An excerpt from a text I sent a new nurse leader who’s feeling a little timid about the next step in her career; also an excerpt for me on a future foggy day…
Someone has to go into the fire first, to show others how to put it out. Relief and calm usually and immediately follows a competent leader. I think you’ve got what it takes.
An excerpt from an email to a new mom I’ve never met; also an excerpt for me on a future foggy day…
Yes, the myth of motherhood is that eventually we find balance. In truth, we always choose one thing at the expense of another. I see that example in Jesus’ life and ministry, though, so I carry on in his likeness to the best of my ability.
To walk away from a robust social media life is to walk away from doomscrolling. Now, most days, this is a positive thing. I’m not comparing my body or my work life or my marriage or my canceled vacation or my or my or my to anyone else’s. I’m also not getting sucked down a dark and twisted pattern of being irritated by someone I have never met. It feels good to live and let live. But some days, my thumbs really, really, really want to know. What’s everyone saying about this thing that feels too joyful or too heavy to hold by myself? What’s the latest? What’s going on now? What about now? I particularly miss Twitter. That place was my favorite.
I remain a firm believer that if you can access the news, you should access the news. To each their own, regarding limits and boundaries… but I feel it is our duty to stare wide-eyed into the world and then prepare ourselves to speak into it, clunky as it may be, for the sake of generations who follow us. For me, to walk away from a robust social media life could never equate to walking away from current events. It just looks a little different these days.
I listen to the daily flash briefing on my Amazon Alexa each morning, as well as most evenings. We have one in our bathroom, which I highly recommend if for no other reason than to match music to mood during showers and brushing teeth or hair and reading in the bath and staring at pores in the mirror. I might listen to the flash briefing multiple times when I’m feeling doomscroll-y, allowing the gentle scolding from Alexa – Rachael, you’re all caught up on your briefing – to slowly bring me back to earth. When I come across a headline that grabs my attention, in conversation or online (I’m not living under an off-grid rock, ok?), I Google it for a diverse offering of pieces on the topic. I also engage people in my everyday orbit, by asking my husband or a coworker or one of my kids what they think about the story I’m focused on that day. When I just know in my gut that a good conversation is happening on Twitter, as small as a comment on a basketball player’s shoes or as a big as a protest, I Google the topic with Twitter in the search phrase.
I am missing out, and yet I am not. Maybe it was always meant to be this way.
In January, I wrote. In February, I did push-ups. I wonder what daily habit will find me in March.
It is at the very least foolish, if not downright harmful, to present as an expert on every situation, simply because one enjoys an audience of listening ears and watching eyeballs. Woe to the one who uses influence to manipulate for personal gain. May I learn from poor choices of my past; may I maintain a humble heart as I lead in the future.
“The sufficiency of my merit is to know that my merit is not sufficient.”
St. Augustine
Last night was one of those nights, the kind that makes me smile out aloud at the realization that we’re all creating core memories together. Last night reminded me of this one, eight long and short years ago. Last night, instead of our usual Friday night Shabbat, the one with the Bag O’ Burgers from the local bar, we decided to go out to another restaurant. We ate and laughed and drank and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. We saw people we knew. There were people at whom we hollered and chased down for pleasantries, and people to whom we politely waved and then politely avoided. It is a small town, after all. We stopped by the bar to give our favorite server a hug and her usual Friday night tip. We drove home listening to old playlists we built together when our big boys were still at home and life was different. Oh, was life different. This morning, I noticed a text from a coworker. A gal from another department apparently overheard the bar staff trying to figure out how to reach a Rachael Kincaid last night; I must have dropped my license in the parking lot during our pop-in after dinner. This brave and kind colleague hopped into the fray and secured my license, volunteering to track me down. It only took her a few mutual connections, and now I am to retrieve my license from the nurses’ station Monday. Perhaps I’ll make a new friend out of this; she knows my age and weight now, after all. I love this town. I loved last night.
Staying calm
is a kind of
weapon.
– Ukrainian citizen