I want to talk about the importance of reaching out to someone who might be on your mind. Perhaps you know they are going through a rough patch . . . an illness or loss, an injury or a hard time at work. Perhaps you just randomly thought of them. Not to get all woo-woo, but I believe that when this happens it’s a sign that you should check in with them. A phone call, a text, a message on Facebook . . . something to just say hi, hello, I’m thinking of you and I want to know how you are doing.

I think a lot of times when we think we should reach out to someone .  . .  we don’t. We ignore our intuition, we tell ourselves we don’t have time, we convince ourselves we would be bothering them, we give a false narrative that it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. I call bullshit. Those are excuses we make to let ourselves off the hook. It’s our own junk, whether it’s fear of rejection or just being an introvert, and it’s getting in the way of making connections with other humans. And those connections are so important. They are the bright spots in a world of drudgery. They create magic out of daily life. They make us feel whole and loved and needed.

Consider this: when you don’t reach out, when you don’t check in, when you don’t make the effort, what is the message you are sending? It’s not that you don’t want to bother them. It’s not that you think they might be too busy. It’s not that you think you might be intrusive. Nope. The message being receives is you don’t care about them. You have forgotten about them. You don’t need them.

I think we all know and recognize that we need each other. This year has taught us that, at least. Sometimes, we need to have a friend ask us how we are doing so that we can come clean and share our crap. Sometimes, we need to be the one who asks so that we can get out of our own head and think about someone else.

I urge you this week to consider who is weighing on your mind, who are you being called to reach out to, who are you missing. And when you identify that person, get in touch with them and ask how they are. The expression sharing is caring is corny, but true. Sharing means we aren’t alone. Sharing means we can go to the darkest, scariest thing our mind can conjure up and acknowledge it and release it. Sharing means love. And at the end of the day, love is what life is all about.

I read something the other day that was about how right now we (you, me, the world) are in this sort of in-between stage. We know we aren’t going back to the way things were but we also don’t know what the new reality is going to be. The article referred to this as an in-between stage, where things can can feel scary and uncertain. But the article went on to point out that this is also a stage of opportunity. A chance to reinvent ourselves and decide who we want to be and how we want to impact the world.

It’s pretty cool, right?

I think it’s why so many people, at least in my circle of influence, have retired since last March. The pandemic stripped away the frivolous stuff, it forced them to contemplate what really matters and how they really want to spend their time. Not only did I have two people who work for me choose to retire, I also witnessed the retirement of many colleagues, and it made total sense to me. Some friends realized they were truly enjoying being home all the time. Others decided they didn’t need the stress of working in a pandemic. The change was initially forced on them but they embraced it and changed direction.

I can’t retire yet and truthfully, as delightful as it sounds, I know I’m not ready. But I wonder, what has the pandemic stripped away for me? What have I realized really matters and what can I drop by the wayside? What can I do to reinvent myself to be better?

Heavy questions for a Monday, right? But so important and I hope you’ll think about them, too.

I was 15 the first time I experienced sexual harassment at work. I was wearing a sweater with an applique of Mickey Mouse on it. Mickey is standing with one hand on his hip and one hand upraised in a wave. That upraised hand landed almost directly over my left breast and the custodian at the library asked me, with a wink, if he could shake Mickey’s hand. It was gross and creepy. And I told . . . no one.

I wish I could say that was the only time a man said something inappropriate to me at work but it was just the start. There was the probation officer who invited me to a Super Bowl Party at his house and when I got there it was only him and one other man in attendance. They were both married, by the way. There was the summer I worked in the Mayor’s Office and, when asked what I did there, the Mayor replied that my job was to make the office look pretty. There was the time I got a summer job as a secretary at an armory and I was told not to dress cute for work since it might distract the soldiers. I’ve had my ass grabbed and my head patted. There has been an incident at just about every job I’ve ever had, including my current one where, several years ago, another department head told me I was fat but he’d still “f**k me.”

I have never reported any of those things. Some were so subtle that I didn’t even realize they were harassment until later. Others were blatant but I didn’t want to risk disapproval from my colleagues by getting someone in trouble. All of them made me feel ashamed.

I’m not sharing this now for sympathy or attention, nor do I think my stories are unique. I’m sharing it because sexual harassment is once again in the headlines and it’s disturbing. I’m sharing it because I’m very certain that every woman has stories like mine. We need to give women the support they need to come forward. We need to empower women to stand up and speak out and tell their truth even if it damages someone’s reputation.

This needs to stop.