I was sitting at my desk yesterday morning when my phone buzzed. My partner had sent me a photograph of stopped traffic on the San Rafael Bridge. Underneath it, he had written: Staying Alive.

I felt his frustration. I don’t know exactly how I do this, but I feel people deeply. I notice shifts. I hear things underneath words. Sometimes I feel an emotion before anything has been said.

I looked at the photograph and immediately texted him back, Well, at least when you get home, you’ll have your favorite tacos. It’s Taco Tuesday.

I opened the refrigerator door.

I already had a salad. The first desire was simple: What could I add to this?

My eyes saw the goat cheese.

And then, not a thought, an image arrived: baked goat cheese with this salad.

I felt it.

Not in my head. In my body. A kind of yes that was unmistakable.

So I followed it.

Dear Friend,

Today I watched you begin the process of leaving the business you built.

It was beautiful.

And heartbreaking.

You spoke about leaving something that has held your time, your attention, your creativity, and your heart for many years.

As I listened, I found myself wanting to remind you to be so tender with yourself.

It is such a deeply human experience to leave something we have poured our life into.

I feel the pressure on my chest.

It reminds me of when I was little, and my brother would sit on me, and I couldn't breathe.

Yesterday, within thirty minutes, I received calls from two family members about their health crises and upcoming surgeries. In that moment, two people I love needed me.

Two people I love.

Two people I will sit with and support.

My daughter's fear and my partner's quiet stoicism, I will be present with. I will go to the appointments, hold hands, make food, and keep my feelings numb as I do.

We were two minutes into our session in the Oakland Redwoods when he said it.

A city inspector had come to his restaurant. He was telling me about the visit, the stress, what she had checked, and what she had flagged.

And then, almost in passing: "They sent the most difficult person."

He kept talking, but my attention shifted.

I had heard everything I needed to hear.

The Genius We Can’t Always See

For the last thirty minutes, I got caught in a vortex of beauty and magic—
watching Kennedy Center Honors performances on YouTube.

One of my favorites?
Heart performing “Stairway to Heaven.”

The music, the power, the reverence—it moved me.
You can see the genius of the performers shining on stage.

Like many of my clients, I’m drawn to excellence—not just in what’s visible, but in what’s supported behind the scenes.
This is true in careers too.

Your genius may not be center stage,
but it quietly shapes the world around you.