Compassion in Action

Most days, I wake up thinking about what’s on my to-do list.

Emails, due dates, budget meetings, logistics and things I forgot to do start running through my mind before the day even begins.

Then there’s everything it takes to keep a life and home moving: laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning, feeding and walking my dogs, paying bills, figuring out dinner, making appointments, running errands, and whatever else comes up.

Life can very easily become a series of things to accomplish before the day is over.

There is something satisfying about checking things off the list. I like getting things done. But I also know how easily I slip into autopilot, moving from one thing to the next without thinking much about anything beyond what needs my attention next.

A few weeks ago, I entered one of those stretches. Plenty is happening at Hatching, plenty is happening at home, and the list isn’t getting any shorter.

Then, I learned that someone I care about was going through an incredibly vulnerable time and was somewhere without the support she needed.

The next morning, I learned she had been found. Help was on the way.

Not long after, I learned that she still hadn’t been able to connect with the support she needed. 

Then I saw a photo of her. Something shifted. 

I knew she was only about an hour and a half from me, so I put some water, fruit and basic supplies in a bag and got in my car.

I wasn’t going there with any expectations other than locating her and offering help, and I didn’t have a plan for how the day was going to end. 

When I finally saw her, I realized I needed to approach the situation calmly, stay curious without assumptions, and earn her trust. 

She was hesitant to talk with me since she didn’t recognize me, and even more hesitant to accept anything I had brought for her.

So I slowed down. I explained why I was there. Eventually, I sat down on the grass near her, and we started talking, seemingly as strangers. We even listened to music.

The more I slowed down my breathing, asked questions, explained what was happening and gave her choices, the more we were able to connect and move forward. 

In that way, the two of us weren’t very different at all.

At some point, she noticed my Hatching shirt and started asking me what I did for work.

I told her that our work at Hatching is about cultivating compassion in a few different ways. As part of that conversation, I explained Hatching’s Four-Part Compassion Practice:

Notice suffering. Feel empathy. Act with intention. Release attachments.

When I got to the third part, acting with intention, she recognized it before I did.

“That’s what you’re doing right now.”

That stays with me.

Because I hadn’t gotten in my car thinking, I’m going to go practice compassion today.

I simply responded to what was in front of me.

As the afternoon went on, I kept asking questions.

Did she need to use a phone? Was she hungry? Was she thirsty? Did she need a ride? Was there somewhere she needed to go?

I didn’t decide for her. I kept offering possibilities.

Eventually, she decided she was ready to go somewhere she could feel safer and receive support. So we left together to find care. 

That part of the experience opened my eyes in another way.

Getting help wasn’t simple. There were security screenings, waiting rooms, multiple conversations and a process that required explaining the situation more than once.

I was relatively calm, knew how to advocate and had resources, and I still found the system difficult to navigate.

At the same time, I could see how overwhelmed the patients and staff were too.

Everyone in that waiting room needed help in one form or another. The staff I encountered were as helpful as they could be, and they cared deeply. But they were also working within a system facing an enormous amount of need with limited resources.

Eventually, she was able to receive care.

By the time I left, it was late. I had been there for hours.

I got into my car, turned on some music and started the drive home.

And I cried.

There wasn’t one emotion behind it. I was relieved. Exhausted. Grateful. I had been overwhelmed with emotion at different points throughout the day. Mostly, my body was finally processing everything that had happened.

I didn’t know what would happen the next day, and I still don’t know the choices she will make in the future.

Before anything else happened, something had to interrupt my autopilot.

There would always be another thing asking for my attention. 

I noticed suffering in another human being.

And on that particular day, I couldn’t jump back to work knowing the updated information.

Feel empathy.

That photo made what she was experiencing feel much more real to me.

I felt scared for her and drawn to act in a way I couldn’t explain.

I think that’s where empathy entered.

I couldn’t fully understand her situation. But something in me responded to what she was experiencing.

That feeling moved me out of my own world for a moment. The things on my to-do list still mattered. They just didn’t feel like the most important thing right then.

Act with intention.

Then came action.

When we talk about compassionate action, I think we can sometimes imagine that it needs to be big.

Mine started with a smile and offered fruit and water.

Then it was sitting on the grass.

Then another question. 

A question turned into more questions and eventually hours of conversation. 

Then a ride. A possibility I hadn’t thought of. 

One action made the next one possible.

I didn’t need to know where the whole thing was going. I just needed to respond to what was available to me at that moment.

Release attachments.

This is probably the part I’ve had to practice most intentionally.

I listened. I offered support. I advocated. I stayed. I persisted.

But I couldn’t force another person to make the choice I wanted her to make.

Releasing my attachment to the outcome doesn’t mean I stop caring.

For me, it means remembering the difference between taking action and controlling what that action produces.

I can be grateful that, for a period of time, someone I care about had support, safety and access to care. 

And I can release the expectations around the outcome that aren’t mine to control.

I don’t know what will happen next, and that’s why this experience stays with me.

I want to be more willing to be interrupted for a pause.

So much in life encourages us to keep moving, and to move quickly. 

But every once in a while, something asks us to stop long enough to pay attention.

I’m grateful I did that day.

Not because I had the answers or because everything worked out exactly as I hoped. I’m grateful because pausing gave me the opportunity to connect with another person at a moment when we both needed it.

For all the ways our lives can look different, there is so much about being human that we share. Sometimes compassion simply gives us the space to see it.

And the more I reflect on this experience, the more I believe compassion is something we can intentionally cultivate and practice.