Yesterday at a meeting I sat down next to a woman and asked her how she was doing, she told me that her mother had just passed the previous day, and how she got to be there with her. She was hurting and still in a bit of shock. I was able to sit and listen, without sharing about being with my father when he passed, although the notion passed through my thoughts, which would have diverted the attention away from her and onto me. I have had a tendency to do that, to take your sorrows, your joys, your stories, and to make them about me. It may be natural for my head to do that, it takes everything that you say and relates it back to itself, but the filter of compassion has often been lacking, and I have attempted to steal your moment. Please allow me to return it, as I learn to breathe through my exuberance, and to center myself into thoughtful compassion and mindfulness of the story and the glory that is you.
gregorysgardner.com
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