I've spent years telling Jennifer Curry to slow down.
New job. New city. New state. New opportunity.
Repeat.
Every time I thought she'd finally settled into something, she'd call with another announcement.
And every time, I'd ask some version of the same question:
Jenn, what the hell are you doing?
But I've come to understand something about her.
Jenn isn't afraid of change.
She's afraid of standing still.
And there's a difference.
Never the complacent one
I met Jenn when we worked together at the Michigan Osteopathic Association. She was young, ambitious, talented and still figuring out her worth.
“I was a baby,” she told me. “I didn't know anything.”
She remembers making mistakes, including once writing “HIPPA” instead of “HIPAA,” which is practically a rite of passage in health care communications.
But she also remembers wanting more.
More creativity. Higher standards. New ideas. New opportunities.
We had a lot of fun trying to make things better.
“It taught me that I never want to be the complacent one.”
That restlessness became a recurring theme in Jenn's life.
For years, she believed the grass was always greener somewhere else.
A better job. A better workplace. A better place to live.
Eventually, she began questioning whether she'd spent enough time tending the grass beneath her own feet.
Still, she doesn't regret embracing change.
“Sure, it can be painful, but so is complacency. Choose your hard.”
A place to grow
Jenn has told me more than once that I was the best boss she ever had.
I continue to believe this is complete bullshit.
But her explanation of why we worked well together reminded me of something important.
It wasn't about assignments or deadlines.
It was about trust.
When she made mistakes, I tried to protect her from the fallout, then help her learn from them. She knew she could take risks without being abandoned when something went wrong.
And she gave me something in return: someone I could count on during a time when I was navigating a new job, a new industry, a new community and becoming a father.
“Managing is assigning work,” she said. “Earning trust is making people feel safe enough to grow.”
That's a pretty good definition of leadership.
And it's something Jenn has carried into her own career.
Becoming yourself
Jenn's willingness to start over hasn't been limited to work.
She's navigated divorce, remarriage and the loss of her mother.
Each experience has changed her understanding of what matters.
Her husband, Peter, came into her life when she was ready to share it with someone without losing herself.
“He made me feel valuable,” she said, “but I didn't find my value in him.”
Peter has helped her relax, find perspective and stop treating every moment like something that needs to be conquered.
And she's learned that the right relationship doesn't require you to edit who you are to keep someone else comfortable.
“NEVER be with someone you can't BE YOURSELF with.”
Her mother taught her hard work, kindness and high standards. Losing her brought a different lesson into focus.
“What we say at funerals, we should say at birthday parties.”
Tell people you love them.
Make room at the table.
Invite the person who might otherwise spend the holiday alone.
Be the friend who answers at 3 a.m.
Jenn also has that kind of friendship with Lauren, a former professional counterpart who became one of her closest confidantes.
When Jenn faces a difficult decision, she sometimes asks herself, “How would Lauren handle this?”
I love that.
We don't always realize how much of ourselves is shaped by the people whose judgment we've learned to trust.
The next big thing
When I asked Jenn what thread she's following now, I expected another career move.
Maybe a new city.
Possibly another announcement that would make me yell at her... AGAIN!
Instead, she surprised me.
She's focusing on herself.
Moving her body. Sleeping enough. Eating well. Resting. Protecting her peace.
She's discovered that she can pour extraordinary energy into a new project or professional opportunity while neglecting the person doing all that work.
And she's beginning to recognize that growth isn't sustainable if you're constantly running on empty.
Her mother's death made her think differently about time. Peter keeps reminding her that slowing down isn't standing still.
Now she's trying to build the discipline to care for herself with the same determination she's brought to everything else.
“I can't keep growing if I don't take care of the person doing the growing.”
For someone who has spent years looking toward the next chapter, that's a pretty significant realization.
And then Jenn said something I never expected to hear.
“So maybe you were right all along about slowing down.”
Followed immediately by:
“Don't let it go to your head.”
I wouldn't dream of it, Jenn, though I did smile with a nod of my head.
And, I do think you've found a thread worth following.
Not the next job.
Not the next city.
Not the next reinvention.
Just the next version of yourself.
One you're finally giving yourself permission to take care of.
