknowledging that some people do need more help is grace, providing that help is compassion.


“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”  ― Mother Teresa

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What have I done?

Weird things happen when life spends three years spinning you in circles…in addition to making some unexpected life decisions, you might find yourself starting a blog one random Saturday afternoon.

As a highly-sensitive introvert (highly-sensitive doesn’t mean I cry a lot, quite the opposite actually, if you want to learn more about the term go here), I spend a lot of time in my head. A LOT. Since the recent election, I’ve noticed an increase in noise upstairs, a restlessness. I’m not sure what it’s about, or where this might go, but for the first time in my life I’m compelled to put words to paper, or screen as it were. I’m also coming off a bizarre couple of years. In the last three years I’ve experienced two cross-country moves, two very stressful jobs, a serious flare of my autoimmune condition (Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, click to learn more about what it’s like to live with Hashi’s ), a close family member being diagnosed with a serious illness, a broken foot, and yet another new job – one that feels like it *might* be a good fit. All of the transitions, turmoil and change forced me to think hard about what makes for a good life, what makes me happy, and what it means to contribute – to “add to” the universe as opposed to “take from”. It also forced me to look deeper at the grey areas of life, the dark corners where transformation happens. That is some of what I want to explore here.

As for the title, it’s a twist on a common term used to describe an introvert – shrinking violet. Most introverts I know aren’t dull wallflowers. We are measured in our speech, but oftentimes complex, fierce individuals who have strong opinions and an important perspective in today’s loud, obnoxious society. I have never been afraid of change, adventure, or shaking up my life, hence Leaping Violet. It’s a small way of reframing, changing the lens.

So, I’m blogging. Mostly for my own benefit, in the hopes of gaining clarity on the things that get stuck on repeat in my head, but I’ll also sharing the blog through my social media accounts. I’m not scared of writing the blog, I’m terrified (TERRIFIED!) that someone will read it. Sharing it is an exercise in extreme discomfort. So here’s to getting vulnerable. I’m not sure where this will go, but I’m curious enough that I’m willing to let it wander where it may.

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