Tag: centering

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News from Jules | 01.10.2022 | Don’t Quit Your Daydream

one lesson about integrity every week

It’s good to take a break from our dreams for a bit. To see where we stand. Are they exactly where we left them? Have they morphed into a different version? Have they disappeared altogether—no longer relevant as we’ve evolved in the meantime? 

If the dream persists once we come back, we know we’ve got unfinished business. 

It’s been six months since I attempted to summit Mt. Hood. Since the snow melted and the mountain became unattemptable, at least for a rookie climber like me. It was a surprisingly ideal end to my first season of learning how to climb through the Mazama’s Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP). If you’re curious, an abridged account is published in the latest issue of the Mazama’s Bulletin, January/February 2022 on pages 23-26. Plus, the whole #hoodorbust journey to date is on my blog. 

I learned so much. Mostly about myself.  

As it turns out, I didn’t complete a dream. I discovered one. I tapped into my higher potential. What I might be capable of, if I dared to try. After I got past my personal motivations and goals, I was ready to simply follow the pull of curiosity. 

The pull to try. Because why not?

Last week, I felt the same thrill when I attempted a tricky, 5.9 indoor rock climbing route for the umpteenth time. At first, I thought it was too hard for a beginner like me and avoided it. But, as I watched other people race up the route, I got the itch to give it a try. I could barely make it a few feet off the ground at first, but my curiosity was hooked: Could I do it?

I tried several times…at each climbing session…every week in a row. Making a little progress upward and getting stuck each week. Feeling a bit defeated in the fourth week, I took a break and tried some even harder 5.10 routes that my climbing partners did. Why not fail harder? But, making solid, unexpected progress encouraged me to keep trying.

I went by myself on the last day of my month-long trial membership with this tricky 5.9 route in mind. It was now or never. 

First I did a Yoga for Climbers class and a few easy bouldering routes to warm up. Then, I went for it. As I reached the top of the elusive route, I was half-surprised, half-assured: Hot damn, I just did it! 

It was a feeling just for me. There was nothing to prove, just potential to unlock. 

When I went snowshoeing on Mt. Hood yesterday it was my first time this year actually seeing the south side crater blanketed with silky white snow. It was breathtaking. My dream was exactly where I left it. 

And my motivation has morphed. 

It’s good to take a break from our dreams for a bit. 

And it’s good to keep trying. 

May you know where you stand 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 | 07.05.2021 | Saying Yes to One Thing

one lesson about integrity every week

I could feel it all week. Having spent so much time in the mountains lately, I needed to get back to sea level.

Without anywhere in particular in mind, I scanned the Oregon coastline on Google Maps. I only had Thursday night before my next climbing trip over the weekend, so I needed to stay close to Portland. Nothing jumped off the map until I moved up to Washington. Long Beach caught my eye. It was that kooky little town on my bucket list discovered while facilitating a retreat nearby a few summers ago. 

The closest campground was at Cape Disappointment State Park. I’d never been there! 

Or had I been there too many times to count—figuratively that is? Is it possible to live life to the fullest without having hopes or expectations?

One of the many things I was wondering as I set out on this brief personal retreat. 

As soon as I parked, smelled the salt air and discovered the tiny trail directly from my campsite to the beach, I knew: This was exactly where I needed to be.

As if I had planned it long ago, instead of the night before. 

As I sunk my bare feet into the sand and scanned the beach, my first inclination was to explore the caverns and shoreline of this place I’d never been to until sunset. Getting to know every inch of it. Seeing everything. My curiosity always steering the course. Yet, this wasn’t what had drawn me to the coast. 

I needed to just sit there. 

Three steps and four drift logs from where I emerged. 

Just me, Grandmother Ocean and all the feelings of doubt and insecurity about ever living into my fullest potential as a human. Potential recently tapped into during peak experiences, but not yet amidst my day-to-day. Bringing forth everything I have been gifted to offer the world: family, kids, writing, teaching, retreating, being. 

Simply being. 

Amidst all the doing, could our being be all that’s asked of us?

So simple. Yet so immense. I still can’t wrap my head around it.

Saying yes to one thing and no to everything else. 

Yes to being right here, right now, in whatever this moment holds. 

Like the waves lapping on the shore. The birds flying overhead. The lighthouse on the cliff, constantly turning to spread its light. 

Can just being lead me to everything I’m drawn to? Do I need to do anything? Besides showing up?

I sat there smoking a cigar until the sky, waves and beach turned the same shade of grey and there was no one else on the beach. Just me, Grandmother Ocean and all the sensations of being humbly, vulnerably, courageously so very human. 

I carried this truth with me from sea level all the way up Mt. Adams, where I camped 24 hours later beside a different ocean than I’d ever seen before. 

May you say yes to being 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 | 06.28.2021 | Row Your Own Way

one lesson about integrity every week

Once my eyes opened I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I quickly changed into shorts and a sweatshirt, grabbed a life jacket and an oar and set off toward the lake. 

It seemed like everyone in the entire campground was still asleep. And the throngs of visitors had yet to arrive. 

With a record-breaking heatwave rolling into the Pacific Northwest over the weekend, everyone had the same idea to head toward the mountain. At the last minute, my plans changed from climbing South Sister with friends in Central Oregon to joining other friends on their family campout.

As soon as we got set up on Friday night, we brought the canoe and standup paddleboards (SUP) down to the water for a sunset row. I wondered how magical the sunrise on the lake would be.

The next day the lake was bustling like the waterways of Venice: SUPs, canoes, dinghies, rafts, inner tubes, even household air mattresses. People everywhere. Voices carrying across the water, everyone commenting, “I’ve never seen this many people on Trillium Lake before!” 

At 6:30 a.m. on Sunday morning, it was just me and the actual early birds chirping away. 

As I walked the boardwalk and the perimeter trail to where we’d left the canoe, it hit me:

Can you row a canoe by yourself? Or does it take two people? I had no idea. I realized I’d never rowed a canoe solo before. I could turn around and give up. Or I could try it. 

Why not?

Once I found it amongst the bushes, I turned the canoe over and pushed it away from the grassy shore. 

Would it even work with only one oar? Yes. 

Or would I just go in circles? No. 

Even if it’s backward apparently. Defying logic, I learned later that the bigger seat is actually the front and the smaller seat goes in the back. Huh, good to know!  

I sliced through the still water, alternating a few strokes on each side of the canoe. Stopping every few minutes to take photos of one magical moment after another: the sun peeking through the treeline, the yellow flower buds peeking through the lily pads, the tree stumps jutting out of the middle of the lake, the shadows moving across the mountain’s glaciers. All reflected back on the still water. 

Thoughts buzzed past just like the dragonflies, connecting this moment with past moments. Instead of dwelling on the random thoughts or making meaning, I simply smiled. 

The actual dragonflies excitedly mating over the lily pads were much more interesting. 

A gaggle buzzed over to me, some pairs hit the side of the canoe with a thud, bounced off and kept flying. 

It was more than magic. 

This was living in harmony with nature. Living in harmony with my nature. 

Fleetwood Mac had it right: Go your own way. Row your own way. 

The risk: Figuring it out on one’s own. 

The reward: Getting to witness the beginning of a new day.

May you go your own way this week. 

Love,
Jules

I share a lesson learned about integrity every Monday. Sign up for delivery right to your inbox. Want more? There’s lots more lessons learned here on my blog, so have fun exploring and commenting about your own insights! 

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News from Jules | 01.11.21 | Find Discomfort and Reassurance

one lesson about integrity every week

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!

I share a lesson learned about integrity every Monday. Sign up for delivery right to your inbox. Want more? There’s lots more lessons learned here on my blog, so have fun exploring and commenting about your own insights! 

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News from Jules | 12.14.20 | Getting Everything You Want

one lesson about integrity every week

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just when I needed one! 

The universe provides. 

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

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

I felt attached.

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

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

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

Because desire causes suffering. 

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

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

The unmet need or want that festers. 

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

Getting everything you want. Everything you need. 

And if not, letting it go. 

Once again, in balance with what is. 

Maybe that’s nonattachment. 

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

Love,
Jules

I share a lesson learned about integrity every Monday. Sign up for delivery right to your inbox. Want more? There’s lots more lessons learned here on my blog, so have fun exploring and commenting about your own insights! 

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News from Jules | 11.23.20 | It’s the Little Things

one lesson about integrity every week

Until I saw them shivering in the rain outside of my apartment building last week, it hadn’t really hit me that I wouldn’t see them on Thanksgiving. 

My nephew and nieces ran from my sister toward me in their galoshes, raincoats and facemasks to announce why they had stopped by. They handed me a pink gift bag with gold sparkly tissue paper. Inside there was a Mason jar with a votive candle, covered with red- and yellow-shaped leaves and more gold sparkly tissue paper. The kids wrote on tags tied to the candle with a ribbon: “We’re really grateful for you. Light this candle and know that we are with you in spirt.” 

Of course, I cried after they left. 

Both for the deeply meaningful gesture and for the reality. 

For the unwanted distance from those whom we hold dear. 

Those that bring meaning to our traditions. To traditions that bring order to our constantly changing lives. To order that gives us something to look forward to. Though can also get us stuck in the past and out of the present. 

“This year, I haven’t really been looking forward to Christmas and the Holidays with much anticipation or interest.”

Sound familiar?

I actually wrote that right after Thanksgiving, way back in 2013. It was in a post on one of my very first blogs—the adorable first generation of Everyday Integrity—that I forgot about until the other day. 

Then, as now, one of my best friends and I were struggling to get into the holiday spirit. So, I wrote an Advent Series of blog posts—one every day until Christmas as a gift for her. Each post had something special about this time of year. An ode to the little things. A new link to open each morning. 

That commitment keep me present all holiday season long.

Each day I needed to find the holiday spirit in the world around me. Some days I literally ran into Mrs. Claus in the grocery store. Other days it was a s-t-r-e-t-c-h. It truly turned into the gift that kept on giving. Almost more for me than for my best friend. 

It helped me see past all of the shopping-buying-wrapping-shipping-traveling-cooking-overeating-drinking stress, to get back to the Tiny Tim essence of the holiday spirit. The generosity, the magic, the love, the little things. 

Like a handmade candle to be with my family in spirit this Thanksgiving. Or the email from my dad the other day, Subject: “Merry Xmas,” with a year’s subscription to The New York Times. 

What would Tiny Tim say about this year—staying a crutch length away from everyone, if together at all during the holidays? These holy days of dark winter.

“God bless us, every one!” 

May you cherish all the little things this week. 

Love,
Jules

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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

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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 | 08.24.20 | Don’t Underestimate Yourself

one lesson about integrity every week

Sometimes there is a thin line between complete certainty and debilitating doubt. Last week that line was a slippery, wet log as wide as my hiking boot across raging rapids. 

We were about 20 miles into the 45-mile Timberline Trail trek around Mt. Hood. We had already completed many of the 30 or so water crossings. Yet again, I poked my trekking pole into the water to gauge the depth, took a deep breath and repeated a mantra that is a running joke with my friend so made me giggle:

You got this, girl. 

It was only a few steps. It lasted maybe 15 seconds.  

But I paused in the middle of the log because I sensed doubt in my tired body and the risky situation. Uh oh. And I simultaneously felt my center of gravity intuitively brace with certainty in my abilities. 

That inner place where movements emanate from, hence “being centered,” so said my yoga teachers. I think my exact thought that moment was, “Oh yeah this is the balance that I’ve been practicing in yoga class.”

Two more steps forward and I skipped off the log onto the other side with relief, and even a little glee. 

Every part of me had been training for moments like this. I was thoroughly prepared. Not just physically. Mentally, and especially spiritually. I could trust my vulnerability and my strength.

My doubt switched to confidence as I drew from everything I had been taking for granted. 

I started training to summit Mt. Hood in September 2019. Each week I practiced yoga, ran and danced to get fit and agile. But as soon as COVID-19 hit Oregon in March, my mountaineering school was canceled. #HoodorBust, I kept training. Every Saturday during quarantine I loaded up my backpack with dumbbells and hiked a trail with as much elevation as I could find in the city. In May, I knew it wasn’t going to happen in 2020. Like so many others have this year, I pivoted my goals. I loved doing the Timberline Trail in 2017. So, instead of summiting Mt. Hood, I would climb around it. 

And, it was a huge success! Of course, there were mishaps and challenges, blessings and adaptations. That’s all part of the adventure.  

We ended up covering 15 miles, 18.5 miles (a hiking personal record for me) and then 11 miles — finishing a full day ahead of schedule!  

I’m nursing two blisters and still slow on stairs, but otherwise I feel awesome. 

Yet, I spent the days before we departed worried whether I could do the trek at all due to my aching right leg and the rainy forecast. I had a stomach ache and a headache the day before. Where did this doubt come from?

I was intimidated. I was uncertain. And I forgot. 

Not only about how experienced and strong I am, but a backpacking truth: all resources are precious.

One is always careful with water, with food, with fuel, not wasting a bit. Just so, dwelling in doubt is like leaving a camp stove on when the water is already boiled. One is sacrificing energy — not only from one’s future needs, but one’s highest potential. 

Makes me wonder what other potential I’ve squandered — or left untapped and untested. Where else am I underestimating myself? 

May you find stability this week by completely believing in yourself. 

Love, 
Jules

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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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