News from Jules | 12.28.2020 | This is the Next Level

one lesson about integrity every week

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

Just like denial seems easier. And ignoring seems easier. 

Until it’s not. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To more experience, deeper wisdom and better judgment.

To change spurred by truth. 

To adaptability. 

To being humble.

To being human. 

May you carry the truth forward this week. 

Love,
Jules


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

one lesson about integrity every week

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

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

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

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

“How are you holding up?”

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

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

“I’m doing the best I can.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, how are you holding up?

What no longer serves you?

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

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

May you leave space for compassion and honesty this week. 

Love,
Jules


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News from Jules | 12.14.20 | Getting Everything You Want

one lesson about integrity every week

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just when I needed one! 

The universe provides. 

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

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

I felt attached.

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

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

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

Because desire causes suffering. 

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

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

The unmet need or want that festers. 

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

Getting everything you want. Everything you need. 

And if not, letting it go. 

Once again, in balance with what is. 

Maybe that’s nonattachment. 

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

Love,
Jules


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News from Jules | 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!