Tag: balance

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News from Jules | 04.05.2021 | Go to Your Destiny

one lesson about integrity every week

Even though I was born and raised in Portland, I have not always longed to scale our iconic Mount Hood—or Wy’East as it was known long before being renamed after a British admiral.

Whereas when my Mom saw it—one of the first mountains she had ever seen and the highest mountain in Oregon at 11,240 feet—she declared: “I’m going to climb that.” That is according to the family lore, long before I was born, as I romantically recall.

And she did, along with my Dad, over and over and over again. They summited Mt. Hood 15 times, give or take a few attempts, along with the other 15 major peaks in the Pacific Northwest as part of the Mazamas, the oldest mountaineering club in the U.S.

So, when I was a little girl and family friends came over for dinner, we often ended up in the basement watching slideshows of my parents’ “peak bagging” heydays as 23- and 25-year-old newlyweds transplanted from the East to West Coast circa 1972. I liked the pictures with the view from the top the best. All the slides of endless hiking and climbing up were a bit boring, which is also how I felt about hiking in real life at that age. We frequently played hide-and-go-seek in the “equipment room,” huddled behind ice axes, ropes and backpacks. 

I couldn’t grasp any of it. How difficult it was, what discipline it took, how much of a commitment, why it was such an accomplishment. 

Not just standing on the top, but every step to get there. And safely home. 

Later on, I watched as my brother returned home from college on the East coast and spent his mid-20s rock climbing and mountaineering just like our parents had. His Eagle Scout skills, along with the slide shows and first-generation gear from Patagonia and REI, got dusted off as he racketed up his own set of attempts and summits. 

Most often drawn by the pull of the ocean’s tides, I spent my own mid-20s having my own adventures to Italy, France, Spain, Dominican Republic, Costa Rica, Mexico. Drawn far from home in search of myself. 

Near the end of my 20s when my Dad bought part of a cabin near Mt. Hood—finally fulfilling one of my parent’s dreams—I started spending a lot more time close to home and outdoors again. Every time I drove down that gravel road, over the canal and around the bend, Mt. Hood was waiting there—gigantic, stunning, mysterious.

Each time it caught me a little off guard. As if I had never seen a mountain before. 

Then in 2014, I tagged along on a lady’s backpacking trip up and down Lookout Mountain, about 8 miles east-southeast of Mount Hood and the second highest peak in Oregon’s Mount Hood National Forest at 6,536 feet (which is still only half of Hood). I got too many bug bites to count. We were awake all night from the howling winds and everything covered in dust by morning. Instead of two nights, we drove home the next day. Far from never again, I was hooked. 

Sure some of it sucked. But, nature, community, connection, fun, challenges. And the adventure. 

It was in my blood.

Had the mountain been waiting for me to come to it all this time? 

“Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for; it is a thing to be achieved,” said William Jennings Bryan.

That one trip in 2014, a few in 2015, several in 2016, and many more in 2017 culminated in completing the 45-mile Timberline Trail around Mt. Hood in Aug. 2017. After four days on the mountain and making it up to 7,300 feet: What was next?

I knew: “I’m going to climb that.” 

That next summer of 2018 I was out of commission due to a bike accident, but the dream persisted. Then, I missed the entire backpacking season the next summer of 2019 while I was running the Nike Internship Program. I was not waiting another year. 

As soon as the summer was over I immediately started training so I could apply to the Mazamas Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP). The very same program that my parents taught in the 1970s. Back then there were only one thousand or so climbers in the entire U.S. In 2020, there were 300 applicants. Luckily, I was accepted!

The first and last class was March 9, 2020. 

The world was officially in a global pandemic.

I was waiting another year. 

Waiting to climb, but not to train, hence #HoodorBust. I found as much elevation as I could last spring while everything was closed, then found socially distant ways to adventure all summer including 12 or so trips culminating in another Timberline Trail completion (in 3 days this time, instead of 4!). Instead of taking the fall and winter off per usual, I kept hiking on trails with fewer people and more solitude.

I reapplied and I was accepted. Eyes on the prize.

Last week, I met my 2021 team at our first weekly skills session on Wednesday, followed by an all-day conditioning trek in the Columbia River Gorge on Saturday, then a three-hour indoor rock climbing training on Sunday morning.  

I’m starting to grasp it—the difficulty, the discipline, the commitment. 

Why it is such an accomplishment. 

Not just to summit, but to go to destiny. 

May you take a step toward destiny this week. 

Love,
Jules
 

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! 

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News from Jules | 03.29.2021 | Life is a Net Positive

one lesson about integrity every week

Given the complications, bookkeeper and accountants involved while self-employed from 2013-2018, I was lucky to submit by the extension date. So, I literally patted myself on the back after pressing “Submit” to e-file my taxes on Mar. 17—a whole month early this year!

I immediately went to my email to double confirm a receipt from TurboTax. At the top of my inbox, I saw The New York Times email with “Breaking News: Tax Day Delayed to May 17, I.R.S. Says.” Well, I’ll be, I giggled to myself. 

Instead of upset, I was even more delighted in my accomplishment and hustle—an ode to one of the themes of the last year: Carpe dime, er, Carpe Diem. 

Seizing the day is a lot easier when one has abundant means. Or nothing to lose? Nah, basic needs almost always override the gumption needed to pronounce “Oh Captain, My Captain”  and throw caution (or budgets) to the wind. 

Knowing this all too well, and also knowing the nourishment needed to make it through hard times, seizing the day was a tricky balancing act last year. Especially for those of us who were under- or un-employed during the pandemic. I put my optimistic faith in lean habits accrued from Buy Nothing during 2016 to 2019 and more recent accounting systems for autopay and savings accounts. I knew I needed to spend as little as possible while staying committed to sustainable purchases. I also reverted to the less productive habit of avoiding reconciling my accounts for months at a time.  

I justified this as a way of staying present in the moment, meanwhile, a quote kept echoing in my head from Karen McCall in her excellent guide to Financial Recovery based on her own debt experience:

“Being disconnected from your money behaviors reflects being disconnected from yourself. It causes you to act in ways that contradict your own best interests. It sabotages your progress to your goals.”

When my W-2s and 1099G started showing up and I had to confront my Mint account and budget spreadsheets, dusty fears based on not-so-past experiences appeared: Would I owe a lot? More than was in my savings? Had I made a big mistake somewhere? Had I sabotaged progress on my life goals? 

After a couple weeks of convincing myself to keep sitting down every day—logging in to be accountable for my choices—there was a deep sigh of relief to see I was still going in the right direction. Even if a bit slower than I had forecasted six months ago when I landed full-time employment. 

“Going slowly in the right direction is enormously better than going in the wrong direction at any speed,” Karen McCall also wisely wrote. 

In subtle ways, my accounting matched my experience of the year overall: blessed and congruent. 

Lower than expected:

  • Gas: 30% under budget
  • Parking 40% under budget
  • ​Haircuts: 75% under budget

Higher than expected:

  • Shipping: 4x more** 
  • Shopping: 100x more* 
  • Take out: 3x more

Overall, 2020 was a net positive: I came in ~15% over budget and ~17% over in earnings. 

It was not this way for everyone. I have been there too.

The biggest blessing: getting to use the stimulus checks to continue payments toward my self-employment debt. Just three years after contemplating bankruptcy, I’ve only got 20% left to go (that’s including 8-16% interest rates!) with an expected payoff by my birthday this summer. 

The biggest congruency: Finding harmony in conforming to the circumstances or requirements of the situation by sacrificing and staying close to home. 

All in, the three “over budget” categories above totaled about $3,500. This was a little surprising. Even conscious little purchases add up. What if I had done a 5th year of Buy Nothing and that was $0 instead? Would I be closer to my debt repayment goal? Most likely.

But all or nothing isn’t the point. It’s the intentionality of the choices. And I’ve come a long way in aligning my life and my choices. As Karen McCall said: 

“It’s about what you value. How you obtain as well as where you invest your resources—your time, energy and money—reflects what you value most.”

What do I value most? Nature, people, beauty, adventures. This is where I put my time, energy and money.

And, I’m pretty sure this is how life is a net positive, if we just keep trying. 

May you Carpe Dime this week on what you value most. 

Love,
Jules

*Yes, shocker, I actually bought things! After four years with $0 for discretionary shopping I didn’t know what to budget, hence the 100x increase—or about $100 per month including half for others and half for me. My most frequent purchases: Outdoor gear, art, books. Technically, home supplies (e.g.: cleaning supplies) and shipping** (e.g.: care packages, greeting cards, stamps) were separate line items. The latter was needed a LOT more than usual last year to stay connected! 

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News from Jules | 03.22.2021 | Your Simple Joys

one lesson about integrity every week

There is something reassuring that spring weather is as unpredictable as a teenager’s shifting moods. The unpredictable is predictable. 

It’s a constant balancing act—recalibrating every few minutes to a new reality. Such is spring. 

As I studied Balance throughout the last four seasons, I was reminded of this constant: Such is life every season.

Last Saturday, there was one minute when all was in balance: 12 hours of day, 12 hours of night. After that one minute, the balancing act continued. We crossed the Spring Equinox into a new year. 

After 20 minutes of waffling on how to dress for the weather a couple Sundays ago, I resigned myself to being ill-prepared for something and finally left the house for a walk with my friend. I did bring a hat, I didn’t bring gloves. I did wear a raincoat, I didn’t bring an umbrella. I seriously considered sunglasses. And, of course, I had my mask. 

Twenty minutes into our walk while we were talking about the pros and cons of various weather apps ironically, a huge grey cloud rolled toward us and the wind immediately picked up. 

“Uh oh. We better take cover.”

We huddled under some tall bushes for the next 20 minutes while the heavy cloud cried its way over us.

By the time we wandered into Columbia Park a couple miles away the sun emerged and we were carrying our coats. Eventually, back at the coffee shop where we started, more grey clouds were rolling in. Too immersed in our conversation, we kept sitting out in the open as the rain started plopping on the picnic table. Then dinged as it quickly became hail. 

We paused for a few moments to look around wide-eyed as the hail grew bigger, faster and louder. So we talked louder. While I was busy shouting, another part of my mind marveled at being so exposed to the elements, sitting right in the middle of a storm. 

Of course, we were soaked. But, how could one experience this from indoors?

Then, I watched the grey clouds move on to bombard another part of our North Portland neighborhood. There was a striking Yin/Yang division where the blue sky and grey clouds collided. Just as quickly as the hailstorm appeared, we noticed a rainbow.

“Wait, is there another one? Right next to it—in parallel?”

A car stopped in the middle of the street to ask us: “Are you seeing what we’re seeing?”

Yes! There were two indigo and purple arches wide enough for many Care Bears to slide down. And then a third higher up in the sky for the Leprechauns too! 

Simple joys enjoyed on a simple afternoon of mostly doing nothing. 

This is what I want to learn about in this next cycle of growth: simplicity. 

So, I’m curious:

  • What does simplicity mean to you? 
  • What gets in the way?
  • What enables it?

And, if you want extra credit: What’s a recent moment that felt so beautifully simple?

I’m all ears. 

May you linger in amazement this week. 

Love,
Jules

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News from Jules | 01.18.21 | Detox Your Soul

one lesson about integrity every week

The hallway was completely dark except for dim light at the bottom of the stairs. The top step was large enough for two people side-by-side, but I stood alone, in front of a large door. It seemed slightly ajar. But, as I started looking closer the light went out below. Before my eyes could adjust to the darkness, the walls seemed to be closing in. I held onto the fear for a prolonged moment before opening my eyes. 

Phew, I was still safely wrapped in a blanket, sitting on a cushion on the ground, criss-cross-apple-sauce, as the sun rose.

During the second week of my annual detox, I added daily meditation prompts from Mark Nepo’s The Book of Awakening to my 15-minute sittings. The day’s prompt was “Seeing into Darkness.”

Relieved, I recognized the feeling of being constricted and compressed. I was scared of being conformed. I was scared of losing my sense of self—only recently recovered—or worse, of actually losing myself. The discomfort was familiar. And got me wondering more about the root of this fear. 

As I woke up from a dream yesterday morning, I put two-and-two together. Is this my fear—or is this a fear I have taken on?

In the dream I was overservicing the needs of others—anticipating, attending to, taking care of everything—except for myself. Interestingly, I was wearing a green- and red-flowered apron that I made for my Mom in a sewing class when I was 7. The same apron I wore last month while baking Christmas cookies for my neighbors. Just like my Mom did. 

Loving my Mom so much I paid close attention to her while I was growing up. I saw her struggle with self-care, as I imagine she may have also observed with her mother. 

Just because we act in a way that’s based on what we know, what we saw, doesn’t mean it is who we are. 

I pondered the details of the dream as I made my morning lemon water and sat down to meditate. Reading Sunday’s meditation reflection and daily prompt made so much sense: “Still, the cost of not being who you are is that while you’re busy pleasing everyone around you, a precious part of you is dying inside; in this case, there will be internal conflict to deal with—the friction of being invisible,” wrote Mark Nepo.

In one of my favorite photos of my Mom, Kathy, she’s on a mountain top with my Dad back when my parents were mountaineers. Polarized sunglasses lowered, she’s looking right at him taking the picture and sticking out her tongue. Playful, energetic, fun. In her late-20s. Before three kids. Before stepping behind the camera until we all finally left home for college and Kathy fully reappeared. This is the way I remember her before she unexpectedly passed away 18 years ago. 

Just as I can’t ask her about her actual fears and struggles, I may never understand my own. But, every day I can choose to hold on or to release them. 

Especially right now. 

During cold, dark winter. 

The fourth and final season in this growth cycle. A natural time for acknowledgment and release, for getting rid of toxic or unhealthy substances—of all the fears, ideas, beliefs, habits that no longer serve us. Is this actually me—or is this something I have taken on?

Detoxing your soul. 

From here, from clarity, from curiosity, we can confidently see into the darkness. 

May you stay true to yourself this week.

Love,
Jules

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News from Jules | 01.11.21 | Find Discomfort and Reassurance

one lesson about integrity every week

In the darkness of the dawn, the wind sideswiping my apartment building might as well have been a pack of howling wolves, the hum of the refrigerator was like a jet taking off, the diiinnnngggggg as if the hallway elevator was actually inside my apartment. 

With all that noise, how could I hear my own breath—none the less my own being?

As the thankfully noiseless digital minutes ticked by, I slowly settled into my body and turned my attention inward.

I knew this was the point of meditation—to feel, sense, hear every part of this miraculous system we live in. Something that had alluded this busy body for most of a lifetime! 

This is my ninth year of practicing Joshi’s Holistic Detox at the beginning of the new year. The first year I was preparing for an early 30th birthday trip to Mexico with college friends that February. Knowing that we’d be poolside all week, I was primarily concerned with getting slim. It worked amazingly well. And, as a yoga practitioner, I was also intrigued by the indigenous roots of Joshi’s Ayurvedic approach from India, going way beyond just diet, including organic/local food sources and products, hydration, sleep, fitness, and meditation. Every year since I’ve added learning another element to the detox.

This year is meditation: Fifteen minutes, every day. First thing after I wake up. Wrapped in a blanket, sitting on a cushion on the ground, criss-cross-apple-sauce.

During a Hatha yoga class recently, the teacher told us to sit crosslegged “the wrong way.” 

“You know how you’re sitting now and it feels just right? Well, switch it.”

During class, I tried to tuck my right leg in with my left leg in front and I was amazed. I couldn’t do it. Okay, I sort of did it. But, it felt like trying to walk on my hands. Completely unfamiliar, awkward and unstable. Had I really been sitting one way for my entire life?

After class, I asked the teacher how I could learn to sit the other way. Her sweetly empathetic reply? “You’re just going to have to sit in the discomfort.” 

Every day last week I practiced. Wrapped in a blanket, sitting on a cushion on the ground, criss-cross-apple-sauce. Finding a new “right” way. 

I sat in the discomfort. And found reassurance.

Each day it felt a tiny bit more right.

Not just having my right leg tucked in, but meditation in general. I am learning so much from this detox already. One week down, two more to go. 

Slightly more flexible, slightly more familiar, slightly more ease, slightly more attention available to attune with the sweet, silent nothingness at my core. Not even to hear the sweet nothings that come from that place, but just to let myself know I’m listening. 

I’m here. 

I’m open. 

I’m infinitely adaptable. 

And so are you.

May you sit in the discomfort a little bit longer this week. 

Love,
Jules

P.S. Thank you for the additional survey submissions. The responses affirm the same trends. One reader repeated what others’ said, “I could have checked all the reasons I read your newsletter…each time there is something different I gain or enjoy. Thanks for keeping it going.” Y’all are welcome!

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! 

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News from Jules | 12.28.2020 | This is the Next Level

one lesson about integrity every week

Yes, we are on the cusp of a new year—2021—yet none of our crises will disappear when the clock strikes 12:01 a.m. on New Year’s Day. And none of them are actually related to 2020 either, but confining uncontrollable events to a timeframe is an easier way to manage stress and history. Or so it seems. 

Just like denial seems easier. And ignoring seems easier. 

Until it’s not. 

Until we’re in a precarious position: deep in a crisis without even knowing it.  

The defining moment of this year for me was one of the most subtle wake-up calls I’ve experienced. 

I walked outside after my lunch and sat down on the cement porch dangling my bare feet off the edge. It was cold, uncomfortable, but it kept me alert. I took in the eery stillness of the neighborhood. As if it was just another weekday. 

It was unusually quiet outside. No cars racing toward the busy intersection a block and a half down the street. No walkers briskly passing by deep in conversation. No wind through the still bare trees. Spring had barely sprung and everyone barely knew what had just begun. During those first few weeks of Shelter-in-Place, people were at home waiting. Waiting for it to pass, as if it were just a storm.

A brief “unprecedented” interruption of what we thought was normal life. Instead of an inevitable crisis at worst, a disruptive catalyst at best. 

As I sat there, my questions and thoughts began to organize themselves in the quiet nothingness, just like when I hike in the forest or walk along the beach. After a weekend of internet research, I digested the information I had gathered from the news and attempted to make sense of it. 

Only a few weeks into the pandemic and it was clear: The world was in a crisis. Surprisingly, we had been for months. Meanwhile, we went about our lives business-as-usual. 

  • The virus was actually reported in December. 
  • I went on a retreat at a house with 25 women during the last weekend of February. Oregon’s first COVID-19 case was reported on February 28.
  • Oregon’s State of Emergency was declared on March 8. I went to work with thousands of people until March 13.
  • The economists said a recession was unlikely and not to worry until “people stopped getting haircuts.” Well, the barbershops had already closed. 

Yet, as I looked around the neighborhood, everything looked the same as before. The grass continued growing, the clouds coasted overhead, a bird chirped from afar—the world seemed okay. But, I knew it wasn’t. I knew the threat was real, I just couldn’t see it. I couldn’t feel it—no cortisol, no fear. 

This is when the epiphany hit: How was this invisible viral threat any different than the climate crisis we have been complacently living amidst my entire life, an entire century?

It wasn’t.

Insert systemic racism, wealth inequality, the current presidency. The world seemed okay. But it wasn’t. 

The evidence was clear. Even if I didn’t personally see it, feel it, in my world.  

Did I have the courage to pay attention and act accordingly?

I lost my naivete that day. But, I didn’t lose my faith. 

If anything, this epiphany helped orient me for the rest of the year. I stayed grounded in reality, in responsibility, in service, in sacrifice. I was activated by the truth beyond what I could see and beyond what directly touched my life. To trust what is unseen, but known. To put the greater good first. To contribute, not to extract.

We can transcend this idea of a static normal and live in harmony with dynamic nature. I know we can. 

This is the next level. Ironically, growing my personal threshold for vulnerability over the last few years allowed me to feel compassion for everyone else. 

This constant, collective vulnerability—not just some of us, all of us—is the opening. 

To more experience, deeper wisdom and better judgment.

To change spurred by truth. 

To adaptability. 

To being humble.

To being human. 

May you carry the truth forward this week. 

Love,
Jules

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News from Jules | 12.21.20 | You’re Invited to Let Go

one lesson about integrity every week

As the bell jingled and I stepped into the empty restaurant last week, I wasn’t entirely certain that it was open for business. Since moving, I’ve been trying new spots around my new North Portland neighborhood for my Thursday Thai Takeout.  

Eventually, the owner appeared. He passed the pad thai with chicken, no peanuts, no spice, through the small opening of the plexiglass divider, along with my bill, and then retreated back two giant steps. 

As I reached for a clean pen to sign the bill, his question caught me off guard. 

I stopped and looked up, straight into his soft eyes above the black mask. Sure enough, my ears had heard his tone correctly: compassion.

“How are you holding up?”

It was like he could see inside me: how my heart was struggling with its own battles, even as my fortune afforded me a safe haven to weather the struggles. 

I could sense his own struggles to sustain this business, to provide for his family, to persist. 

“I’m doing the best I can.” 

He nodded in agreement, hearing my tone correctly: honesty. 

These are the raw, real moments born of this raw, real year. Some moments of much needed socializing even leading to relationships in unlikely places.

I started Thursday Thai Takeout in late March to celebrate nearly making it to the end of each intense week. Week after week I found myself calling the same Thai place down the street as I wrapped up the workday on Thursdays: pad thai with chicken, no peanuts, no spice for J-u-l-e-s please. When I was on my “sabbatical” and backpacking this summer I missed a couple of weeks in a row. Walking in the following Thursday, the woman ran from behind the counter as if to hug me, saying how worried she was whether I was okay. Later in the fall, she showed me photos of her first hiking trip inspired by my backpacking stories.

Thursday Thai Takeout is not a commitment forever.  It is a tradition for right now. A way to cope. 

Each adjustment, every necessary new habit, is growth. Shaping the ability to adapt. To persist.

Just like the natural cycle of the world around us. Today, continuing into a new season—winter for some, summer for others—and possibly into a new era. 

Winter Solstice especially invites us to review our growth, our adaptations: count our blessings and let go of everything that no longer serves—dreams, habits, beliefs, qualities—thus, creating space for what is needed on the path ahead.

Instead of fixating on illusions dressed up as hope, fantasies dressed up as faith, choose to move forward in reality, with compassion and honesty. 

The invitation is not only for the day but for the next three months. A whole season of shedding while resting, renewing, restoring—preparing for the next cycle of growth and continuous adaptation.

According to John O’Donohue’s blessing For the Interim Time:

“The more faithfully you can endure here,
The more refined your heart will become
For your arrival in the new dawn.”

So, how are you holding up?

What no longer serves you?

What needs a rest, a pause, or even an ending?

What can you give away to the dark nights as we make our way back to the light?

May you leave space for compassion and honesty this week. 

Love,
Jules

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News from Jules | 12.14.20 | Getting Everything You Want

one lesson about integrity every week

I thought I bought a Yin Yang sticker on Etsy, but when it arrived, I realized it was a decal—meant for a car, not for paper. Oops. The black side was actually white and the typically white side, well, didn’t exist. Double oops. 

I wanted to cover up some random text inside a circle on the cover of my journal. It was regifted from a best friend, as I recall a find from her previous San Francisco China Town thrifting days. A circular Yin Yang symbol seemed perfect to represent this year’s theme: Balance. 

But would the decal even attach? First, I needed something to go underneath.

My sticky fingers smooshed the tissue paper so that it wrinkled, no longer smooth but textured like paper pulp with flecks of gold leaf, which made the text beneath illegible. ​Then, holding my breath, I peeled back the two sides of the decal and slowly adhered the Yang and narrow outline of the Yin sides. The faded journal immediately went from dingy to delightful. I found two rhinestones randomly in my craft basket and stuck one on each of the elephant’s foreheads as a bindi. It was b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l! 

When first gifted the journal, I totally judged it by the cover. Then by its square shape. It did not look like my favorite journals at all. I considered Goodwill. But, the thought did count and I put it in with my extra office supplies. 

Everybody knows I love to write and reflect. Most people know I’ve journaled since I was 15 years old. 

So I have received hundreds of diaries, journals and notebooks in my lifetime. Most of which I never used. Some went in my office supplies crate to maybe use someday, many were regifted, the rest sadly went to Goodwill. 

I have a very specific size, cover, lined width, weight of paper and brand that I prefer.

So when I finished the last page of my favorite journal during my first year of Buy Nothing in 2016, I had an “Oh sugar” moment. Would I go months until the end of the year without journaling, without writing anything? 

The unthinkable became the inevitable. I used one of the journals I already had. The first of several since I continued Buy Nothing for three more years (from 2016 to 2019). A poignant lesson about one’s perception of scarcity because only one exact thing will do. When in reality there’s often abundance all around us. And all that’s even needed is sufficiency. 

Around the time last summer that my most recent journal was running out, I received the square one from my bestie.

Just when I needed one! 

The universe provides. 

And I used it, even though I still didn’t like the cover.  

Last weekend, as I admired the newly embellished journal, I realized there were only 15 pages left. Oh no! It was too beautiful to be finished. My first thought was to not write, to save the paper, to make it last longer.

I felt attached.

But in clinging to it, I would deprive myself of doing something I love, of joy, of self-care. 

The irony made me laugh. It was too perfect. Nonattachment is one of the many lessons about Balance that I need to learn this growth cycle. 

I thought attachment meant literally being attached—the grasping for, the clinging to—so nonattachment just meant NOT being attached. But when I looked up the Buddhist meaning, it was actually about desire. Not wanting things at all. 

Because desire causes suffering. 

I have come a long way in my relationship to money, to stuff, to resources, to other people, to myself, but this is hard to imagine. Not wanting anything, not needing anything at all?

What if it’s not the wanting that causes suffering? What if it’s the rejecting, the not receiving what’s actually being provided, that causes suffering?

The unmet need or want that festers. 

Instead, letting needs and wants be met, fulfilled, satisfied.

Getting everything you want. Everything you need. 

And if not, letting it go. 

Once again, in balance with what is. 

Maybe that’s nonattachment. 

May you allow all of your needs to be met this week. 

Love,
Jules

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News from Jules | 11.30.20 | Stay Connected

one lesson about integrity every week

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). 

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News from Jules | 11.16.20 | Just the Beginning

one lesson about integrity every week

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

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! 

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