November 2020 - Everyday Integrity

November 30, 2020February 12, 2022

News from Jules | 11.30.20 | Stay Connected

Just hearing her voice and the barrage of throwback, PG-rated Midwestern colloquialisms at her faulty FaceTime connection filled me with joy. Golly gee willikers!

I realized just how deeply I’d missed this best friend* since she left for graduate school on the East Coast five months ago.

Of course, there was a hole. This was my go-to-gal for the year and a half before she moved away. After 15 years being out of touch. Seeds planted in a fast friendship Freshman year of college.

I nestled into Butterscotch for the handful of spare minutes we had before the special Thanksgiving Day yoga class started. I kept guiltily looking up to check the digital clock on the stove. I knew she was taking time away from her family on the holiday.

Scared to see the time and simultaneously relieved to see many more minutes left. Somehow conversations with best friends transcend time. Somehow one minute lasts 300 seconds.

And I was grasping for every extra-long minute.

When class started streaming, it was immediately just like Sunday mornings once-upon-a-time last year, the two of us sitting on our mats front-and-center before this favorite yoga teacher in the attic studio.

Even through a laptop screen the adorably youthful and yet wildly wise teacher immediately enraptured all of us with her quotes from Mark Nepo, her giggles, her rhetorical questions. It was as disarming as always.

“What does enoughness mean to you?”

“What keeps you from the energy of gratitude?”

“Who are you and what would you do without the grasping?”

Between still breaths of meditation, quiet moments of guided journaling, and fast flows from hard-to-harder-to-hardest poses, I noticed how connected I felt. To the teacher and all the invisible classmates, including my best friend.

Not only could my body remember what it was like to flow together in-person, I sensed the presence of my best friend right there in my apartment.

Sitting propped up on the pastel Mexican yoga blanket—a hand-me-down from her. Touching the thick pulpy pages of my journal—a gift from her. Surprisingly rising up into Baby Grasshopper pose—in her colorful hand-me-down yoga leggings.

I also noticed: I was wearing my favorite hand-me-down sweater from my sister. Another best friend’s art on long-term loan hung on my wall. Near the fancy french armchairs from my childhood home.

I was surrounded by the energy of my relationships. While it was not as immediate, as close, as I’d prefer them to be, it was enough. It was plenty.

As we took our final closing breaths, hands pressed together at our hearts, there was less of a hole. More of a whole.

According to the Yoga Journal, “Namaste represents the belief that there is a Divine spark within each of us that is located in the heart chakra. The gesture is an acknowledgment of the soul in one by the soul in another.”

That we are all connected.

That we are always connected.

No matter what keeps us apart.

May your holes feel holy this week.

Love,
Jules

*Some people might have one, superlative best friend. I have nine, currently. It is a different type of connection with a different type of friend. One that transcends time or distance. And doesn’t go away, even if it is discontinued. I wish that we were as loving, as kind, as giving, as honest, as attentive to all of our friends. To anyone that we interact with. But, we’re not there yet. For now, we gratefully practice with our “best” friend(s).

I share a lesson learned about integrity every Monday. Sign up for delivery right to your inbox. Want more? There’s lots more lessons learned here on my blog, so have fun exploring and commenting about your own insights!

November 23, 2020February 12, 2022

News from Jules | 11.23.20 | It’s the Little Things

Until I saw them shivering in the rain outside of my apartment building last week, it hadn’t really hit me that I wouldn’t see them on Thanksgiving.

My nephew and nieces ran from my sister toward me in their galoshes, raincoats and facemasks to announce why they had stopped by. They handed me a pink gift bag with gold sparkly tissue paper. Inside there was a Mason jar with a votive candle, covered with red- and yellow-shaped leaves and more gold sparkly tissue paper. The kids wrote on tags tied to the candle with a ribbon: “We’re really grateful for you. Light this candle and know that we are with you in spirt.”

Of course, I cried after they left.

Both for the deeply meaningful gesture and for the reality.

For the unwanted distance from those whom we hold dear.

Those that bring meaning to our traditions. To traditions that bring order to our constantly changing lives. To order that gives us something to look forward to. Though can also get us stuck in the past and out of the present.

“This year, I haven’t really been looking forward to Christmas and the Holidays with much anticipation or interest.”

Sound familiar?

I actually wrote that right after Thanksgiving, way back in 2013. It was in a post on one of my very first blogs—the adorable first generation of Everyday Integrity—that I forgot about until the other day.

Then, as now, one of my best friends and I were struggling to get into the holiday spirit. So, I wrote an Advent Series of blog posts—one every day until Christmas as a gift for her. Each post had something special about this time of year. An ode to the little things. A new link to open each morning.

That commitment keep me present all holiday season long.

Each day I needed to find the holiday spirit in the world around me. Some days I literally ran into Mrs. Claus in the grocery store. Other days it was a s-t-r-e-t-c-h. It truly turned into the gift that kept on giving. Almost more for me than for my best friend.

It helped me see past all of the shopping-buying-wrapping-shipping-traveling-cooking-overeating-drinking stress, to get back to the Tiny Tim essence of the holiday spirit. The generosity, the magic, the love, the little things.

Like a handmade candle to be with my family in spirit this Thanksgiving. Or the email from my dad the other day, Subject: “Merry Xmas,” with a year’s subscription to The New York Times.

What would Tiny Tim say about this year—staying a crutch length away from everyone, if together at all during the holidays? These holy days of dark winter.

“God bless us, every one!”

May you cherish all the little things this week.

Love,
Jules

November 16, 2020February 12, 2022

News from Jules | 11.16.20 | Just the Beginning

Done is such a satisfying feeling. All the effort, usually twice as much as expected, coming to sweet completion.

After hanging the last piece of art last weekend, I slid over to the built-in desk, across the wide-open studio in my pink wool socks, Risky Business-style.

Appropriately, the finishing touch on the apartment was to set up my altar—a place for my intentions and prayers to be held and nurtured. One by one, I unpacked sacred items from my Sabbath box.

Rose quartz for unconditional love. Tiger’s eye for protective, grounding energy. Palo Santo for cleansing and clearing negative energy. Lakshmi, the Hindu goddess of fortune, beauty, fertility, and prosperity.

A $100 bill! Holy Moly.

I was literally five times as surprised and delighted as I was a couple of weeks ago when I found twenty bucks in my winter coat. It took me a second to remember the significance. And then, the tears welled up in my eyes.

I remembered withdrawing the one hundred dollar bill before the spring equinox this year when I was still seeking full-time employment and a home of my own. Following in the tradition of an ancient Mexican tribe, it was the most I could easily afford, placed in a bowl on my altar to humbly call forth prosperity.

Just as I had a few years ago when the most I could easily afford was five dollars. How far I’d come.

Benjamin Franklin looked straight at me with lip curled in the tiniest smile. But mostly brow furrowed, eyes heavy with wisdom. Now, just a week after the 2020 presidential election and just a month after starting my new job, I could hear him say:

Yes, you did it. It is done. And this is just the beginning. Let’s get it right this time.

I held the almost weightless bill in my hand, examining what I so often take for granted. My faith. My privilege.

On one side, “In God We Trust.” On the other side, “The United States of America.” And just below those thick all caps letters, so easy to miss in fine print: This note is legal tender for all debts, public and private.

It hit me. How we see ourselves in control. And yet, how deeply beholden we are. How deeply in debt we are—emotionally, physically, spiritually, ecologically, and yes, financially. As a country. As a people. As people.

For me, I have a second chance (or third, or fourth) to try once again to fulfill my calling while also making a living.

Just so, for Americans, we have a chance to get it right for the first time. Starting now.

As Lynne Twist so wisely stated in The Soul of Money:

“This is not a time of mere change. This is a time of transformation, and transformation comes not out of scarcity but out of the context of possibility, responsibility, and sufficiency.”

Sufficiency: When needs are met, for all.

Living within our means.

No longer in debt, but ever indebted for the gift of this life.

May you continue to seek out the truth this week.

Love,
Jules

November 9, 2020February 12, 2022

News from Jules | 11.09.20 | The Moment of Truth

We will all remember the moment differently. Our moment. Though we will all remember.

At 9 a.m. last Saturday, I sat at the antique metal desk in my friend’s letterpress studio, velour curtains still drawn as I prepared to write this newsletter before my shift started and the shop opened. Wondering if we’d even know the results yet by Monday, I consulted the presidential election page on Google for the umpteenth time.

Oh my gosh, I was surprised and confused. The electoral votes edged Biden over 270. I realized Pennsylvania had been called. The tears welled up from within.

As I looked at the electoral college map of the United States of America, especially the gash of red right across the middle of our country, the first thing I thought of was the people who lived there.

While my tears sprung from a sense of deep relief and an inkling of hope, what did they feel?

What could they hope for? Would their lives be any different? How could they think about recovery, about healing, about growth, when life continued to serve up so much fear and insecurity, every single day?

Nowadays, my life is pretty darn fortunate.

But it was only a couple of years ago, that I too knew the desperation of not knowing how to pay next month’s rent. The despair of damaging one’s only means of transportation (after the other one was stolen). The challenge of making “food stamps” last the entire month. A starving artist trying to make a living on my calling.

Some of my tears still came from that place. The bottom of that deep well, where it seems like the world doesn’t care. A black hole that swallows all sense of care—even your own—and responsibility, or the ability to respond. Everything is justified.

That was my story. What my desolation felt like. Everybody has their own experience.

And, the vast majority of Americans without a livable wage, without a reliable mortgage or healthcare, without savings, without a support network, without human rights, have their own version of fear and insecurity that permeate their every choice, every day.

This reality is nothing new. Just as my situation had been unraveling for years. Except this is decades, centuries, in the making.

As hopeful words poured forth on Saturday, it felt like a familiar moment of truth. An opportunity. A choice.

Pandemic, unemployment, immigration, massive national debt, murders, protests, wildfires, hurricanes, leadership. Symptoms of deep crises. Sure sounds like rock bottom to me.

There was a moment two summers ago when I knew things had gone too far in my life. I was in a free fall and I needed to find a bottom. It was not the point of no return. But just close enough. This was my idea of rock bottom.

Things must change. Not just change. Not just doing things differently.

Transform. Be different.

There was no going back. The path there was unacceptable. It needed to be released and unlearned while simultaneously learning a new, sustainable way of being. And the effort, the conviction, that it would take to regain a sense of wholeness, of integrity, required a deep, unwavering source of motivation.

Because recovery is an uphill climb, both ways, especially when it’s to a new normal.

Is it required to hit rock bottom to transform? Maybe not.

But, embracing reality is required.

May you open your heart a little wider this week.

Love,
Jules

November 2, 2020February 12, 2022

News from Jules | 11.02.20 | Press Pause

I woke up with a start. Because of the silence. Not the chirping birds.

Uh oh. I instantly knew what happened. I accidentally snoozed my phone alarm, slept through meditation class and if my intuition was correct, my 8 a.m. meeting had already started. I leapt over to my work computer and sure enough, it was 8:03 a.m. I sent my teammate a message on Slack, threw on a cashmere sweater and quickly logged on.

Ten hours of sleep? I knew I was off, but I persisted. It was only Wednesday. There was still plenty of week to go.

Not paying attention—or worse ignoring our own signals—is how things go wrong.

I actually learned this lesson from the trail long ago.

I learned that the first time I trip on a root means it’s time to start looking for a campsite for the night. When I start tripping, I’m tired. When I’m tired, I start making mistakes. From mistakes come poor choices. From poor choices come problems.

So, then why the persistence right now? Because it is the right thing, the necessary thing to do?

No. Because the prolonged unrest has made us all over-tired.

Like that inconsolable, nonsensical way that kids get.

By Saturday, when I paused for a quick lunch between my new shopkeeping gig at my friend’s letterpress studio and heading over to help my friends’ move, I dozed off—at 2:30 p.m.! I realized how deeply tired I was.

Tomorrow, I told myself. Yes, at least there was Sabbath tomorrow.

And then I remembered that I had plans! Not only had I been ignoring all the signs of fatigue, but I was so tired I had broken one of the simple guidelines for my day of rest: no plans, no work, offline.

I justified these plans as Sabbath worthy since hiking in nature is one of my favorite forms of worship. I knew better. Surely two hours of driving to the coastal range and 11 miles up and down Elk Mountain would be beautiful, but not restful.

Not what I needed on my one day off. If one day off was even enough right now.

It wasn’t.

Even though I stayed in bed most of yesterday. I watched movies and started two new books. I went to bed early, getting another 11-hour night’s sleep. And yet, as it took me 20 minutes to write a simple email this morning, I knew. I was still off. But this time, instead of “responsibly” plugging ahead, I called it quits for the day. I pressed pause again. I needed more rest.

Now more than ever, we all need to stay healthy. We need to stay alert.

The last thing the world needs right now is more mistakes, poor choices and bigger problems.

When we are rested, we can bring forth clarity, wisdom and sense.

May you pause before you act this week.

Love,
Jules

Month: November 2020

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