Through different windows: What cancer taught me about empathy

I grew up in a neighborhood where doors stayed unlocked, bikes lay on lawns, and laughter carried through the warm summer air. The streetlights would flick on and off like fireflies, and we’d play until someone’s mom called our names. Life felt safe and simple, and I believed that’s how the world worked for everyone.

As my life journey continued, I’ve met new people and formed relationships with those whose lives were far different from mine. Although my life has taken some sharp turns along the way, none of our stories aligned.

I reflect back to when one friend told me he became a parent at ten. Not by choice, but because his parents were often passed out before sunrise. He’d pack lunches for his little sister, get her dressed, and walk her to school before heading to class himself. I sat and wondered how those experiences shaped who he is now, and never would have imagined his life path was as difficult as it was. 

Another lived on the streets for over a year while fighting addiction. A disease I understand more than most. I overcame my own struggle with alcohol, and while I’m grateful to be on the other side, I know how thin the line can be between surviving and slipping. Oh the stories of lives that I heard while in rehab– many things people don’t typically share with others. I am often reminded how truly blessed I am.

So indeed, our perspectives of life can be vastly different from one another.

Sometimes, while working in my studio, my hands intently shaping the clay, I’ll find myself thinking about the state of the world– what makes people believe what they believe and behave how they do. It’s no wonder we can’t all get along. We’re raised in entirely different worlds, taught different truths, each walking paths shaped by luck, loss, love, and circumstance. We’re not clones, and thank goodness for that. Our differences are what make us whole.

Some evenings I’ll find myself walking Clyde right at dusk. Catching that fleeting moment when the sun’s dipped low but curtains aren’t yet drawn and I’ll catch glimpses through glowing windows: a family at dinner, someone reading in an armchair, a couple sitting on the couch with the TV on. No, I’m not a peeping tom, but those tiny glimpses remind me that inside each home lives an entirely different world of experiences, thoughts, and beliefs. And yet here we are, all smushed together in neat little rows, expected to somehow coexist.

Life, in that way, is a lot like marriage. To make it work, we have to get along. We make sacrifices. We’re kind to one another. We stay true to our commitments. And we listen, even when it’s hard.

But lately it feels like the world’s forgotten how to do that. We’re faster to honk or yell. We scroll and react without reading. We judge before we understand. Or we decide someone’s worth based on how they look or what they do for a living. 

Somewhere between our screens and our schedules, we’ve lost the muscle of empathy. I’m not immune. I’ve been that impatient driver, that shopper silently annoyed by someone paying with coins and coupons. I’ve snapped at coworkers out of stress rather than reason. And I’ve let my own frustration spill into places it didn’t belong. And for that, I’m truly sorry.

But life has a way of humbling us.

A couple of years ago, cancer rerouted my world in an instant. Suddenly, I was the slow one at the store. That woman, leaning on her cart, slowly shuffling down the aisle. Not because I had nothing to do but because every bone hurt. I was the one at the hospital on weekday afternoons, filling out back-to-back forms on the Ipad, while trying to stay brave. And I was the one on the computer, constantly worried about my benefits since I was also unemployed. 

Cancer stripped away my pride and reminded me how fragile we all are. It showed me that we’re all just one diagnosis, one job loss, one emergency away from being the person we might otherwise overlook. 

And as I continued my journey, I started seeing people differently. The tired mother snapping at her kids in Target? Maybe she has her own set of health issues and is barely able to get through the day. The person who’s driving too slow on the freeway? What’s my rush anyway. I’ll pass when I can or arrive a few seconds later. The friend whose political views make me cringe? Nobody is going to change anyone’s view so let’s just be kind to one another. Have civil discussions or no discussions at all.

Empathy isn’t agreement. It’s understanding that life shapes us in ways we can’t always see. Even our leaders, the ones who should set the tone, seem to have forgotten that. When a president mocks someone’s appearance or disability, it doesn’t just reflect on him, it teaches others that cruelty is power and compassion is weakness. But real strength is quiet. It’s the pause before reacting. The choice to listen instead of shout. The understanding that no one wins when kindness loses.

We’ve all been through something, be it job loss, illness, grief, regret. We’re all navigating invisible battles, and maybe if we remembered that, and let empathy lead just a little more often, the world might soften again. No need for grand gestures, compassion can live in small moments like holding a door, forgiving a tone, offering a kind word, or simply saying hello with a smile.

If we could all move through life with a bit more thoughtfulness, maybe we’d start to close the distance between us. Just another thought, I thought.

Yo! Be nice.