Tag: integrity

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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). 

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 | 11.09.20 | The Moment of Truth

one lesson about integrity every week

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

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 | 11.02.20 | Press Pause

one lesson about integrity every week

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

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 | 10.26.20 | The Work is Done

one lesson about integrity every week

I nestled into my soft blue and gray wool Pendelton blanket and settled into one of the french wing chairs now looking west. I slowly sipped my echinacea tea and savored how simple life had become. 

That blanket was a gift from my “New Life” blessing in May, 2017. A celebration hosted by my spiritual communities to recognize a big transition—completion of a decade-long season of transformative growth and the beginning of a new season of life, a new life altogether.

No one knew what this meant, the least of all me. But it needed to be blessed—sprinkled with luck, favor and protection, come what may. 

What would this new life bring? A second chance at living the first life. 

The seeds were planted that spring of 2017 and after several cycles of growth, the trees are now coming into maturity, bountifully bearing the fruit of this new life. Ripening since my final job interviews on the Fall Equinox. So much, all at once, and yet almost effortless. Nothing like before. 

Starting with Back-to-School here in the U.S., then the cascade of Holidays: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, I used to associate the fall with the hustle, long hours, strain.

A time of becoming exhausted and drained, sometimes burdened, often burned out. Completely lopsided, out of balance. Just the way things were. Too much to do in the waning daylight. 

“Harvesting is the most labor-intensive activity of the growing season,” according to Wikipedia. Yup. Sounded about right.  Thus, the actual harvest seemed a fitting metaphor for life at this time of year. 

But I had it all wrong. 

Reading further, Wikipedia states “the completion of harvesting marks the end of the growing season, or the growing cycle for a particular crop.” 

The work is actually already done. We did it. Or we didn’t. Harvest is the fruits of the labor. Not the actual labor. 

The planting, nurturing, nourishing, pruning. Creation, growth—that’s where the real work is. 

Now I see harvest is a time of transition from creating into receiving. We are just gathering, collecting, picking. Aligning with what is. And, accepting what comes. 

Just so, the pile of boxes and furniture sat in my new studio apartment for days on end. Finally, bit by bit, the main room was empty. Just the white ten-foot walls and the dark gray, fake wood floors.

How would this space take shape? For starters, with its best feature. I placed a chair in the exact spot that looked west toward the setting sun and settled in. 

I slowly sipped my tea and savored how simple, easy, effortless life had become. 

May you accept what comes to bear 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 | 10.19.2020 | Embrace Uncertainty

one lesson about integrity every week

I squeezed around the pile of boxes and curled up in Butterscotch, my trusty leather armchair companion since 2016. I could barely see the setting sun above the pile of boxes stuffed into my new studio apartment. As the darkness descended, it hit me. 

I had no idea how this space would work. Where to put Butterscotch, my bed, a dining table, all my bookcases, my extensive art collection. None the less my three desks. (Yes, three…in addition to the studio’s built-in desk!)

No vision whatsoever. 

It was incredibly disorienting. How does one find a way when the vision is unclear?

It’s about sensing, not thinking. 

Back in college, I took a semester off and moved home for the spring and the summer. While I was very uninterested in doing chores, my interest was piqued when my Mom suggested we organize the attic together. Making meaningful order of chaos sounded delightful. We quickly butted heads. She wanted to move a few tupperware around, try it out, then move them and try out another spot, whereas I immediately understood the flow of what needed to go where. I saw the vision perfectly. One and done. Logically, it didn’t make sense to do it any other way. 

Logically, it didn’t.

That didn’t mean it was the only way. Or the right way. It was just my way. And, unfortunately, this way had been accurate enough times in my life that it became the only, right way most of the time. 

Before moving into the new studio last week, I looked at the virtual, 3D tour countless times. I daydreamed several different configurations. Yet, as I sat there in Butterscotch’s warm embrace in the actual space, I didn’t see it. I didn’t know.And then, I humbly realized: How could I?

I didn’t know anything about the space yet. How light came in the large, west-facing windows throughout the day. What displayed on camera during Zoom calls for my new job. Even how the kitchen cupboards opened, clanging into walls that initially seemed ideal for artwork. 

All I needed to do: Pay attention. Notice the light, the temperature, the sounds, the flow of my days. Notice discomfort. Notice inconvenience. 

These were the “problems” to solve, the solutions to find. These were the needs to be met. The walls, the furniture, the stuff would guide me, tell me where it all needed to go. Not where I wanted it to go. 

It’s about sensing, not thinking. Thinking gets in the way of the balancing act and the process of discovering what’s true.

This is discernment. It’s slower. It takes longer. It’s uncomfortable—being in the space in between, the shades of grey, the ambiguity. It’s full of failure—experimenting to test how things work, or don’t work, too many times. And there isn’t one answer. No wonder it doesn’t initially feel “right.” Yet, this is how we access truth. 

Luckily, the more we attune, the easier it gets.  

May you find a cozy place to sit in the uncertainty 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 | 10.12.20 | Owning What You Want: Part 2

one lesson about integrity every week

The next turning point came in late August, right before my birthday, when I spent a sunny day on the porch and finished getting out of my own way. ​

It was the first time I had the house to myself and was actually in Portland all summer. My headspace was as clear as the cloudless blue sky. As I savored my bright yellow over-easy eggs and lemon water, I started to feel the curiosity brewing. I had submitted another job application the day before and the headhunter was quite optimistic. I wasn’t sure yet if it was right for me, but I was intrigued.

I knew I wanted to level up, to reach more of my potential. I knew what called to me and what was achievable right now. Even though I couldn’t perfectly imagine my next job, my home, my partner, my kids etc. it didn’t matter. In fact those expectations narrowed the vision instead of staying open-minded. 

I started to wonder how it could all work. “Hmmm, if I make this much income from that full-time job, then what kind of housing can I afford?” 

The more questions I asked, the more answers I found, the more notes I took, the more clarity I gained. 

How come? Reality is reassuring, even when it’s hard. That’s because it’s real. I wasn’t problem solving, I was solution finding. I was in the zone. 

The wants started pouring out. I sat on that hard plastic chair in the sun for hours. 

I wanted:

  • ​work/life balance,
  • to work remotely,
  • to earn my market potential,
  • to live alone, 
  • to be in a more diverse neighborhood,
  • a light-filled space,
  • to have access to the outdoors.

The checklist went on and on. It wasn’t a recipe, simply ingredients. I didn’t care what it made, so long as it tasted delicious. 

Immediately, I got clearer on what is a yes and what is a no, what is a dealbreaker or dealmaker, what is a “must have” versus “nice to have,” what is realistic and what is a stretch. 

It wasn’t greedy. It wasn’t selfish. That’s because the wants came from a place of need. From knowing myself and how I thrive. How I can best offer what the world needs most from me. And be open to receive the opportunities presented. 

The momentum was building even though I felt stuck. 

Over the last several weeks, I kept saying yes to anything that was a step in this direction, whether or not it “looked” like what I was expecting, until I said “heck yes!” to a job and a new home that matched almost everything I wanted (and a bit more!). It all came together just like that in a 24-hour period about a week ago. That is, after a summer-long journey of finding my way and finally owning my wants.  

Life is leveling up, indeed:

  • Today, I moved into a new studio with a cute little built-in writing desk at the Arlo Apartments off Interstate Ave. in North Portland,
  • This week, I start a new job working remotely as the Learning & Development Manager for LegitScript, a growing software as a service startup in the Pearl district.

Keeping this newsletter going while working full-time and continuing to train for summiting Mt. Hood next year as well as finding my partner-in-crime will provide plenty of inspiration for sharing my learnings about balance and maintaining integrity—a state of wholeness—everyday. 

So don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere! In fact, I could use your help*.

May getting grounded in reality actually give you wings 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 | 10.05.20 | Owning What You Want: Part 1

one lesson about integrity every week

She asked it in the kind of way that sounded both like an accusation and an invitation.

“But, what do you WANT?“

As if the sentence actually only needed to be one word to cut through my elusive bullsh*t. That one word that I’ve disliked for so long. It always sounded so greedy. So selfish. So entitled. So privileged.

I wanted to recoil into myself. Freeze my face like Zoom lost internet connection and drop off the call. Or preach about how it’s not about “wanting” things vs. receiving things. Being motivating by what the world needs and what we can offer, instead of our personal agenda.

But, I respected this strong woman way too much to not listen. And so I tried to respond as earnestly, lovingly and bluntly as this question was posed.

I stuttered out bits and pieces of this life goal and that personal passion.

It was not an answer. And it wasn’t helpful.

A clear, succinct description that she could act on. That the universe could act on. Most importantly, that I could act on. 

This question haunted me all summer long — every mile I hiked, every river I crossed, every view I saw — as I lived my way to an answer.

At first the answer seemed easy. Everything I already knew: family, kids, nature, writing, teaching, retreating and ultimately, what I was put on earth to do in this lifetime — to make spirituality accessible to all.  

This was what I wanted. These wants actually felt more like needs. And unfulfilled, they felt like longings. 

Because I felt called to them. Magnetically pulled in an irresistible way. A way that wouldn’t quit, hadn’t quit for a decade. Really for my whole life. 

For weeks after remembering all this, the question still haunted me. While warm and fuzzy, this was not a clear, succinct description that I could act on. Because I couldn’t perfectly imagine my next job, my home, my partner, my kids etc. I thought I couldn’t get started. 

But, I had started. Wholeheartedly saying yes to the vision. Saying yes to anything that was a step in that direction, whether or not it “looked” like what I was expecting. And saying no to negativity, distractions and excuses. 

And, the universe could definitely act on this. 

Next week, Part 2: The next turning point came in late August, right before my birthday, when I spent a sunny day on the porch and finished getting out of my own way. 

May you have the courage to say no to all negativity, distractions and excuses 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 | 09.28.20 | You Keep Going

one lesson about integrity every week

Teachers come into our lives in all forms. Sometimes they guide us through a series of insights, sometimes it’s a just-in-time encounter. That right person at that right time for that lesson. If we’re paying attention, we’ll always find the guidance we need. 

Over 15 years of practice and too many moves, I’ve collected favorite yoga teachers all over Portland. I stay in touch with many of them on Instagram — liking, tagging, sharing inspiration. I recently sent an article about how Fall is So Yin: Embracing Autumn Energy to one of my favorite yin yoga teachers in a direct message. Inspired, we set the intention to actually meet up in person around the Fall Equinox and learn what the harvest might have in store.

If the rains came, if the smoke cleared, if the fates aligned. 

Apparently the fates were very aligned. 

When we met up at the beach in Hood River, we were excited to be outside and together. Chatting about our week so far, we realized that the day before (on the actual Equinox) we both did the very same hike — within 30 minutes of each other! 

Clearly we were meant to be in the same place at the same time.

Giggling about the synchronicity and the muck between our toes, we launched the rental Stand-Up Paddleboards into the murky waters of the Columbia River, then both awkwardly stood up and started to paddle. This was her second time, my sixth.

Having paddled on the Columbia before, I felt confident and quickly sliced the oar through the still water. I chatted for several minutes uninterrupted. No response. Odd.

I looked back and saw her way behind, swerving from side to side. I stopped to wait. Finally she caught up. I wondered out loud, “Which end of your board is in the front?” 

“I don’t know,” she replied with a laugh. 

Sure enough, we realized that the fin (the rudder) was in front. She was essentially going in circles. No wonder it was so hard and she wasn’t getting very far!!

I learned this was the way life had felt all year for her (and certainly so many others). A storyline I knew well, most recently from 2018, with many lessons learned about making one’s way through really tough questions:

If you’re following the calling, why don’t things work out?

How do you feed your body and feed your soul? 

When do you give up?

You don’t give up. You keep going. 

The goofy SUP mistake reinforced a lesson she had already learned: Listening to the call and faithfully following is important. But, it needs to be aligned to its purpose. 

This is the way we keep moving, straight forward. 

This was the first and the last time I would see her this year — I learned she was moving back home to Pennsylvania to regroup. To keep going. 

Maybe one day we will practice together again. Until then we are on the journey together, in spirit and on Instagram.

May you show up as both the teacher and the student 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 | 09.21.20 | Now is the Time

one lesson about integrity every week

There won’t be an obvious shift when it happens. At least not one that we are attuned to.

Not like the rapid descent of light into darkness, casting a shadow across the whole country, that many of us saw during the total solar eclipse in 2018. 

And yet there will be a balancing of the light and darkness during the Fall Equinox (Sept. 22 where I live). There will be 12 hours of day, 12 hours of night. This moment marks the half-way point of the “natural year.” It’s a very powerful time. 

But, we’re only half-way there? It’s the mucky middle. How is that powerful? 

Because it is ripe with opportunity. 

The end has not yet come to fruition. If we stop for just a moment. If we focus and pay close attention, we know what’s working so far. And what isn’t. There is plenty of time to make adjustments. 

In a way, it’s only the beginning. Considering the first half as experiments with best laid plans, then we actually know what we’re working with now. Detaching from the idea and aligning with the reality. Seeing things the way they really are. What’s actually realistic. 

Here’s what I noticed this spring and summer: the more that I aligned to the truth of “what is,” the less I struggled.The trade-offs were less painful, the rewards were more enjoyable. 

Life was simply easier. 

Life is simple. 

And I thrive in simplicity. Not in the complex, complicated, and optimized tendencies I’ve had toward everything, more and better.

Now is the time for change.  

As we enter this new season — the second half of this cycle around the sun — What are you harvesting? What have you learned? Knowing what you know now, what will you do differently?

May you allow your true nature to show up 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 | 10.15.2018 | Go Ahead and Pick the Low Hanging Fruit

one lesson about integrity every week

Now, I can see how September’s fullness was only the transition, the ripening as we move into a new season.

I traveled for work and family trips, worked several gigs and kicked off a new consulting project, as well as moved from the cottage to a house.

But, instead of leveling off, everything is picking up. 

After all of that extra efforting, how could there be more?

Especially as important things, like my writing practice and blogging, fell by the wayside (as I thought it might, but hoped it wouldn’t).

How will I get back to my norm?

I wonder as I sit down at my desk after weeks away from my own rhythm.

Funnily, I notice the tree outside of my second story office window in the new house is changing—not only expressing autumn, but also all seasons in a sense. 

Some branches are already bare, a preview of winter.

Some branches are full of green leaves, holdouts from the summer foliage.

Though most are in transition making their way from green to red. Eventually to brown and on the ground.

Just so, life feels full and ripe.

As if we are not only harvesting the abundance of this one new season, but of them all.

And in a way, we are.

A tree can not bear fruit without seeds.

A seed can not sprout without compost.

We are harvesting the before, the start, the middle, the right now.

Maybe that’s why life feels so ripe?

So ripe it must be plucked. Right now.

We must “Carpe diem.” 

For me, that has been opportunities showing up almost daily that are an instant, yes! 

Free tickets to lectures, getting introduced to new colleagues, impromptu paid facilitation gigs, invitations to meditation classes, teaching a live version of the Sabbath course.

At moments it has felt like too much goodness. And then, I remember that there are seasons we sow and seasons we reap. It’s all part of a greater cycle. 

This is the season for seizing. 

Because just like fruit, just like flowers, just like everything, there is too ripe.

The moment does pass.

Especially if we get stuck in overwhelm, focusing on the everything, instead of what’s at hand.

A wise person (probably a Buddhist) once said:

While many things may be at hand, see only the task that is.

What task is at hand for you?

What is hanging right there before you?

The low hanging fruit, literally.

Go ahead. Pick the low hanging fruit. All of it. 

And what does not come to be, what you aren’t able to pluck—to harvest—in time, let that pass with just as much zeal.

This is where we find balance. 

Remembering this is a time of abundance—both in opportunity and distraction.

The one is almost placed into your hand. The other requires effort to reach.

You’ll know which is which.

May you savor the juicy possibilities that present themselves 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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