alignment Archives - Everyday Integrity

February 8, 2021February 12, 2022

News from Jules | 02.08.2021 | Getting Everything You Need

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!

January 11, 2021February 12, 2022

News from Jules | 01.11.21 | Find Discomfort and Reassurance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sat in the discomfort. And found reassurance.

Each day it felt a tiny bit more right.

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

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

I’m here.

I’m open.

I’m infinitely adaptable.

And so are you.

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

Love,
Jules

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

January 4, 2021February 12, 2022

News from Jules | 01.04.21 | Begin Again

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:

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).
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!

December 28, 2020March 22, 2022

News from Jules | 12.28.2020 | This is the Next Level

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

December 14, 2020February 12, 2022

News from Jules | 12.14.20 | Getting Everything You Want

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

November 16, 2020February 12, 2022

News from Jules | 11.16.20 | Just the Beginning

Done is such a satisfying feeling. All the effort, usually twice as much as expected, coming to sweet completion.

After hanging the last piece of art last weekend, I slid over to the built-in desk, across the wide-open studio in my pink wool socks, Risky Business-style.

Appropriately, the finishing touch on the apartment was to set up my altar—a place for my intentions and prayers to be held and nurtured. One by one, I unpacked sacred items from my Sabbath box.

Rose quartz for unconditional love. Tiger’s eye for protective, grounding energy. Palo Santo for cleansing and clearing negative energy. Lakshmi, the Hindu goddess of fortune, beauty, fertility, and prosperity.

A $100 bill! Holy Moly.

I was literally five times as surprised and delighted as I was a couple of weeks ago when I found twenty bucks in my winter coat. It took me a second to remember the significance. And then, the tears welled up in my eyes.

I remembered withdrawing the one hundred dollar bill before the spring equinox this year when I was still seeking full-time employment and a home of my own. Following in the tradition of an ancient Mexican tribe, it was the most I could easily afford, placed in a bowl on my altar to humbly call forth prosperity.

Just as I had a few years ago when the most I could easily afford was five dollars. How far I’d come.

Benjamin Franklin looked straight at me with lip curled in the tiniest smile. But mostly brow furrowed, eyes heavy with wisdom. Now, just a week after the 2020 presidential election and just a month after starting my new job, I could hear him say:

Yes, you did it. It is done. And this is just the beginning. Let’s get it right this time.

I held the almost weightless bill in my hand, examining what I so often take for granted. My faith. My privilege.

On one side, “In God We Trust.” On the other side, “The United States of America.” And just below those thick all caps letters, so easy to miss in fine print: This note is legal tender for all debts, public and private.

It hit me. How we see ourselves in control. And yet, how deeply beholden we are. How deeply in debt we are—emotionally, physically, spiritually, ecologically, and yes, financially. As a country. As a people. As people.

For me, I have a second chance (or third, or fourth) to try once again to fulfill my calling while also making a living.

Just so, for Americans, we have a chance to get it right for the first time. Starting now.

As Lynne Twist so wisely stated in The Soul of Money:

“This is not a time of mere change. This is a time of transformation, and transformation comes not out of scarcity but out of the context of possibility, responsibility, and sufficiency.”

Sufficiency: When needs are met, for all.

Living within our means.

No longer in debt, but ever indebted for the gift of this life.

May you continue to seek out the truth this week.

Love,
Jules

November 9, 2020February 12, 2022

News from Jules | 11.09.20 | The Moment of Truth

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

October 26, 2020February 12, 2022

News from Jules | 10.26.20 | The Work is Done

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

October 19, 2020February 12, 2022

News from Jules | 10.19.2020 | Embrace Uncertainty

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

October 12, 2020February 12, 2022

News from Jules | 10.12.20 | Owning What You Want: 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.

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

Tag: alignment

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