Monday past was World Kindness Day. It was also the day I met a friend who did a remarkably kind thing, though she likely didn't realize how much it touched me. As I would tell a story, her face would light up in recognition, for she had read about it in my blog. It's the same response she might have given if I had mentioned a book I had read, a movie I had seen or a dish I had tasted and she could say with enthusiasm: "Oh, me too!" She had obviously read my posts and committed important details to the card in her mental rolodex with my name on it. That's not to say that I expect everyone I interact with to have read my posts or remembered them. Indeed, I don't remember half the posts I write, which is why my weekly effort to create Saturday Synopsis is so satisfying to me; it allows me to rediscover hidden gems in older posts. Still, there's something very special about a friend or loved one who says: "Oh yes, I remember your telling me that." It's such a kind way of saying that what happens to you is of interest and importance to me.

Helen Reddy's "I A Woman" became an anthem for women in the 1970s and beyond. She shared a perspective that wasn't widely present in music at the time, noting in Rolling Stone magazine, "I realized the song I was looking for didn’t exist, and I was going to have to write it myself." While I'm not the trailblazer that Helen Reddy was—given that many before me have blogged about their journeys with ovarian cancer—I am happy to add my voice to the chorus of women who have had to deal with this fierce disease.

Defining legacy as every life touched means that all of us can—and, in fact, do—leave a legacy, not just those who build a school, or write volumes of poetry, or publish a blog.

I reflected on the silver lining of being in the midst of a second wave of COVID while undergoing chemotherapy. Fortunately, COVID does not appear to have slowed my cancer treatments. Indeed, on the plus side, it is reducing my exposure to pathogens that my immunocompromised body might struggle to ward off. Because of COVID, no one comes into my house. Excursions by family members to public places outside the house are limited and focused, mainly to buy food. My children are working from home, not taking public transit and not seeing friends, which means they are much less likely to bring a cold or flu back to me. All the things we've learned to do to guard against the novel coronavirus—washing our hands, wearing a mask, physically distancing from others—are exactly the kinds of things we would want to be doing to protect me in my weakened state.

[Effortless: Make It Easier to Do What Matters Most author Greg] McKeown found that when he and his family paired doing the dishes (an essential activity) with listening to Disney songs (a fun activity), the chore went from something to be endured to something to be enjoyed. Similarly, when he paired returning voicemails (an essential activity he hated) with sitting in his hot tub (an optional activity he loved), he ceased to dread the task of calling people back.

I have long felt that empathy—walking a mile in someone else's shoes—is an antidote to us-and-them thinking. My advice to Café Jen readers in 2017 was this: "If you find yourself in a team where employees are entrenched in separate camps, take the first step toward breaking down the divisions. Be an 'us' who asks a 'them' out for coffee, who offers help, who passes on a useful resource. Have the courage to share something about yourself that might become the basis for common ground with someone from the other team." My advice to Jenesis readers in 2021 would be similar: "If you find yourself talking with someone whose views differ from yours, ask their perspective and listen to their answer—not with the objective of countering, dismissing or criticizing their argument but with the intent of understanding where they're coming from. I will make the same effort."

Sometimes, taking a stand [against injustice] is the best option. Other times, walking away is the only choice. In many cases, doing both is the optimum course.

A former colleague shared a story about her own health woes. She told me that she had been seeing a specialist and following the doctor's orders "and then...the pandemic hit." She admitted that "All self care went out the window." She was due for more tests in the summer "but kept on procrastinating since I was in constant meetings and didn’t take the time for myself." She acknowledged that "as an executive, mom, wife, daughter, etc I kept putting my health last." I share this because many of us fall into this same habit of putting obligations to others ahead of care for ourselves. She concluded by saying "Thanks for reminding me—and so many others—that we need to take the time to look after ourselves. It is so easy to get caught up in the day to day tasks and not do self care."

"Take some time to tell your child you like them, and list the reasons why. Then watch in wonder as they blossom before your eyes. Words of recognition and appreciation to a child are like sunshine and rain to a flower. Remember, beautiful things grow when they are nurtured."

~ L.R. Knost

Take care of yourself. Make memories. Cherish all that is good in your life.

I've always felt that loving oneself is the foundation of happiness. When we love ourselves, we are more likely to be secure in our worth, sure of our choices, focused on what we have as opposed to what we don't have, happy for others, and hopeful for the future. When we don't love ourselves, we are more likely to experience jealousy (fear of loss), envy (fear of inadequacy), competition (fear of not measuring up), overwork (fear of being found out) and criticism (fear of being wrong).

"We can’t always predict or control what life throws at us, but there is always something we can try, even if it’s tiny. Active coping involves acknowledging the difficulties we are experiencing and finding something constructive to try to make today or tomorrow slightly better, rather than avoiding our problems."

~ Action for Happiness

Sometimes when we say, "How about family game night?" what we're really saying is "Let's have a family game night. It would make me happy. That's all I really want." Instead, when the response we get is, "Nah, not tonight. I'm not feeling it" we say, "OK." The moment passes, and the wish—a silent, unspoken wish—is not granted.