Years ago, I took a young lady from my team to lunch. We did this often to check in—not about work, but about life. When we returned to the office, I said, “That was great. It’s so nice to know that everything is going well for you.”

She looked at me, eyes filling with tears.

“Actually,” she said softly, “I’m really struggling.”

My heart dropped. We’d just spent an hour together. How did I miss this?

I pulled her aside, and she shared what was really going on. I was honored by her honesty—and I wondered: what did I miss here? I didn’t ask her in that moment. It was about her, not me. But it stayed with me.

As a leader, I value time with my team beyond the tasks. But looking back, perhaps more than a few times, I brought an agenda to those conversations: a pulse check, a motivation boost, a leadership pep talk? Not wrong—but maybe not what was truly needed in that moment.

Maybe that’s why it took one offhand comment, to open the door to a real conversation.

I talk a lot about what drives people. I love metaphors like “joy rides” and “fill up the tank” and “hit the gas.” I like momentum. Fast is my default gear and results are fun.

But right now, I am being shown how to slow down and pay closer attention.

I’m learning this at a whole new as I help my in-laws adjust to their new apartment here in Cincinnati. My mother-in-law—sharp, strong, unstoppable at 85—fell and fractured her femur right before the move. She’s non-weight-bearing until the end of the year.

Instead of buzzing in and out of the store like she used to, we now inch forward – carefully. We load and unload walkers and wheelchairs, navigate aisles slowly while all around us, people breeze by—heads down, eyes focused, in a hurry to get on with their holiday shopping.

Even at church, few people pause to make way. They don’t see her. Or me. It’s making me keenly aware of others who move at a different pace – mine as well.

In this season, I’m learning to pause.

  • To give people space without rushing them.
  • To not talk over someone just because I think I know where they’re going.
  • To let the silence breathe.
  • To let people feel what they feel—without trying to fix it.
  • To look up from my phone.
  • To say a quiet prayer.

What if we did this more often?

What if, especially in during the holidays, we choose to see the people around us?

Can we, as friends, colleagues, and leaders…

  • Check in—with no agenda?
  • Stay behind for the forgotten or lonely?
  • Set aside productivity to be present with someone who’s hurting?
  • Pause to let others go before us?
  • Listen longer?
  • Ask one more question—and actually wait for the answer?

Henry David Thoreau said:

“The greatest compliment that was ever paid me was when one asked me what I thought, and attended to my answer.”

I’d add: “and asked me how I feel.”

The great spiritual leaders, the ones I admire most, made time for people. They drank wine together. Sat in silence. Shared tea like it was the most sacred part of their day.

Will we fill our time with checklists—or connection?

Will we move fast—or walk with one another?

So I ask again:

What’s your speed?

And more importantly…
Will you walk with me?

Alexia