Humbled through EDUCATiON

Empathy, attunement, and the courage & discipline to allow space for growth

In Del Mar on Friday, traffic on I-5 was closed in both directions as emergency teams addressed a public safety incident on the overpass at the exit Allie and I usually take to reach our cozy cat condo. What unfolded on that bridge was not just an inconvenience and a front-page disruption that lasted most of the day. It felt like a public “pause button” was pressed for everyone in the area. A moment when the pace of normal life is forced to create space for something more human—more delicate. I am not sharing this to dramatize an event I only witnessed from a distance, but rather to provide context on what it became for me, personally: a catalyst for reflection.

Since my mom’s passing, I have carried grief alongside gratitude and memory alongside momentum. However, this week, after the public safety incident in Del Mar and a reflective trip to Kentucky for Thanksgiving, my thoughts have coalesced around compassion, mental health, humility, attunement, and education. I’ve been asking myself what it really means to be a loving person who also continues to be shaped by new understanding and perspective; what it means to care not only about what I believe, but how I land.

As 2025 comes to its end, a song that has remained with me since its release in 1993, Return to Innocence by Enigma, has been more present for me lately. I won’t quote it at length; however, one phrase has always carried a particular electricity for me: “Don’t care what people say...”

I grew up with that sentiment as a strength—an invitation to trust your inner compass, to stand firm in your values, to resist the erosion of identity by outside noise. I believe the suggestion is healthy and necessary. I believe my parents’ intention was to instill self-confidence rooted in integrity and clarity. But education, the variety that changes your emotional vocabulary and awareness—has allowed me to see a shadow of the message.

When “Don’t care what people say [or think]” becomes too absolute, it can quietly slip from self-respect into self-preservation. It can turn into a shield so sturdy that it blocks feedback, nuance, and intimacy. In my case, it contributed to me becoming attunement-dead at some precarious times—when I was trying to convey something deeply important to me. I can recall moments where I was sooo committed to the message that I missed the person—the connection. I left conversations believing I had expressed love, only to realize later that I had unintentionally left someone feeling unseen. I could be driven by sincere care and still miss the emotional reality of the person in front of me. I could be convinced I was acting from love, while failing to notice that my approach was landing as self-centered certainty, despite compassionate intent.

This revelation has become one of the most humbling of my life. I’ve experienced other humbling awakenings or moments that expanded my awe of nature’s complexity, culture’s resilience, human consciousness, or acceptance of a “bonded pair” of kittens. But this one feels different because it’s not just about what I’m learning; it’s about who I become when I’m challenged. I’ve also had to reevaluate my relationship with the Golden Rule. I’ve often felt my tolerance for stress, discomfort, or chaotic moments was higher than most. In the past, I sometimes assumed that meant others should be able to handle what I could handle—or at least meet me at my “threshold.” That assumption is subtle, but it’s powerful. It can justify impatience. It can rationalize intensity. And it can distort empathy into something conditional:         “I’m fine with this, so you ‘should be’ too.”

When my line was crossed, I have become louder and more intense, attempting to insist on an emotional “reckoning” rather than inviting understanding. I’m not proud of that part (or parts) of me. It was rarely effective, if ever, and was certainly damaging, if not to the other person, it certainly took me a while to recover. I can now see my intense frustration with what I perceived as “blind certainty” in others—especially within family dynamics—may have created its own confirmation bias, and ironically a different “blind spot” of my own. I was so committed to not repeating certain patterns that I missed how a different version of the same issue might be growing and manifesting in me.

This is where education has felt like a form of grace. Not just formal education, but the education that comes through mindfulness, honest friendship, reflective reading, and the slow, courageous practice of listening intently, calmly, and without defensiveness. It’s the education that teaches you the difference between values and performance, between intention and impact, between being a good person in theory and being a “safe” person in practice.

I’ve also been thinking about service. I’ve long admired people who devote themselves to others in ways that are disciplined, consistent, and quietly heroic. I understand and have often reflected on the paradox where giving can also be fulfilling—where you can be unselfish and nourished at the same time. But I’m learning a deeper truth: acts of service alone aren’t a guarantee of attunement. You can do good and still need to grow in how you connect.

What is becoming clearer for me is that love isn’t only generosity. Love is relational courage. Love is the willingness to let empathy refine the message, which brings me to the professional dimension of my personal revelation.

I’ve always been energized by continuous improvement—by iterating systems, clarifying value, and improving experiences for people who rely on what we build. That drive has shaped how I think about teams, products, partnerships, and customers. But I’m recognizing that the same principle applies at the human level. The most meaningful improvements aren’t only technical or strategic. They’re interpersonal. They happen when we get brave enough to ask: Did I listen well? Did I make room for who they are, not just what I needed to say? Did my confidence leave space for connection?

I intend to carry that humility forward as a disciplined form of care. Personally and professionally, I’m learning that impact matters as much as intent, and that the best kind of progress is the kind that makes people feel seen while we build what comes next. I want that mindset to show up in how I lead, how I gather feedback, and how I iterate experiences for customers and teammates. The best outcomes are built with people, not just for them ...