A Community of Blessings

Nancy Peel
Apr 4
5 min read

Updated: May 16

Sunset Stories Part 2

Why this matters

In senior living—and in any service business—it’s easy to talk about “culture” and “resident experience” while hiding behind dashboards and slogans. This story is about where culture actually lives: in the hallway conversations, the notebook you really use, the evenings you stay to listen, and the small promises you keep. When leaders treat every resident like family and every request like it matters, trust becomes the quiet glow that lingers long after the job title sunsets.

A True Blessing

In my final “corporate” chapter, the twists and turns led me to a senior community. At first, the residents didn’t quite know what to make of me. Trust was in short supply after months of reduced services and strict Covid restrictions. The prior leadership had done an outstanding job keeping people safe, but the rules were heavy, and patience was wearing thin.

I was blessed with the guidance of both my team and our residents as I navigated new experiences: high‑dose flu shot clinics, reinstating pre‑Covid services, explaining the “what used to be” services that were not coming back, learning the life‑plan community sales process, partnering with the Resident Association, and managing the daily inconveniences of community renovations and repairs. Oh, let's not forget food complaints!

Over time, our team created strong bonds with our community members. In my three‑year tenure, resident satisfaction “intent to recommend” scores grew from 34% to 60%, and employee engagement increased by 40 points.

Key Drivers of Success

Some of the key drivers were simple and very human.

Service With a Smile

When I arrived in July of 2021, residents, colleagues, and visitors were fully masked, and we were conducting Covid testing every week. I was at the community for a full year before the residents saw my face without a mask.

That meant my smile—one of my superpowers—was hidden. As the masked leader - I had to connect through my eyes, my ears, and my follow‑through.

Service by the “Book”

My greatest tool became my “book.” I didn’t leave the office without my leather‑bound notebook and a pen. If a resident or colleague stopped me in the hallway and needed something, it went into the book. If I saw a facility issue, it went into the book. When I returned to the office, emails, texts, or work orders went out to the right colleagues. Then I used the book to circle back and follow up.

As the months passed, residents began to talk about “the book,” and instead of doubt, it gave them peace of mind. If it was written in the book, it got done. And if something couldn’t be done, or had to be delayed, there were always follow‑up conversations and honest updates to keep people informed.

Most days, my day started around 8:30 a.m. and ended between 7:00 and 7:30 p.m. It was important to visit the dining rooms most evenings, stopping at each table—and in the kitchens—to say hello and listen to residents and colleagues.

No B.S.

Our resident community included university professors and department heads, scientists, artists, poets, librarians, judges, actors, politicians, executives, business owners, and many other highly accomplished people. Before they were residents, they were in charge of every aspect of their lives. They were very astute and had amazingly accurate B.S. meters—always ready to challenge an explanation and meticulous about tracking deadlines and previously communicated information.

Like most of us, they expected respect and wanted to know—through our actions—that their voices mattered. Whether at monthly resident meetings, in newsletters, or in the corridor, they could count on hearing it straight from me. When there was a facility issue, a staffing challenge, a Covid alert, or a power outage, they could depend on creative solutions (thanks to a very creative leadership team) and accurate updates.

They trusted us to do the right thing. That meant admitting when something didn’t go as planned, listening to resident and colleague input, and addressing the issues. For me, that trust was built over three years of steady relationship‑building—proving that residents and colleagues were at the forefront of our thoughts and actions.

The Most Important Question

I often asked myself: “If this was my mother, what standard of personal care would I expect?” That question guided my concerns and priorities each day. If needed, I rolled up my sleeves and jumped in to address an issue as quickly as possible.

During my tenure at the community, I was a furniture mover, apartment stager, ice cream scooper, idea generator, creative solution finder, mess cleaner, and compassionate communicator. I cared deeply and made sure my people—residents and colleagues—were treated with respect.

Keep it Creative and a Little Quirky

I am a mix of professional leader and quirky, fun human. I always looked for new ways to interject fun into daily activities: singing on morning leadership Zoom calls, annual pumpkin decorating, a resident Turkey Trot the day before Thanksgiving, serving as the Resident Jeopardy emcee, and hosting Safety Jeopardy for colleagues during safety fairs. I looked for ways to work with our foundation to add inviting spaces with art or murals , or landscaping. I "game-ified" explanations to make it easier for the residents to understand Tornado Training or our new dining system ("Dine-opoly"). I wrote heartfelt and unique columns for the monthly newsletters.

Quiet Glow of Trust, Dignity and Care

That community became my final corporate sunset—warm, lingering, and full of color. Each conversation, each problem solved, each shared laugh in the dining room felt like another streak of light across the sky. As the days there slowly slipped below the horizon, what remained was not the long hours or the crises we managed, but the quiet glow of trust, dignity, and care we built together.

When I look back at that sunset now, I see it in layers of evening light—the music, activities, and art, the clink of dishes in the dining room, and my “books” of promises kept. Like a sunset, my time there was both an ending and a blessing, casting a warm glow over everything that came before.

True Culture

In a world obsessed with dashboards and metrics, it’s tempting to believe culture is built in strategy sessions and town halls. My final chapter taught me something different: culture is built in the hallway conversations, the notebook you actually use, the way you show up masked and still manage to be fully present.

Leaders don’t earn trust with slogans. We earn it by keeping small promises, telling the truth when it’s inconvenient, and asking, every single day, “If this were my family, what would I do?” That is where hospitality lives. And what a blessing it was to sunset at this community.

The Sunset Series

This series describes my last professional Sunset and the profound impact this experience it has had on my life. I invite you to explore my final Sunset:

Tracing the Horizon of a Career (Introduction)