Tag: wholeness

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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 | 10.19.2020 | 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

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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 | 09.21.20 | 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 | 09.14.20 | Say Yes to Your Choices*

one lesson about integrity every week

As wildfires swept through Oregon and our neighbors, Washington and California, during the past week, pain and grief are being expressed through blame. 

Pointing fingers, especially at Mother Nature, at the wind, at the flames, at the trees, even at the underbrush.

Pointing fingers everywhere except here. 

Last month while at the Oregon Coast, I spent a whole day meditating on responsibility. Since this word is often dripping with shame, blame, judgement and guilt, I prefer to think of in the words of my former spiritual director: responsibility is the ability to respond. 

That day, as the blood started dripping down my heel and the pain registered, my first thought was: Darn volcanic rock! My second thought was: Gah, these flimsy sandals!

I hobbled a few more steps, still focused on exploring the secret entrance to Neptune Beach. But then, I remembered my mission for the day:

“Spend today believing you are totally responsible for everything that has happened in your life so far. Just for today you can’t blame anyone for anything.”

This was my daily assignment from 48 Days to the Work You Love by Dan Miller and was actually why I was wearing those flimsy, red leather Salt Water Sandals.

I have a defining memory from my childhood that includes different red sandals, which I took off during family therapy and refused to put back on. The therapist told my parents to leave my shoes behind. I was five-years-old already, but I still knew how to throw a tantrum and hold a grudge. A few years ago, I reflected on why this memory was so vivid.

I recognized how I felt wronged, mistreated, ultimately hurt. I also understood how much I contributed to the situation and intensified my own pain. So, I bought new red Salt Water Sandals for myself. Now, instead of “putting my big girl pants on,” I put on my little girl shoes when I need a reminder to take ownership over my life. 

Old habits die hard. This is why we keep practicing. 

Now more than ever, we all need to take responsibility for our choices. We are hurting ourselves. We are intensifying the suffering. No one and nothing is doing this to us. 

That doesn’t mean we need to be perfect. We simply need to own our choices. And fix them, when needed. 

This is the ability to respond.

When I blamed the cut on the rock and then on my shoes, it came from that same place of feeling wronged, of being hurt — by something else. As soon as I snapped out of that denial and back to reality I immediately felt better. Yes, I chose to wear those shoes. And I chose to scramble on those jagged rocks. 

So, I stopped and sat down. I opened my backpack and I used my First Aid Kit to bandage the wound. The responsibility wasn’t a burden. It was empowering!

And the sooner I acknowledged reality, the quicker it was resolved. 

I continued exploring for the rest of the day with peace of mind — believing I was totally responsible for everything that happened in my life. 

May you say Yes to your choices* this week. 

Love,
Jules

*This is a favorite phrase and mantra from Dance Church, a fun and inclusive approach to dancing together at home (via livestream with option to donate) that I’m doing every Wednesday during Quarantine! 

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 | 08.31.20 | This Wild Ambition

one lesson about integrity every week

I have a vague memory of a mouthful of thick, chalky dust. But, I was 4, just about to turn 5, that summer of 1987. So, the photos are much clearer than the memories. 

After a week camping in the woods, I hiked 6 whole miles beside my Mom down from a lake in the Wallowa mountain range. My first hiking personal record. Of course, with those little legs, it probably took six hours, or more! And then in the home stretch, my tired legs tripped on a root. I face planted on the trail. In the photo, I am covered in dust from head to toe. No smile. Just a hardcore hiker’s stare.

As soon as I could hold my head up, I was in my parents’ pack and outside — rain or shine, hot or cold. 

Growing up in the outdoors, I knew it wasn’t easy, it took work to be out there. Bugs, cuts, splinters, sunburns, fatigue, rain — a lot of it sucked. And then there were breathtaking rewards like lakes, wildflowers, mountains, fresh air, space. All together, it added up to adventure. Or so I thought. But, I was missing the point. 

It wasn’t just about the adventure, the thrill and the challenge of outdoor recreation. I was being actively raised to have a relationship with nature. What I now see as one of the greatest gifts a parent can give, besides life, safety and love. 

And in this relationship with nature a connection to my own spirit, and thus my own sense of spirituality. 

Just as my parents had grown theirs after they uprooted from Boston and transplanted to Oregon in 1972. Immediately falling in love with Mt. Hood and everything at the next level, they spent the next six years before kids seeking their highest potential — physically, mentally and spiritually. 

They may have felt the same awe as I do now:

  • Being dwarfed by giant Sequoias and Redwoods in old growth forests.
  • Seeing Mt. Rainier peaking out from the clouds in the distance.
  • Sitting beside the lapping waves, always ebbing and flowing as they touch the rocky shore.
  • Watching hermit crabs tickle an anemone while crawling around a tide pool. 

This profound thought has echoed with me for weeks: Nature just knows. It just is. It just exists. None of it has an “identity.”

None of it is studying career and life discernment workbooks, wondering how to live out its calling. This “enlightened” human thing some of us do. It makes this thing we hold so sacred, our individual identity, seem well, mundane. 

Yes, every part of nature has beauty, purpose, meaning of each its own, though its significance is not in simply being, but in contributing to the greater whole. 

Today is my birthday. A day some cultures see as an opportunity for a fresh sense of identity. More than a marker of years, it represents a self-identified mastery of being. Just so, a few years ago I started using my favorite nickname, Jules, all the time. 

Personal, loving, connected. It felt more “me” than Julie ever did.  

I’ve spent my life seeking personal significance through my own self-expression. Ironically, as I’ve settled into being Jules “full-time,” I’ve released some of the need for a distinctive identity. 

Today I am humbled by the bigger quest: Becoming one with all — mind, body and spirit aligned within. And without. Not just relating to nature, but being as an equal and raising our children to live this way from the start. 

This is where my heart is at as I enter a new year: with wild ambitions of living more deeply in harmony with nature, with all others, and with my own nature. And intuiting how to make these truths more accessible to all. 

May you feel peace this week by treating every day as a fresh start. 

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 | 08.17.20 | Finding Peace of Mind

one lesson about integrity every week

As soon as the trail disappeared, I had that sinking feeling in my stomach. Distracted by my lurking hunger and the lowering sun, I trudged ahead even though none of it seemed right. But, those women said they stayed here the night before. And hadn’t I backpacked here years ago? Just get down to the lake. It’s too late to turn back now. 

Was this my gut talking? Or my ego? 

I tried unsuccessfully to stay present and clear-headed as I crunched through the burnt debris and charcoaled trees down to the lake below. It only got more eery once I reached the barren lake and pitched my tent. Besides the tadpoles, it was just me and the wind. Until I heard a branch crack, then huff-huff-huffing seemingly right outside my tent. 

This was when my confusion about the whole trip turned to terror. Sometime before dawn the fear gave way to the exhaustion and I awoke with the cold Gerber knife still clutched in my fist. I’m still convinced there was a mountain lion on the prowl that night.

Whether a big cat was there or it was just my wild imagination, I came away from that backpacking trip with crystal clarity. 

This was not the point. 

I come to the outdoors for peace of mind, not for more stress. 

As I set out last week on my own again, I set myself up for success differently and I was rewarded. When I rolled over and looked out the mesh roof of my tent (without flynet!) in the middle of the first night, I saw a shooting star! I woke up the next morning, after 12 hours of sleep, feeling refreshed and delighted to explore the Oregon coastal trails accessible from the campground. 

What was different this time? Besides everything?

I focused on maintaining balance. 

Matching my needs to the reality at hand. Keeping choices simple. Choosing the easiest option. Making slight adjustments. Staying unattached. But, knowing the objective. And staying true to it. 

Balance seems to be part of a continual state of flow, of being — living at its richest. And it’s not only achievable when one’s retreating, for instance from the distractions of the city to the simplicity of the woods. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of escape. It’s resisting the denial that you’re right and the world is wrong.

Instead there’s an attuning with reality — with things exactly as they are — that makes you feel connected to it all. Even when it’s unpleasant. 

Not mountain lion unpleasant. More like when my first month of income from Oregon unemployment checks matched my actual expenses in June within $10. Literally a balanced budget. Living lean isn’t exactly fun, but this alignment was delightful. 

Or like this week’s forecast of rain right in the middle of the four-day, 40-mile Timberline Trail trek that friends and I have been training for all summer long. 

Your head stays clear and your heart is unburdened. Not just peace of mind. Peace of heart. 

Life goes on, easefully. 

May you relish in saying yes to what you know, not just to what you want, 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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