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News from Jules | 03.15.2021 | Healing Reimagined Part 3

one lesson about integrity every week

Just like healing, retreat is a process. Unlike healing, retreat often feels too nourishing to conclude. But, the power of retreat is in the promise of return. 

The promise of building, of becoming what we want to be. Better yet, what we truly are. 

Not just bringing back the truth and the insights, like perfectly whole sand dollar souvenirs, but actually applying them in life. Moving forward into a new life. 

Away from the constant heartbeat of the waves crashing onto the Oregon coast and living in our human-made world of buildings, streets, cars, nonnative plants, out-of-season food. Only two weeks of being back in the city since my last retreat and yet, it’s always so easy to forget.

Our true nature. Especially our inherent adaptability—the ability to adjust to new conditions—due to a little-known process. We learned homeostasis is our internal process toward maintaining balance. A steady state. Like at the playground, standing in the middle of the Teeter Tooter until that miraculous, temporary moment when it’s even and flat. The rest of the time it wobbles up and down, is a different—maybe even more miraculous—process:

Allostasis is the process of constantly adapting by proactively “anticipating needs and preparing to satisfy them before they arise,” according to Wikipedia.

In other words, remaining stable by being variable. And maintaining stability through change, is a fundamental process through which organisms actively adjust to both predictable and unpredictable events.

This is the way our body works. This is the way an ecosystem works. This is the way the planet works. This is the way the universe works. 

Throughout the past year, I’ve written about my own revelations from when the pandemic began, when Election results finally came in, when I felt the injustice at my front door, when we started to feel hope on Inauguration Day. It’s been a huge year of growth. I will remember and carry these lessons forth especially about balance. But, will humanity?

Will we let this past year be just another newsworthy year? Going down in history:

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

Was last week the anniversary of “the week our reality broke” as the New York Times wrote?

Or was it the moment, the day, the week, the year our delusion broke? From the abnormal state marked by beliefs and practices of extraction, consumption, corruption, oppression—all that is untrue.

When we awoke from our unreality. Coming back to what is true. 

Healing reimagined.

This is our opportunity, right now. As we carefully emerge this spring, we carry forth these powerful lessons from our year-long retreat and hold in our hands the promise of return. 

May you commit to your 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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News from Jules | 03.08.2021 | Healing Reimagined Part 2

one lesson about integrity every week

Heading to the coast a week ago for my women spiritual group‘s annual two-day retreat—albeit virtual this year—and coming up on our COVID-19 anniversary, I reflected a lot on the last year.

I packed everything that needed to be released to make way for new life.

To seal the intention of adaptability. 

Because this is what happens during the winter—the last season of the natural year—to make way for the next cycle of growth. 

But, what needed to be released this winter, this retreat—and especially this year—in order to create more space for healing? For moving forward, into the future?

The short answer: Everything. But how?

I carried this immense question and a piece of very expensive chocolate with me to the edge of the foamy waves that Saturday morning. I stayed an extra second at the cusp of wet sand and nearly wet running shoes as I tossed my chocolate offering to Grandmother Ocean. 

My heartfelt ask: Show me the way. 

Her answer? The rest of the day. 

After running on the beach and a hot shower, I returned to meditate thoughtlessly beside the waves. From the far end of the beach, Neah-Kah-Nie Mountain beckoned. And so I drove to the trailhead. Traveling swiftly up and down the steep trail, I only rested at the top long enough to take my favorite feet-seascape-and-horizon photo and a sip of water. When a snowflake hit my face, I stayed an extra second in surprise and delight at the cusp of winter and nearly spring weather. Then, back to the ocean, this time for a full plunge into her salty embrace. The truth washing over me, seeping into my pores and sticking to my hair like the salt.

Just like the tides and cycles of the moon, just like our body’s allostasis, just like a nurse log’s decomposition, just like the seasons of the year. Healing is a process.

​Healing is a process of becoming whole again. A series of stages or steps. This we know: 

  1. Shock Stage: Triage
  2. Immobility Stage: Protection
  3. Growth Stage: Rebuilding
  4. Mobility Stage: Recovery

And yet, is that true?

Rebuilding: from a broken to a fixed place. From a divided to an integrated place. Either way, things returning “back to the way they were.” But, that way doesn’t exist anymore. 

Something my Dad said decades ago—a lesson shared from observing my Mom’s experiences for 33 years—filed neatly into a folder for truths I couldn’t yet grasp, until now. Retrieved last Saturday somewhere between sea level and summit, during a day of simply being one with nature, with my own nature: 

“Stop focusing on what you don’t want to be. Focus on what you DO want to be…what you are.”

That was it. Not rebuilding, just building. 

Healing reimagined. 

Later that evening, as the orange flames of our campfire illuminated the dark sands and far off horizon of the low tide, I realized:

  • I had not reflected on any of the retreat session questions, 
  • I had not organized my thoughts into reasoning,
  • I had not written anything in my retreat journal, 
  • I had not sought advice in the counsel of others,  

and yet I had the answer I needed. 

Just like healing, retreat is a process. Unlike healing, retreat often feels too nourishing to conclude. But, the power of retreat is in the promise of return. 

The promise of building, of becoming. 

May you know what you already know 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 | 03.01.2021 | Healing Reimagined Part 1

one lesson about integrity every week

Having missed it other years, I was super on top of getting my flu shot as soon as it came out in late September. By Valentine’s Day, the flu shot must have worn off because I started to feel bad while driving home from work. Dang it! The cough that appeared earlier in the afternoon wasn’t just a tickle in my throat. 

By midnight my fever was 103. I vomited all morning, then spent the day on the couch watching movies. By the next morning, I felt human again. Enough to rally and lead a four-day work retreat that week, then attend a two-day retreat the following weekend?

Yes, thank goodness! Those retreats turned out to be some of the last times indoors with coworkers and friends—not just being, but living, together. Hugging, eating, sleeping, breathing. Being without fear that the flu could lead to the ICU. 

Some anniversaries come and go. Notable but inconsequential. Another year at a job. Another birthday. 

As we approach this COVID-19 anniversary though, each preceding experience from a year ago today, feels thick with significance. 

In retrospect, we see meaning in all the crevices of the moments preceding the moment when everything changed. And it’s easier now to name all the elusive feelings that were hovering just below the surface of shock. 

Surprise, followed by confusion, followed by hope, followed by reality, followed by survival. In the case of this last year—followed by the next surprise, then the next, then the next. Actual surprises. And new surprises of things we hadn’t noticed until now. 

In all this survival, there wasn’t a lot of energy left for grief—deep sorrow, immobilizing suffering—to mourn what we didn’t know we were going to lose. And still losing. 

Defying the laws of physics, the energy to accept feels so much harder than to resist. 

To accept what happened. To accept the way things are, now. The “New Normal.” 

Except, there is no more “normal.” 

While I can’t remember a lot about holiday break during my junior year of college, I have replayed the day I dropped my Mom off at the hospital for minor surgery a million times. I dropped her off in the morning on my way to work, then surprisingly had to go back that night because she was on a ventilator in the ICU. Where she stayed for three days. Where we stayed for three days and three nights before she died. 

Eighteen years ago and yet likely so similar to the feelings and stages that 2.5 Million families have experienced over the last year (except without actually getting to be together). 

Surprise, followed by confusion, followed by hope, followed by reality, followed by survival. One that is so much harder by seeking a new normal. How is there a new normal after that?

After this last year?

There is something different. There is a new life. 

A new way of being.

Rich with gratitude, presence, vulnerability, adaptability. 

Fully accessible once the reality is accepted and we’ve mourned what we forgot we would inevitably lose. Not just people or things, but the sense of security, the sense of control, the sense of privilege—above nature, not within it.

Because things don’t stay the same. That is not the way the world works. It is dynamic, ever-changing, ever-calibrating. The ability to adjust to new conditions is adaptability. 

Heading to the coast last weekend for my women spiritual group’s annual two-day retreat—albeit virtual this year—and coming up on our COVID-19 anniversary, I reflected a lot on the last year.

I packed everything that needed to be released to make way for new life.

To seal the intention of adaptability. 

May you let the grief in and out this week. 

Love,
Jules

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News from Jules | 02.08.2021 | Getting Everything You Need

one lesson about integrity every week

Even with a worksheet in hand and three weeks into the course, I had the hardest time finding the words for my needs. Not the needs that come with obvious feelings like hungry or tired. But the more subtle needs. Like being heard or seen. Just as important though, constantly guiding our daily choices and habits that steer the bigger decisions. 

During this five-week course, I’m learning the practice of Nonviolent Communication, also known as Compassionate Communication, created by Marshall Rosenberg, a psychologist who made the link back in the 1960’s between observations, feelings, needs and requests as a way “to authentically connect to another human being.” 

I thought feelings and needs were simple. Geez, was I wrong. 

I guess feelings and needs are simple if you’re only counting the basic ones. 

But dig a little deeper, into the layer of known, but unnamed, psychological needs like security and self-expression and acceptance, and it sure gets complicated quickly. And that’s just one person’s needs! As soon as another person is added, then there’s instantly competing needs. Especially in less collective, more individually-minded cultures. 

And this is where we find a deep, troublesome and pervasive struggle. 

Whose needs are more important?

I faced this question head-on last December, when the COVID-19 case numbers surging up the charts after Thanksgiving looked more like a tsunami than a third wave. The Center for Disease Control revised recommendations for masks on all the time—inside or outside. 

Several weeks into living alone, I decided to avoid being indoors with people anywhere, including quick trips to the grocery store. I logged into Instacart and submitted my first grocery delivery order. 

Later in the afternoon the next day, my phone started vibrating with texts from the shopper: Would this [other organic, fake cheese brand] work instead?  The six-pack of beer I selected was sold out and couldn’t be substituted. Sad face.

We texted back and forth for 55-minutes while I was in a Zoom work meeting and she navigated the store to find everything on my list. 

Once I got the “I’m here” text, I grabbed my mask, put on my slippers, then ran down from the fifth floor to meet her out front. As she came around the driver’s side to open the trunk of the Ford Explorer, I saw this beautiful African American woman, twice as big as me, with a pink sequinned mask. I smiled. Now that’s my kinda style!

After a quick “Thank you” from six-feet apart, I gathered up the half-dozen grocery bags and waddled back into my apartment building. As I press the button for the elevator and stood there in the hallway, it hit me.

Wait a second. I simultaneously realized what just happened—what I just saw on the curb and had transpired over the last hour over text. I couldn’t yet name my feelings, but I knew something wasn’t right. 

Just like in March as I came to my first epiphany of the pandemic, this defining moment was just as subtle of a wake-up call.

Slowly, I connected my observations with my feelings. And then with my needs. And then her needs. 

I was concerned and worried.

Why was this woman—in one of the highest risk groups for potentially multiple reasons—spending hours exposed to others, so that I—in one of the lowest risk groups—could stay safe at home? 

Yes, I needed safety and nourishment, hence delivery and groceries. And yes, she needed nourishment, perhaps that’s why she had that job. But, what about her need for safety?

What the heck? I should be doing her grocery shopping! 

That was the one and only grocery delivery I did.

These defining moments—on my front porch and with Instacart—keep echoing, reminding me how this deep, troublesome and pervasive struggle touches every part of our lives. Because of the way we currently live, we are in a constant state of competing needs.

And the struggle to get our needs met is vulnerable. Especially when we can’t name them. We’re doing the best we can. And, this constant, collective vulnerability—not just some of us, all of us—is the opening. 

An opening for all of us to grow, together. 

We can take care of our needs and meet the needs of all. I know we can. 

It starts with practice: noticing, sensing, naming and relating.

Authentically, selflessly, compassionately. 

May you get everything you need 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 | 02.01.2021 | Noticing Wonder

one lesson about integrity every week

The puffs of white floating amidst the tree tops, like in a scene from one of “The Lord of the Rings” films, caught my eye one morning last week. Caught mid-task, I stood there watching the clouds for minutes—slowly swirl with the inhales and exhales of the breathing trees. I was charmed. 

Up on the fifth floor and with windows nearly as tall as the 10-foot walls of my studio apartment, it’s hard not to notice the weather outside. Especially as it relates to the ridge of forested hills, aptly named Forest Park that’s a couple of miles west as the crow flies and separates the city from the low farmland on the way to the coast.

A daily barometer for gaining perspective. 

Some days the hills are completely visible, some days it’s as if the world doesn’t exist beyond my block. 

Most days there are clouds. Though they’re different every day. As if the clouds were a mood ring for the state of the world on any given day. 

That is if nature had moods. If people even had moods. If moods were such a thing, instead of something we made up to separate ourselves from our emotions. 

From being present. 

It’s not just the clouds that change every day. It’s me. 

Of course, they do look different—sometimes strained and thin, sometimes billowy, sometimes the little puffs.

My favorite: giant whale-looking herds (though they’ve only swum by once or twice). These made me gasp at their majesty and beauty, unlike the dense, boring grey ones that are more common. 

But whether I notice them, or simply see them, depends on me. 

Like hearing, but not actually listening. I might stand there the entire time, but then be unable to repeat back someone’s words a few minutes later. Sound familiar? 

Whereas that morning last week when I was stuck in place, watching the clouds—losing track of time yet aware, alert and observant, neutral and thoughtless. Just like Irish poet and priest John O’Donohue said: Experiencing “each day as a sacred gift, woven around the heart of wonder.”

This is presence.

It is intentional, not accidental. 

And it’s not an on/off switch.

Just like the ever-drifting, ever-changing clouds, my presence is in constant flux. 

Meditation, sleep, diet, exercise, the outdoors all contribute. 

Not to create, but to unlock, this natural state of being. 

A state that unfortunately feels elusive and effortful in today’s world. 

Even though I’ve detoxed for four weeks now, I do not feel this presence every day. Nor every hour of the days when I do. But, I am present more often. And not just in the beautiful moments.

I am noticing wonder in the angry, the hurtful, the disappointing, the unfair, the confusing moments too. Not yet in the mundane moments though. Someday. 

John O’Donohue’s “A Blessing for Presence” puts it best:
May you awaken to the mystery of being here and enter the quiet immensity of your own presence 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 | 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

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 | 01.04.21 | Begin Again

one lesson about integrity every week

As we turn the corner into a new year, I’m taking a break from my storytelling format this week to check-in and orient to the bigger picture. If we learned anything from last year, it was about transparency and the power of confirming consent. 

As some will recall, when I heeded the call to build Everyday Integrity, I sent weekly newsletters and blogged throughout 2018. When I landed a contract “day job” I stopped writing. During that 20-month break, I missed writing. And, it felt like I missed an opportunity—to share the journey as I continued to learn and fail and live into integrity, everyday.

So, it was an immediate “of course,” when that contract was up in July, 2020, and my inner voice whispered, “Send TinyLetters” (if you missed any, past issues are available here). I recommitted to blogging and sending these weekly updates for two reasons:

  1. As a way to process life and share what I was discovering (as I set out to find my way back to my calling for the umpteenth time).
  2. To be accountable to myself and to others (you!). 

Back in October, 2020, I sent a survey to see how I was doing. Starting a full-time job as a Learning & Development Manager at a local software startup, I considered whether to keep writing. Did it matter? There were 13 respondents who reassured me it did.

While that’s only 10% of overall readership, it was plenty for me. Most people don’t do surveys anyhow, though 40-50% of folks do open this very week (That amazing gift keeps me going alone!). 

Because 85% (12 of 13) respondents prefer “a moral to the story,” I continue to experiment with how to weave lessons learned into my updates. I’m still exploring how to make lessons more universal and share more personally. I was surprised that 77% (10 of 13) said that when they read this “changes all the time,” so I’m no longer worried about my send time (especially since “it’s just the next thing in the inbox” for so many). 

Unsurprisingly, 62% (8 of 13) were primarily “curious what I’m up to.” This sense of connection is at the heart of why I write. And makes me wonder about reaching a broader audience than my personal network.

  • One reader said, “the fact I can hear you in every word is the best thing about it.”
  • Another said, “it makes me feel more connected to you.” Me too!! 
  • Yet another said, “Thank you for sharing the journey. It’s a link to another perspective.”
  • And one reader wanted to mention, “I also read because I am inspired by many of your practices.”

I am inspired to share even more about my practices—both personal growth and spiritual development—as well as the journey this year. I’m not exactly sure what that will look or sound like yet. Just like I’m not sure how the journey will play out. This is why the journey is an adventure, huh?

For now, I’m doing my annual detox for the next six to eight weeks to help me gain clarity as I plan and dream my way into the next cycle of growth—as I pursue summiting Mt. Hood, sustainable living and starting a family.

There will be plenty more about all that as I figure it out! ​So, if you’re still along for the ride, stick around while I keep experimenting. Or heck, share with a friend.

If your inbox is too full already, by all means, unsubscribe to start the new year fresh (click the link at the bottom next to my email address). 

May you begin again, fresh and new, each time this week.

Love,
Jules

P.S. Always all ears for more feedback! Take the survey here—it’s still open, it’s anonymous and it only took folks a minute or two!

P.S.S. This week’s Subject is inspired by January in my new 2021 desk calendar (check out the video here) made by Tiny & Snail, a sister-artist duo in the Midwest. The calendar was proactively preordered by one of my best friends and not for general sale, though there are tons of adorable cards. All of which are wildly inspiring to me!

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 | 12.21.20 | 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

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 | 12.14.20 | 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

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 | 12.07.20 | You are Always Growing

one lesson about integrity every week

In addition to bringing a baby meal and a gift to my friends recently, I shared news of my world and the world beyond their safe haven. It was our first in-person (from afar) conversation this year.​ A short break from the monotony of round-the-clock caregiving. 

​Touching on COVID, the election, the protests, my latest anti-racism learnings, I was excited to share stats and actions. This is the first year that I’ve actually paid attention and engaged with current events, which have felt like big steps in my personal growth.

​Previously, it felt too overwhelming for me to pay attention, none the less, to try and understand the implications of these events and act accordingly. Especially with the increasing rate of new information and ideas every day that makes one question everything all over again.

It was easier to shut it out than to feel it all. So that’s what I did. Until now. 

For my friend, it was the opposite. This insulated time apart—on leave from her nonprofit job, volunteer work and various social justice communities—was disorienting to be so disengaged. 

I heard what sounded like guilt about not contributing, as she protected the next generation, resting gently on her chest. I blinked wide-eyed and shook my head in confusion. 

The things we take for granted. 

The way she immediately raised her hand, offering a finger to nibble on, at the smallest squeek of the squishy face attached to her. The way she rocked side-to-side ever so slightly as we talked. The way she seemed only and completely in that moment. 

It was as if she’d always been a parent, not just for the past six weeks. 

What I heard her say: she wasn’t “doing” anything.

What I saw: she was doing a lot.

Learning a new way of being. None the less, nurturing another life. She was growing in. Just as I’m currently in a cycle of growing out. Learning a new way of being in the world. 

Living and learning. 

Not only learning new things, but remembering what is already known. 

Growth is a constant cycle. Not this linear, hierarchical version of “growing up” that we’ve normalized over here in Western culture. 

So constant it’s easy to forget, overlook, disregard. 

It ebbs and flows. Not just in and out, but around and around. Even when it feels paused. 

Even when taken for granted.

Especially when life feels disorienting. 

It’s happening. 

You are always growing. 

May you feel grace in all your growing edges 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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