I’ve long been terrible at sharing what I do for work—people just know me as “busy” and it’s annoyed me for a long time…as I’d rather be the friend / aunt / niece / cousin / etc. you can count on to show up when you need an ear / hand / inspiration / energy boost / shoulder to cry on.

So, I’m both terrified and excited to share that I’ve closed a chapter on my 20+ year career in tech and business consulting. When I think about what will bring me joy for another 20-25 years, I realize my most favorite memories are those moments I was blessed to be a witness to someone else’s AHA, healing, and transformation. And I’m reminded of a moment that changed my life—when my boss sent me to a leadership training at ±25 which happened to be based in somatics. I didn’t immediately drink the kool-aid, but it led me to therapy, martial arts, physical fitness, emotional sobriety, spiritual connection, and a life of love-based healing and adventure vs the perpetual freeze and fear-based existence I’d been stuck in.

And thus, I’m going to be spending the next year becoming a wellness professional to help folks heal from trauma (it’s possible!) and reintegrate as a somatic therapist and coach. I will continue to be “busy” for the foreseeable future—with classes, studying, and a lot of catchup on everything I’d let slide in the pursuit of other people’s goals and needs… but it’ll be a different, much chiller “busy”.

I’ll be staying in Portland and look forward to reconnecting with my communities and hosting anyone wanting to visit my blooming sanctuary. If you read this far: know that it’s never too late to learn new tricks—and you deserve all the fulfillment and love you desire in life.

The post A New Direction appeared first on Jewels.

Incredibly, playing in front of a screened ‘live audience’ triggered my nerves more than I remembered playing in front of humans sharing the same space as myself. Much to ruminate on that as it relates to continued remote working and preparing to play fuller sets without a screen. Until then, will continue finding virtual spaces

https://youtu.be/QPNdNWmCugM?t=5881

The post Open Mic America appeared first on Jewels.

In this workshop we’ll explore the magic of naming, what is gained and what is lost when the unsayable becomes the said. You can expect example poems and discussions, some short readings on craft, and etymology and linguistic theory-inspired thought experiments and writing prompts, all designed to inspire you to explore the landscape of all that lives named and unnamed in you.

We read from Robin Wall Kimmerer’s essay, The Grammar of Animacy, now included in her book, Braiding Sweetgrass which a sweet friend recommended to me last year. In the excerpt, we’re challenged to think of nouns as verbs. The following is an excerpt from my morning’s reflection after taking a walk and reading a Sabrina Orah Mark’s column in the Paris Review with the teaser “I’m mourning something nameless that has vanished into thin air.”

When starting the class, Sam asked us all to introduce ourselves: our name, our access needs, our pronouns, where we are at with our writing and what we want from this class. I took some quick notes as I eagerly wanted to focus on and listen to the other students. I grew nervous on the spot, frozen as if I’d never talked in front of a group before, regressed to anxiety over being seen. How do I want to be seen? Who am I? What am I doing here? Is my curiosity not enough? Could I not share that I’m exhausted, still, and struggling with my identity at 41, yearning to put a name not only to who I am, what I do, why I do, why I matter? That it’s time for me to focus on myself and I’m the only one who can grant myself permission, forgive myself for ever thinking I didn’t matter. That I’m suddenly struck with urgency and craving to be water (I’m already water), connected to a body larger than myself, yet myself has only the boundaries I’ve set. From what I can visually see, I exist in the frame of a body bound mostly by skin with the exception of my eyes and a hole running from my mouth to my anus which, as I think on it, is also bound by “skin”. From what I can feel, I exist further beyond the physical, sometimes reaching to my mom, to the moon, a fraction of space beyond my skin. I exist in a multiverse, in multiple timelines, in the ever-changing, never static “now” and moments that have passed and have yet to pass. I exist with my ancestors. I will bear no children, yet I exist in others, in memories, photographs.

To Jewel is to shine as a reading lamp, carefully placed for intimate illusion, sometimes seen from the night through a window framed by plants and fractal shadows. To Jewel is to yearn for more wattage, only to burn out when lighting a stage, to remember that individual lighters (and now, cell phone lamps) collectively can light a crowd. To create greater / global change by creating safe, challenging, comforting spaces for individuals to discover their contradictory yet not invalidating truths, to illuminate all our truths.

The post To be a verb. appeared first on Jewels.

I rang in the new year with a commitment to self love, compassion and dating. My last relationship of 7 years dissolved near the end of 2018 and I took 2019 to rediscover myself through a lot of solo travel, travel with friends, language learning, music, new fitness fun and a career shift. It only made sense, then, that 2020 would be the year of clear vision.

While I started the year with open mics and an interest in learning how to better write, sing and compose music (and produce an album), never in a million years did I anticipate making a Christmas album. I rarely even listen to Christmas music, let alone decorate or celebrate. But something about being “stuck” at home, far from family, and physically separated from friends made Christmas a time to look forward to–a time for rest, recovery, and gratitude for everyone adding light, learning, and inspiration to my life. The idea of being able to be with people in spirit through music grew into a gift I was willing to spend a few sleepless nights for.

As I told some friends: had I known how much work this would be, I probably wouldn’t have started it. But I’m beyond grateful I didn’t know and did it. My Christmas miracle? That my new relationship grew over the course of this project despite some hiccups and tears.

To everyone reading and listening: here’s wishing you the best of this holiday season. May you feel comfort despite a break in traditions. Like the rest of this year (and as this project taught me), we will get through life together even when it feels like we won’t. Thank you for your resilience, compassion and support.

The post CHRISTMAS COVERS TO SPEND THE HOLIDAYS TOGETHER, APART appeared first on Jewels.

I’m writing this as I listen to a song Tayler Kopp, who I met shortly before the pandemic at one of the last (and first) open mics I made it to at the Ranger Station, posted on IG—and as I stumble across this old picture of my brother and I apparently playing the piano, or at least pretending to.

When I decided to focus time on making music, I didn’t think of myself as a musician. I took a deep dive into learning the guitar this year and when I began to burn out (which I partly blamed on my hurting wrists) I decided, why not pick up something without strings, like a clarinet? Suddenly, I found myself back on the “fast track”—that period of time when learning is easy and fun. There’s no plateau to push through yet. You’re still new enough to have a bag of excuses. I soon realized, however, that this rapid learning curve is possible because music has been a part of my life since the beginning. My parents loved music. I never met an instrument I didn’t want to pick up and play, even if I didn’t know how.

I started playing the flute in 5th grade when I was 11, and while it wasn’t my first choice, I stuck with it. I switched to guitar in college so I could sing with friends and because I didn’t understand how flute could fit into my life without me being a music major or playing in a symphony or orchestra—and I certainly wasn’t going to get up 5am for marching band.

Circling back to this year, when I decided I wanted to really learn the guitar, like I learned the flute, I struggled admitting that I’d been playing for so long but was still at the “campfire guitarist” level. I hunkered down, learned, and practiced scales almost daily. Music theory morphed into a rental cabin’s puzzle missing myriad pieces, yet still exciting and time-consuming to assemble. Slowly, my interest in the guitar transferred to a broader theme of composing, arranging, and playing “all” the instruments. None of the songs I started recording this summer for a solo album are complete yet. I thought, if I get good enough, I can play what I hear in my mind. Only now, what I hear in my mind is more intricate, nuanced, and layered than before and I lack some of the naivete that makes action easier to move into and through.

This question, why is music so nostalgic? feels like a new and much-needed spark. It is, after all, somewhat rhetorical, linking me to why I always come back to music much like I always come back to photography (even after famines). It’s a language that can express what I often can’t with any of the other languages I know. It’s a time machine. A teleporter. Sunshine and a patch of blue skies in a long winter of rain. A hug amid a touchless pandemic. Heartbreak when I’ve forgotten how to feel. A short story that lingers like fog on a windowpane. A reminder that life is ours to live, and while we may not want it to be easy, we want it to be meaningful.

The post Why is music so nostalgic? appeared first on Jewels.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jewels (@juellez)

The post Jessie’s Girl (bar n power chord practice) appeared first on Jewels.

Days can turn for no obviously apparent reason, though I can give hormones a starring role alongside our new antagonist pandemic. So when I found myself in bed for a happy hour call at 7, I was startled to find myself motivated to get out of bed by simply hearing a song. 

Sure, I adore Gillian Welch. Still, I couldn’t put my finger on the pulse of the inspiration to move, to listen, to play, to sing. As I first sat down to learn it and adapt it to my limited finger picking repertoire, I started to second guess my instincts. 

• Everything is free now. I’d be playing her song, making it free. 
• Try to make a little change at the bars. Our bars are closed and even when they open, I doubt I’ll be visiting anytime soon.
• Everything I ever done, gotta give it away. Someone hit the big score, they figured it out, that we’re gonna do it anyway, even if it doesn’t pay. Ouch, yeah…
• Every day I wake up, humming a song; but I don’t need to run around, I’ll just stay home. Stay home, save lives.
• And sing a little love song, my love and myself. This felt GOOD, comforting. A nice reminder that self love and self care is so critical.
• If there’s something that you wanna hear, you can sing it yourself. OK, I’ll sing it myself.

On the surface, it spoke to me in the moment, and while I battled the appropriateness of covering it and sharing it (for free), I ultimately found so much reprieve in the doing that I did it. And it motivated me to finish some work I’d been procrastinating; and I fell asleep peacefully, already rested.

When I woke this morning, I decided Wednesday would be a RESET day, a wonderful opportunity to shape my day around calm, acceptance and more productivity than the past couple of days. And then it hit me: Gillian’s song is about that acceptance. Accepting a new way of life and singing yourself a love song to help soothe the struggle in that transition.

‘Cause everything is free now, that’s what I said
No one’s gotta listen to the words in my head.
Someone hit the big score, and I figured it out
And I’m gonna do it anyway, even if it doesn’t pay

Gillian Welch, Everything is Free

Thank you to Gillian and all artists who risk vulnerability to share their stories as inspirations for us all. While I haven’t been able to watch any long form shows or movies, or read long form books, I’ve found so much comfort in music—especially in the past few weeks as our realities continue to shift like ‘ol 49ers panning for gold. Even if I don’t fully understand why any particular song sings to me, they are all helping me accept a new way of living and of being … and continue to push me to practice finding my own voice and sharing my own stories.

The post Everything is Free: a song about pandemic life appeared first on Jewels.

These edges, they’re endangered. And I’m worried that we’re going to lose them forever … and find ourselves trapped in a world we’ll wake up in one day wanting to escape.

That post came from a 2013 post on a now defunct site, Cowbird. It’s been a while since I’ve searched myself online and was surprised to stumble across this old post and a story shared in my profile. In an effort to own my own data, here it is:

My story starts in Nebraska, with a young man who decided not to pursue an engineering degree in college in lieu of working at the meat packing plant and falling in love with a pretty teenager in desperate need of unconditional love and support. From here, all I can share (at the risk of a million micro stories spilling out and taking over my Saturday) is that my father named me after a Nebraska pioneer who, on his death bed, requested that his daughter Mari Sandoz write his life story. My mother named me after a precious stone. I’ve only ever known multiple truths.

For as long as I can remember, I was a daydreamer. I loved how I could travel through time as I walked home from school, when the condemned barns by the grain bins bustled with travelers waiting for the train. I’d listen as townsfolk chattered, horses trotted and school bells rang. There was life in this dying town at one time and I’d often get lost in it.

When my grandma gave me a Minolta 110, I discovered a passion for capturing moments, landscapes and people’s emotions in the present and how those moments shifted over time. And in 2012, a short 20 years and 12 cameras since I received my Minolta 110, I began sharing stories with my photographs. Only my audience was small as I never published them. Until now.

The stories I will share here have been waiting a while to sprout. The Cowbird soil seems fertile and I’m excited for the garden we will grow.

While the Cowbird community blossomed into a lovely garden, I didn’t participate while it ran through 2017. One thing (of many) this pandemic reminds me of is that time is still multi-dimensional and layered.

The post Remember When? A trip down memory lane and an origin story appeared first on Jewels.

Spring came early this year and if ever there was a month that wanted to be a dad joke, it was March. It really did march in like a lion—triggering unparalleled fear, anxiety, stress, misinformation, pandemonium, noise and a quiet I didn’t even know I longed for until I got it. Like how you don’t even realize HOW much stress you’re under until it’s gone and your adrenal system hits the emergency exit and whoosh! you’re beyond exhausted.

As a repeat trauma survivor and someone that operates efficiently in crisis mode, that “whoosh” isn’t new to me and I know to anticipate it. And I see a future where we will all share more trauma—much like we’re sharing the trauma of today. For many, or maybe even most, we won’t realize this until we’re on the other side. We’re still in the trauma experience: unable to pause, detach, unpack and process. For some, we may feel we’ve reached a calm, only for that calm to be disturbed by the anticipation of the storm to come. Anyone who’s read The Road knows this lesson far too well. 

If I could finish the proverb “In like a lion, out like a…”, I’d love to say that spring will leave like a gentle, newborn lamb—a hopeful new beginning, an optimism of what we can rebuild together. Even in writing it out, my face softens into a hint of a smile, my shoulders relax and my chest lightens. Ancient religious texts, which have survived several pandemics and plagues, also warn us that lambs are sacrificial. Should our spring march in like a lion and out like a lamb, it could be the sacrificial remains of our loved ones, hated ones, forgotten ones, hopeful ones … so many ones they became millions. And we wouldn’t have been able to mourn them as we’re accustomed. Just as we’re no longer allowed to hold the hands of our mothers bringing in new life, we will not have been allowed to hold the hands of those leaving our shared existence.

Still, I know we will survive, just as we’ve survived for hundreds of thousands of years (and more if we count in our evolutionary ancestors). We may feel like we’ve lost all control, yet we still have control over our individual behaviors, choices and reactions. When life starts, or continues, to feel overwhelming and out of control, try thinking that what comes in like a lion, goes out like a lamb—and align your behaviors around the version of lamb you’d prefer to see in the next season.

The post In like a lion, out like lamb? appeared first on Jewels.

Today was the Super Bowl and as I watched people watching the game, I began to wonder what it’d be like if we cheered both teams? Surely, both teams make brilliant plays. 

(Analogy from an old business book, maybe something like the 1 Minute manager: in football, we cheer / we go WILD when people do their jobs. Making a touchdown? It’s not a feat of greatness. It’s their JOB. Quite literally. To score. To win. It makes money. Produces jobs. Allows them to focus on their physical and mental acuity w/out having to have another job.)

On the flight from PDX to SLC, the steward let everyone know that the game would be broadcast and available in the air. But asked everyone to refrain from cheering since fans from both teams would be on board, so out of courtesy to your neighbor. 

If I HAD to pick a side, I’d likely lean towards the 49ers because I grew up going to games at Candlestick. But I haven’t watched a game in years. Maybe since Rice was on the team, if that’s even a real name not blurred by memory. My brothers now live in KC and I spent my school years growing up in Nebraska which doesn’t have its own team, so I could equally root for KC.

If I HAD to watch the game, I’d like to celebrate the brilliant plays by both teams. Root for the best playing today, so to speak. What would happen if we did that in life? If we weren’t so quick to pick a side before even seeing how they’d behave and how they’d play? Can I pick a politician based on their performance today? Presumably, they’ve learned a lot in their life and career — and really, what they did years ago is little more than an indicator of how far they’ve come. Sure, it’s also an indicator of what they’re capable of, but it’s an indicator of what they’re capable of in a set of circumstances that may no longer be present or relevant. (I’m not speaking to persistent, still existent patterns.)

No answers, just questions.

The post What if we rooted for BOTH teams? appeared first on Jewels.