It’s this phrase I’ve been using recently. I used it last year in a career transition. We say it regularly when surprising things drop into our lives. But what really is on anyone’s bingo card?

Just when we think we’re close to a BINGO, someone else yells it, or the card changes completely. We were going for five in a row but the game is four corners.

I’ve had plenty of things not on my bingo card that took me down a tailspin and a negative path. But so rarely do we recognize the moments we get a free space. Ok, too much metaphor? Maybe. What I’m saying is life’s not about bingo cards.

In July I wrote the following:

2026 is joy.

When you try to summarize a year of your life into one word there is no way to capture all of it. But I wrote a word for each of the last 8 years and looking back at these words, the pattern is right there:

2019 – inspired
2020 – overwhelmed
2021 – lost
2022 – challenged
2023 – sad
2024 – exhausted
2025 – growth
2026 – joy

Even in the years where the word was hard, good things happened. In 2023, arguably the toughest of the years – my mom died, my sister was diagnosed and battling breast cancer, I was depressed and lonely, Oct 7th and the deeply felt communal loss of a peer leader, I ended the year with my dad in the hospital. Not one of those things was on anyone’s bingo card.

BUT.

Here is what else happened. I bought a house, I got a promotion at work, I learned the breadth of community we have around us, I connected with my faith through daily prayer and grew my understanding of the world, I climbed a mountain, bonded with long lost friends. I kept moving forward even when it it took everything in me to do so.

Now I have this year that I’ve committed to joy. So many people recognized, saw it, commented and told me the lightness and joy I had in Norway. It’s true. Beyond that I’ve had multiple joyous things going on around me lately, despite all the rest.

So I’m pushing forward with joy. Yes, I have cancer read here

Yes, I am at a crossroads professionally, for what feels like the 137th time. Yes, I have a lot of concerns over how the next few months shake out – less medically, more logistically. But I’m not backing down from the joy – it will still define this year.

This is not to say I haven’t cried, I don’t burst out in tears spontaneously, I have been scared, mad, and moreover, frustrated to no end. But we need that. It’s why we have people in our life to balance it out.

So I’m not letting this one – maybe pretty big – thing rain down on my joy. We need rain.

I need joy – and I’m sure you do too. So I’m here. Continuing to share possibly parts of this journey and continually the essays I was planning to write anyway.

Deep breath.

Bingo cards come and go. The numbers stay the same – the fear, the loss, the joy, all of it just shuffled into a different order for each of us. I don’t get to pick my numbers. I do get to pick how I play them. Joy. Still my word.

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The long version.

I unfortunately have some experience with breast cancer and writing updates - so I’m going to do a bit of a Q&A for this part. If you were around for my sister’s journey, the diagnosis is different, the writing is the same. But seriously, you don’t have to read it.

How did you find it?
I felt a lump a week before my annual exam which was a week before I left for Norway. I had an ultrasound before I left and a biopsy upon my return. I truly didn’t think it was a thing while I was gone. I was wrong.

Wait, didn’t your sister have breast cancer? Weren’t you tested for the BRCA gene?
Yes and Yes. My sister was diagnosed three years ago, underwent treatment and is thankfully healthy and active today. It was a more aggressive “worse” cancer. She was negative for BRCA. Additionally my two first cousins on my mom’s side and one on my Dad’s were all also negative for the BRCA gene and are all also breast cancer survivors.

Oh geez Jess. This sucks. How are you doing?
Honestly. I’m okay. Does it suck? Yes. Did this light my world on fire? Yes. I’m actually a bit less concerned - maybe wrongly so - about the medical side of things. I know and trust doctors, science, and all of the modern technologies to be able to power through this do what they say and get through it much like many of the women I know (I also know it’s not that easy and not great outcomes for all). My cousin said something that stuck:

I know it’s still not the case for everyone and could it be better? Sure.
But I think this is true and unfortunately have so many examples of it being so.

But really how are you doing?
Here is where it’s hard - it’s not the cancer part. I was already questioning my professional next steps with growing, continuing to pursue working for myself, and how I was going to build up my income and find success.

August distracted me just enough to realize that even without this diagnosis I needed to make a shift in some way. So, yes I was a bit stressed prior to this diagnosis. This whole cancer thing just amplified a number of professional and personal realities.

BUT.

“I don’t regret or look back on this past year any other way than a year of learning, growing, expanding myself and network, and putting myself out there in new ways. I did cool things.”

Wait. Isn’t helping people figure out what they want to do and finding a direction the work you do?

Why yes it is - but while I greatly enjoy coaching and mentoring others - I’m not so great at doing it for myself. You know how therapists need a therapist, doctor’s can’t practice on themselves/family, so too is how I feel about this. So while yes, I would love to be able to coach and work with others - I’ve not figured out how to make a living doing just that, yet. I’m still brainstorming these pieces - open to your thoughts.

So back to the whole cancer thing. What’s the plan? What do you know.

I caught it early, I have surgery the week of Aug 31 (not sharing the exact day broadly as I don’t need to be inundated day of). Because it’s a lumpectomy I will likely have a pretty short recovery period. Post surgery they will do some more tests and pathology to decide what my treatment will look like. Those are the core elements I know right now - or what I’m choosing to focus on and share. Henry Ford Cancer Center has been amazing thus far and really helping to guide me through this efficiently.

You are welcome to ask any other questions - this is not a secret and I’m open to sharing but also, sometimes people don’t really want to know the deets, and that’s okay too.

What about your family. How are they?

My dad is okay. He wouldn’t say it this way but I know he has felt a WTF moment. Otherwise he’s fine. He’s fixing his record player, enjoys sitting on the porch and some light gardening, and stays super busy.

My sister is good. We were all in South Haven this month and it was fun. Her girls don’t go back to school until after Labor day so she and Stuart are just surviving the in between with three very active kiddos. Healthwise she’s solid and really thought she took one for the team during her diagnosis…apparently I just wanted to be a little like her. She feeds me sourdough and launched a photography business (check it out here for back to school and high holiday photos), and running her food blog.

My brother is also good. I was able to see him and his boys in Chicago a few weeks ago and have a rainy city day and overnight with them. He’s pretty good at calling to distract me in the middle of the day. He’s also heard more about his sister’s bodies than any brother should really need to. Sorry bro.

You know we have to ask, what can I do?

Yep - I kind of hate this part the most. Right now I’d love more help on the professional side than on the recovery/cancer side. What do I want to do professionally? I’ve never known specifically, always make it work, and often create my own path by being curious. This time I think I need help. I know my strengths and I know that I need something that has an element of stability, remote option and obviously a bit of flexibility. I like writing and will continue this - just not sure it’s a career right now. I do have some current projects but I have much more capacity.

Nope, we meant for you, rides, food, support, cozy things.

I know and I truly appreciate it all. I just don’t have a great answer at the moment. I thankfully know I have a number of close by network of people who I know I can call if I need something or someone to swing by.

I’m one person and eat simply so I don’t need a ton of food; nor do I need blankets or pillows or things like that - truly. The hospital and Sharsharet gifted me pillows already.

I’m only stating these things because I know that people want to help and support and it’s a mitzvah to let you. Sigh.

Your love, support, messages, reading my blogs and responding often are the support I need.

So you don’t yell at me I’ll add: Gas cards as I’m back to driving to Henry Ford WB much more often (daily if/when I’ll need radiation). Trader Joe’s/Kroger/Amazon gift cards or other subscriptions are another idea.

Connections, short-term opportunities, writing opportunities.

I may need more help in the coming months. I don’t know what will be yet, so I’d rather wait until after surgery and I know more to really ask/share. So patience and your hugs, love for now.

Whew. Did I cover it all?
Honestly? No. There is more happening in my life but that seems to be enough for today. I have lots of joy happening and wrote another whole essay on some of those feels here. So that’s the scoop.

I don’t only want to talk cancer so I’m going to keep sharing essays, writings, and then updates on the cancer piece along the way. Subscribe here if you want it all.

I’ll continue to share updates in this forum here, and my essays here. Subscribe to one or both - and I’ll try not to overwhelm. Or just unsubscribe. That’s fine too.

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But sometimes it’s just what you need. One of my most memorable walks was a walk in the rain. A simple walk home from the bus stop after a long hot and humid nearly the end of a day at summer camp. We saw the rain coming and decided to walk anyway. Left our bags to be dropped off, and a friend and I, walked back to our same neighborhood.

I can’t tell you exactly what we talked about on our journey home. I just remember it being easy conversation, thoughtful, and that I ended up at home staying out in the rain a little longer, feeling free. Feeling refreshed. Feeling ready for fall on campus. What was probably ruining someone else’s day was bringing calm to mine.

I’m not sure if I heard “Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield soon after - I think it was released later that fall but I’ve always tied the two together. A walk in the rain, and feeling unwritten. I know it would go on to represent new beginnings for many of my peers, but it always felt connected to me.

The song showed up during transitional stages in life. Moments I was unsure of what the change would bring. Moments that feel big, good even, but the uncertainty sits there too.

A lot of my life I’ve been scared. To the outside world it looks like I take lots of leaps — lots of unwritten moments. To me, they’ve rarely felt like calculated choices. More like a little bit choice, a lot of bit chance, and the happenstance of the world. That day it needed to rain for me to have that moment. My friend needed to say yes for that walk otherwise it would have just been me like a sad puppy, walking alone in the rain.

Looking at the lyrics now, they feel even more profound.

“Reaching for something in the distance, so close you can almost taste it.”

Things I not only reached for but did:

• Moved to New York.

• Moved back to Detroit.

• Traveled the world for a year.

• Ran a half-marathon.

• Launched a business of my own.

“No one else can feel it for you. Only you can let it in.”

Before each of these moments and other smaller life moments, I was waiting for someone else to get me to the finish line, to tell me the right thing to do. I used to think finding a partner would be the thing that changed everything for me. But time and again, I’m reminded it’s on me. I have to let it in. It’s me writing my own story.

My mom’s mantra was to “turn the page” when something hard happened - start fresh. I’ve always interpreted the phrase as referencing the past. Closing something out to make room for what’s next. Letting go to move on.

What I didn’t connect is that it’s not just about the next page and moving beyond the past. It’s looking forward, not assuming I can skip to the end because so often, I’ve been trying to. There are pages, chapters, and books to follow this day. And they are blank. Unwritten.

I’ve stared at a blank page for far too long, waiting for someone else to write it for me. I find these little moments where I miss that version of me in the rain. The one who was refreshed, alive, and hopeful of what’s to come.

As a college kid at summer camp, I had little to burden me and just less to worry about. That kind of freeness gets harder to find at different stages of life. I also keep turning pages, savoring the early chapters, and looking forward to many of the big Unwritten moments I’m yet to find.

That walk might have been two decades ago. But while I’m long past it, it seems to inform my unwritten pages. Here’s to today. Here’s to tomorrow. Here’s to staying out in the rain a little longer and finding the joy there too.

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It was 2019 and I was in Riga, Latvia doing an elderly home visit with the humanitarian organization I was working with. Her state pension only covered some living expenses, so the organization visits her but only a few hours of care a week, a few meals dropped off.

This woman had a beautiful smile. She generally seemed happy. She was mild mannered and made me remember my Aunt Sylvia who was also mild mannered and sweet. This woman had lived in her home for 50 years through tough times, had no children, and clearly lived simply. Despite the hardship there was something that told me she had a happy soul.

The social worker I was with spent a while speaking with her in Russian, translated some, but it was mostly just a check-in. While they were speaking I had been looking around the room and though I could’ve asked a number of questions it was the art I wanted to know about.

These small simple drawings around the room, I think birds mostly. She’d drawn them herself. Never took an art lesson, just enjoyed doing it. Despite the language barrier, I could see a little smile shine through as she spoke about them. You can feel the joy as someone talks about something special to them.

Between this lovely woman and an experience in the morning that day reminded me specifically of my grandma Alice, my mom’s mom, who learned to paint in her 80s. To this day, a whole bunch of us have Grandma Alice paintings hanging in our homes. I think it reminds us of the joy and punchiness that my Grandma brought into the world, despite having challenge in her own life.

That morning we had come from the small Jewish community center, where I had walked into a basement that had about six elderly women painting. They embraced me and gave me a piece of art. I was emotional. They were my grandma. Right before I had left for this trip I’d watched a clip a family friend had sent of my Grandma painting in the early nineties. She was clearly annoyed with the guy filming her, but answered a few questions in her own Russian accent, she was focused and so very into it the artistry.

It wasn’t just that Grandma Alice painted for us, it’s possible she really wasn’t painting for us at all, it’s just what we acquired when she passed away. But while it was a hobby, I don’t think it was just that at all. It was more. What we feel when we look at those paintings is more.

Art makes or keeps people happy. It keeps life moving forward. It suspends the aches and pains and troubles, and fear, for minutes and hours. The smile and joy from art really has no boundaries, it’s a way we can speak to one another without words.

Sometimes there are words, sometimes you sit with friends on a Sunday afternoon with champagne and crafts. All working on different projects but encouraging, joking, and doing something creative together and it’s healing. We need to make more of those moments.

Then I sat down with my four year old niece and painted rocks together. She crawled into my lap and we sat there for twenty minutes, a little chatting, a little messy, but pure concentration from her end, pure joy on mine

.

I have the piece of art I was gifted in Riga hanging at home it’s small. In the next room I have multiple “Grandma Alice” paintings on a wall too. I think of that day every time I look at the gift from the Latvian women. I think of my grandma when I look at the paintings.

I don’t do art often enough. Writing is its own kind of art, sure, but there’s something different about making something with your hands, drawing, painting, pottery, crafting, that brings a moment alive in a way nothing else does. It quiets the mind.

So this is my reminder to sit and do it more. Whether a craft or a drawing, be intentional with my time and let it flow out, good or bad, it’s really the doing of it that can be meaningful. Whether a rock, a picture of a bird, painted replica, or just simple doodles to pass the time, we need these these moments to keep moving forward. Let the emotion flow out of us in a different nonverbal way.

What art will you do? Show me.

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A few months ago, I had a quick conversation with Anna Mack and she said two words as I was struggling to articulate all the different paths I was on. Portfolio career. Once I heard these words together, I realized it’s actually not a new thing, she was just naming what I’ve done for most of my career.

I’ve always described my background as a wavy, windy road that I couldn’t have predicted, but somehow makes sense looking backward. Sometimes it feels like big leaps and growth cloaked in success. Sometimes it is quiet shifts in me, random conversations that ended up as left turns, or blatant no’s that lead to a new place. But I finally see the throughline.

My work lands at connecting people to something about themselves they couldn’t quite see alone, focused on helping and more directly organizing people and process. This has taken shape in HR, leading trips, program management, Jewish communal work, coaching - different rooms, different names, same core skills.

Despite not always knowing or feeling great about what comes next, I’ve always had jobs, opportunities, or found a way to make money when needed.

I’ve had very stable jobs and roles where I worked for one company. I’ve done this multiple times, and for the most part actually liked these jobs, companies, and positions. It’s the backbone of my HR experience, and the beginning of my career working in advising. But even while I held those positions, I’d sometimes get other opportunities. Run a camp at a resort during Passover? Sure. Join and lead a trip to a foreign country and get the trip paid for? Absolutely. Facilitate leadership training or start a giving circle? Let’s go.

The opportunities and reflection on what I’m good at drew me to go all in on myself this year and pursue this “work for myself” path. Naming my this as a portfolio career is not just a hip term — it has become a shift in mindset. I’m not a doctor or a lawyer or an accountant, who likely have a more straightforward career trajectory (every so often I think I should’ve been a lawyer), instead I’m working toward having different portfolios, different income streams, different areas to help people.

Is this path scary? Totally. Do I regularly think about getting a full-time role? Yes, often. It’s possible that could happen. But the portfolio part of me is what lets me work on different projects each day. It settles my brain that thinks quickly, goes down rabbit holes, and is a little squirrely some of the time. This path lets me pull in my HR knowledge and my Jewish communal background in one day, and then organize a program or connect people the next. All layered with coaching and helping early to mid-career professionals figure out their own next steps; which, not coincidentally, is what I do with Next Step Advising.

My own insecurities about “what’s next” have regularly hindered my ability to enjoy the moment, to trust in myself and my skills, usually concerned that what I’m currently doing isn’t enough, or isn’t headed anywhere. Those thoughts are still there. Full stop. But these days I’m accepting that my career trajectory has just looked different. I’m still anxious, still working it out, and more confident that this can work. I see examples all the time.

Even when it’s linear, you start to lean in to the parts of yourself that don’t fit one job title. It’s how I decided to start a Substack, share my writing and put myself out there more.

So what about you? Where are you at? A portfolio career may not be for everyone, but we all have multiple elements of ourselves that we can double down on. If we don’t love our full-time job, what can we do on the side to nurture ourselves in other ways? It’s possible you are already doing your thing. You’ve just not named it as part of your identity. What is the side thing, the volunteer gig, the thing you do “for fun” that happens to use a skill nobody’s paying you for, that you’ve been filing under distraction? What if it’s not a distraction after all. What if it’s not a hidden part of yourself, but actually who you are? What if it’s the next piece of your portfolio, or maybe it’s just your next step.

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Not coincidentally, a lot of what I help people work through in Next Step Advising is exactly this identifying what that next layer is. If that’s where your head’s at, feel free to find me or connect!

During summer of 2023, I hiked to a waterfall in the middle of Maine during a yoga retreat. I was in it - feeling the feels during a tough moment. But as I waded out to the middle and sat on a rock with the water literally falling behind me, I found this inner peace I needed more than I knew.

The line was literal in that moment.

“I thought that I was doing so well.”

I wasn’t.

Everything felt dark, but that one moment was light.

That’s this song. Despite it’s moodiness it reminds me of clear skies. It’s a moody dark song that plays in my head yet it uplifts me. I can’t explain it.

It’s the shadows on an overcast, misty, cloudy moment, and finding joy in the experience. It’s watching with open mouth as you drive by a waterfall and have to lean way over just to see the top of it.

This song could be about a breakup, disappointment, never fully loving, being stuck upstream are all these dark hard things.

In those moments like so many before, I could convince myself I was okay for that moment. But like falling water, it will keep falling, like there isn’t a choice.

Because, well, gravity.

I kept letting it fall on me. Letting the water push me down. Considering it a singular challenge. Needing to be on a rock by myself to feel the feels of the outdoors and joy.

Often we think of life as happening to us - water pushing me over the edge. Not just recently, for years.

But falling water isn’t bad, it’s needed.

It fills the rivers, lakes and streams below them. It’s refreshing, new, a necessity. Like humans it’s complex, like life, two things can be true. It pushes you down, while showcasing beauty and serving a purpose.

This line has always actually been about me. Loving me.

I look back at moments and most often it’s the moments outdoors, on a trip, in a mountain, outside of a tent, or around a campfire that I feel the most “me”. That I have truly loved me. The mountains allow me to hear what others keep saying. They let me let others in - something I forget to do in my day to day. Out of fear.

Waterfalls open you up because you have to shout to be heard the second you turn the corner. You can stay stuck with only your own inner voice blasting in your ears, but if you get real close and let others in - you actually hear what they are saying.

When you trust in the mountain, and trust in the pools that will catch you, then you realize people are happy to walk your pace, hike together, or allow for everyone to slow down, run ahead, or go a little slower and not be annoyed, that there is no judgement - that you’d rather hike with someone at a different pace than alone.

I’ve always been so conscious of this. More and more I’m hearing what others have been saying for years. I’m hearing it loud and clear.

Water pours down no matter the day. It just keeps on falling and we keep on moving forward. Something in the falling water finally gave me the trust in others that I’ve been missing for a long time.

Now I’m falling in different, new ways, and trusting. Letting others in, relying on the pools of people, of new friends, of old friends, letting my energy fill the buckets, trusting not only in me but truly in others to support, to catch, to push to pull and to just explore with.

That’s the bigger message. Find the mountains, the feeling even when you are not surrounded by the physical water - make sure to seek out the people who will pull you close to hear their words when you are behind the splashing water.

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I received nothing back.

Then I burst into tears.

I had landed in the Denver airport at 11:30pm. It was 1:30am in Detroit where everyone who received that message was likely sleeping. So there wasn’t going to be an immediate response.

I know my mom would have responded.

She always responded. Even if it was early in the morning or late at night.

She would have sent an upside down smiley face. 🙃

Then she would have turned over and gone back to sleep. Or at least that’s what I assume. It’s possible she also would have laid there, eyes wide open, worrying about me.

For years, no matter where I traveled, where I landed, and the time difference, I would text to let her know I’d arrived.

This Denver trip was the first trip where she didn’t reply.

It was two months after she had died. I had only just started to feel like I was getting the whole grieving thing down.

Okay, that’s a lie. No one has grieving down, and that little sucker sneaks up on you at the most inconvenient times. Even though I had felt positive going to Denver, I think my body knew that I had this moment coming. This deep hole that you start to live with would at some point open itself right back up in the right moment. Or my case I guess the terminal of the Denver airport.

With tears running down my face, I moved through the airport, the shuttle to the rental car place, the counter. The agent asked me “long flight? You look tired.” First of all, thanks - that’s pretty much agent speak for “you look like complete crap”.

I said yes. “I’m very tired.” My body is tired from crying, I’m sad, my body is fully exhausted from the rollercoaster of hospice, death, grief, saying a mourner’s prayer every day at 6am services, of thinking about my mom, and newly this week, of learning that my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer, and no my mom still isn’t here to process any of it together. Oh, and I’m alone. Like physically, mentally, and relationshipwise, I’m just processing alone. Always. And most of this just hit me 20 minutes ago when I stepped off the plane, when I had no one to reply to a very simple “hey I’m alive” text.

So yes, kind ma’am at the desk, I’m tired. Can I have my car please?

There is a chance I said some of that out loud.

Then, I got a pretty decent rental car, and continued on my way.

I arrived at my friend’s house to a big hug, and had a healing few days in Colorado, spending time with cousins who worked their calming magic in Boulder, hiking, mountains, being with people who knew and loved my mom as well. When in doubt find nature. Mountains for me. They bring me the calm. They wake me up. They allow me to be me. They remind us there is more to the world than what is just in front of us. Than this moment. They were bigger than anything happening in my life that year and I needed to see that.

I’ve learned that deep grief is not the moments you think you’ll have a response, but the moments that somehow gut punch you. Joyous moments turn dark because you miss that person, because it’s only them who would laugh at the less funny joke. It’s the inside joke that you are the only two people who could meet eyes and just know. It’s not on mother’s day when everyone checks in, or on their birthday, when it’s obvious, it’s those small moments. Those moments nearly know one knows about because it’s this passing dark personal cloud. A smile, a moment, a thought, or sometimes that big response which means crying as you walk through an airport.

We prep ourselves for those big moments, put up our defenses, build our shields and put on the protective gear to prep. But those small little passing moments. Ooof. There is no shield for them. You can’t outrun them - they will find you.

I tried in the moment to stop, to hold it together. I smiled at the family staring at my tears on the bus. But I couldn’t stop, the bus moved along and so did my tears. It’s funny too, because I think I needed my family not to respond in that moment. Maybe it was actually the right thing - because they won’t fill my mom’s place, we all just adjust to the moment.

To this day, I need my family to just be who each of them is when I land and text to let them know I’ve arrived. Usually each of them has some wisecracking comment about my delay, lack of delay, or a simple thumbs up. Including my sister, who is cancer free now, and fully herself.

Secretly, each time I land, I think of my mom. Okay, not so secretly now, but I do and I may not burst into tears, but I smile, maybe a quick tear of remembrance, and then the upside down smiling face emoji pops into my head and we keep on moving. 🙃

And I was happy.

Not happy because I accomplished something. Just actually happy. Smiling, strong, comfortable in my own body, looking around at mountains as I climbed past the guide I whispered, this is cool.

I was on the Via Ferrata in Andalsnes, Norway. The guide smiled and gave me a nod as I used technique to climb, not needing his helping hand. I was in this constant state of happiness for those hours. The sun even came out at the end of the day with the water sparkling, as if to say “yep, this is why you are here”.

The last few years of my life have been a lot. Life can be hard for everyone sometimes. But at that moment on the side of the mountain, I realized what I’ve probably known since January.

2026 is about finding joy.

It’s been a minute since I’ve truly felt it, and I seem to be finding it in new ways. I’d forgotten the feeling. Trying to find it in professional spaces, community experiences, and relationships but struggling to find it deep in my core, where it feels real.

My group noted toward the end of the day “You are so in your element”.

YES. They were right.

I didn’t even argue. I think I’ve needed the world and others to reflect something back to me. To unlock the happy, and remind me of my “why”.

My second “aha” came as I recognized a throughline to how I show up in the world and what I want to do for others - what I’m good at doing for others. If 2026 is about joy, it’s also leaning into the work I enjoy, building a life where it shows up more, allowing myself to be vulnerable, share, and let others help me in finding it.

Okay, so what’s next?

I’m so glad you asked.

I’m living a bit more flexibly, guiding, advising, and using my strengths to help people hear themselves clearly and discover potential options for creating life, careers, and experiences that they may not have considered. I’m sharing more of myself with the world, aiming for joy for me and bringing others along for the ride.

Squirrel Theory is the umbrella — it’s the way I think. Collecting nuts to save for later, changing directions, climbing trees, sometimes falling over, and getting back up anyway. Everything below lives under this.

Next Step Advising — I help mid-career professionals figure out what’s next when their job doesn’t fit anymore. If you’re asking “what’s next,” for any reason, professional or not, let’s talk.

JKatz Consults — People & ops advising for solopreneurs and small business owners who want to stop being the bottleneck, get organized, and need a thought partner to manage growth.

Nonlinear Life — My personal essays and writing on the very winding path that it can take to get to joy.

If any of this is landing — if you're sitting in your own version of "what's next" — I'm doing free 20-minute Meet & Greets right now, no pitch, just a conversation.

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It’s about what is on your mat it’s not a competition. But this was the moment (far too late), where I realized I wasn’t a beginner anymore. In most things I do I forever think I’m a beginner - even when all signs point elsewhere.

Another example. Strength class at a weightlifting gym. I was beyond intimidated, and watched the people around me choose heavy weights, do the move, and keep going with their day. I chose a weight, realized I am NOT as strong as I think, and then look around to figure out what to do.

It was my first time there.

Six months later, ok I still do ask the instructor for help - on literally everything - but I went up in weight, I smile encourage and greet people when they show up.

I couldn’t have gotten to a headstand without showing up for years. I can’t increase weight if you don’t start somewhere. The hardest part to learning anything is sitting in the beginning. Owning it.

Trying something new but hated it because you don’t know what’s going on? Go back again. This time you’ll know what you are walking into and have a different perspective. Most things need more than one chance to lock in. It might have been your mood, the teacher, the timing, the fact you were hungry. We jump out so quick, we sometimes miss what’s there.

Now, apply that to your professional life - not just your hobby.

When starting a new job, people can be so frustrated in week two because they aren’t executing yet. It’s their second week learning a new company, role, people, or even skillset and they think they should have it nailed. We don’t give ourselves the grace we need to learn. You are still a beginner.

We look around us and measure ourselves next to people who have been doing the thing for years sometimes, or that have practiced or studied, or just happen to have natural talent - only to feel less than because we can’t keep up.

Stay on your mat. Give the job, the hobby, the thing a second or third shot before you walk out. You couldn't have gotten to a headstand without showing up first.

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But, there are always multiple ways to look at the world. Multiple ways to summarize a trip, so I made this list during the last night of a trip.

The negative.

• Rough landing on the flights

• Relaxing treat of a spa – sold out

• A snoring roommate

• Two days of rain hiking

• Lost voice

• Being sick enough to not finish a hike and have to take the van

• The sternum strap on my backpack that will not function

• Watching a line of ants moving from the trash to the bathroom

• Flying while congested…a long layover sick

The positive.

• Beautiful pre-trip solo travel

• Well-balanced supportive group

• Amazing guides

• Ability to climb and make it on the big hikes

• Beautiful, stunning scenery

• Perfect weather day 1 – clear blue skies and life in the clouds

• Internal confidence that I can still do hard things

• Meeting random nice people

• Traveling far and it meeting expectations

It takes a lot for me to get to that miserable place. Like a lot.

But in the midst of it all I started writing. But then I realized I was doing exactly what the wise trip guides and I had just talked about doing with life decisions.

Maybe this was the Canary Islands, “sleep on it” alternative. But sleeping on something isn’t interacting. It’s sleeping. It’s hoping some epiphany happens. What I like about consulting the pillow is that it’s active. There is intention to it.

Maybe this is overkill for a simple phrase meant to help navigate a decision but I’m the person who literally slept with textbooks under my pillow in college.

In the midst of my late night quiet breakdown. I found myself seriously consulting the pillow. Reconciling the fact that how I felt - crappy - wasn’t ruining my trip somehow. It was a moment.

The group I was with felt bad I was sick, as I had traveled the furthest. When I returned home I was pretty sick for another week. So, it was somewhat of the lead story when asked about my hiking trip.

But the pillow that night, even in the midst of the tough, calmed me. It reminded me of the positives. Being sick, traveling congested, having a miserable 48 hours was just that. Miserable. But without it I wouldn’t have been on top of a mountain, gotten a reset on my outlook on life, and I wouldn’t have written this story, or likely even kept at this whole soloprenuer journey.

So just when you think the trip might be taking a turn for the worse. Consult the pillow and find the positives. When you have a hard decision, consult the pillow. Sometimes you might just need to flip the pillow and flip your script.

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The skeptic in me is quietly harsh toward things that sound like scams. The people who put it all on the line. Big visionaries with no real plan for execution. The ones swinging for their most out-there dreams.

I’m also wrong about this a lot.

Not completely wrong — I usually walk myself back to something more reasonable. But the first reaction? Harsh. And here’s the secret: almost no one knows how I actually feel.

This isn’t new information. I have journals full of moments I was hesitant on something. Judgy, wrong about an initial assessment of a product. Hating on things I deem silly only to be proven totally wrong and in love with said silly thing — hi, down skirts. Don’t get me started.

So here I am, posting on a social media platform, having joined a cohort I’ve been genuinely blown away by, and jumping into Slack channels that turned out to be some of the best professional support I’ve found in years.

In the last two months I’ve leaned in. I joined a Slack group to connect with likeminded folks — shoutout to The New HQ for building something actually worth showing up for. Signed up for a cohort-based course for solopreneurs and consultants — thanks Indecollective. Networked with strangers who turned out to be interesting humans. Joined a travel group and booked a month in Norway because apparently that’s who I am now — jk, the wanderlust isn’t new.

Some of it felt like it could be a scam. Mostly, it was real. A few wrong turns, mostly right ones.

There’s a specific kind of moment in all of this — you hop on a call thinking you have no idea what you’ll even talk about, and then thirty minutes disappear without you noticing. You get off energized, realizing you’re not alone in your feelings, that you just needed to talk to someone. The joy of finding people who have the same weird thoughts you have, who seem so confident and are quietly questioning the exact same things you are.

I keep pushing things away only for them to be the exact things that help me find focus. Find support. And land here.

We were meant to need people. However we find them.

As kids we’re put into situations where we’re forced into friendships — friendships that last lifetimes. School, camp, sports, extracurriculars, neighbors — there’s a kind of built-in community and support system handed to you before you even know to want it. Then you go off into the world — college holds you tight, your first jobs often give you people, almost by accident. But after that it gets murky. If you have kids, you have kid groups, school groups, neighbors. For the rest of us, finding people who think like you — or think completely differently but still want to connect — takes actual effort. It took leaning in to actually embrace that.

I want to be the people for other people. Not because I have it figured out, but because I’m finally letting myself need this too.

So that’s my update — building in public, writing more, figuring things out with people instead of despite them. If you want to come along for what’s next, I’d love to have you here.

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I didn’t redirect it. Neither did she.

By the end I had a real sense of who she is — and more than that, I had the specific, almost eerie feeling of talking to someone in nearly the same place I am. Different paths, different timelines, but we landed on the same realization at different points: no one does this alone. It’s pretty obvious.

We’re both strong, independent women. We can be that. We are that. But it turns out that’s not actually what defines us — it’s just one thing that’s true about us, not the whole story.

What defines us is closer to this: we need people. We need the 30 minutes that turn into a conversation about something else entirely. We need the reenergizing, the zeroing in, the one nugget that points you somewhere new that you didn’t know you needed until someone handed it to you.

For me today, the nugget was other people can see your wins when you can’t. They notice the thing you did that you’ve already filed away as nothing. They catch what you’re missing about yourself, just by asking. They call things out like “wow you have multiple clients, what a win”. That is not what I had been thinking.

And then there’s the other moment. The one where someone asks you a simple question — seemingly simple, anyway — and you stutter. You don’t have the answer. Not because you’re unprepared, but because no one had asked you that exact thing in that exact way before.

That stutter is the whole point. That’s why we need people. We can’t get that kind of perspective alone, no matter how independent we are, because it doesn’t come from inside your own head. It comes from someone else’s question landing somewhere yours never would.

So — 30 minutes that became something else. A stranger who turned out to be a mirror. A stutter that taught me more than a clean answer would have.

No one does this alone. Not even the ones who built their whole identity on doing exactly that.

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Over time I’ve come to create some little rules for myself. These aren’t hard and fast and in permanent ink. They often start as challenges and become my norm along the way, but they help me zero in on a place, or experience something new. It gives me some structure when I’m over having to make yet another decision or decide what to do that day.

I’m a cautiously adventurous traveler. I talk to a lot of people who are hesitant to travel alone. Doing what YOU like to do is awesome. Being on your own time table, and really just getting to experience the world - it can also be lonely and overwhelming.

The secret.

There isn’t one. It’s mostly just to do it. Just go.

There is no one way to do it and we all travel just a little bit differently. Here are things that work for me:

• Conscious earbud/headphone usage.

  • No headphones while you eat - read, chat, stare off into the ether. But food can be part of an experience, it also makes you more open.

  • If you are walking a new city, which I highly suggest, and want to listen to something, only use one headphone. It does two things: allows you to not fully tune out the world and listen to what’s happening around you, and safety.

• Talk to or listen to strangers

  • Okay, don’t be creepy. Find the right moment, the right place, the right timing to talk to strangers. But do it, people are more friendly than you think.

  • Easiest opener…would you mind taking my picture? Even better, would you like me to take your picture (only to someone taking a selfie otherwise it can be creepy and don’t be creepy).

• Sit on the bench.

  • Benches were made to sit on. Ever notice them in public places?

  • In a public place sit on the bench and just watch life go by. It allows you to see the small moments of a place, the things that aren’t in the guidebook, daily life going past you.

• Find your thing. A thing. Anything.

  • Decide on something you love, be it food, an adventure, a specific type of store. Then use that as a destination. For me it’s always a great chai tea or gelato.

  • This also gives you a destination if you aren’t sure where to start. Research it, ask for recommendations, use it for grounding.

• Order the croissant.

  • When the world hands you a perfect looking, fresh croissant. Eat it. If not for travel if not for exploration, and if not for trying new things then why do it.

  • Moreover, when you are on your own, what better time than to treat yourself to the decadence of life and the perfect croissant is life.

it doesn’t have to be a croissant - but sometimes don’t think just do.

Like I said - these are just a handful of things I like to do. Still considering taking the leap on a trip by yourself. Do it - a day, an hour, a week. You got this.

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I go to trivia. Not alone. But the sentiment that it brought up of how she then went home and lived her life was too real.

There’s a specific kind of loneliness that nobody talks about because it doesn’t fit the narrative we’re given.

Not “lonely because something went wrong”, but lonely because you’re a full, functioning, successful person and the life you built doesn’t have the thing you actually wanted in it.

It can be hard to see. Okay, maybe hard to admit too. Maybe it’s obvious despite the cover up of smiles, jokes, and a life well lived. And at the same time you are lonely and don’t want to be, you sometimes actually do like being alone. Ironic.

There is truth to the loneliness that exists when you feel like you consistently are working so hard to figure out life and never seeming to get there.

The world tells you a lot of things and you tell yourself even more.

A lot of those things shake out to - you are doing something wrong because you aren’t where you were supposed to be.

You feel 27 and 53 all at the same time. But your age is somewhere in between.

It feels like everyone else’s life is progressing and here you are in the same place.

You have things that other people want, you are grateful, these things are blessings, but they weren’t actually your dream. It wasn’t what you planned.

You convince yourself that this is what I want because haven’t found or can’t seem to make that other thing happen.

Love. Partnership. Job Stability. Children. Community. A consistent group chat.

You get to have travel, quiet, alone time, potentially stability. Come home to a house exactly in the state you left it, make decisions based only on you.

Some people dream of this. When it’s your every day. It’s hard.

There isn’t a “it’s going to be okay” message in this post. Or a what to do when. It’s more of a “Hey. This is happening”. I’m here - likely you are or know someone who is there too.

There isn’t an answer because quite honestly, for me personally, I don’t want to be your “go to” gal on loneliness, or the leader of single ladies - because that’s not truly what I want. But I see you.

What I can do is be happy with where I’m at. Travel more, lean in to hobbies, find new friends, and keep living life. But I also think it’s helpful to know I’m not the only one sitting on the couch watching a show (okay, it was Shrinking) going - wow - I’ve never been more seen because a seemingly together woman about my age is so, SO lonely.

This is real. It’s also not everything. I don’t live in this day in and day out - but it often these days is an underlying constant. Know someone like this? Don’t solve it - just be there. So I’m here.

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The skeptic in me is quietly harsh toward things that sound like scams. The people who put it all on the line. Big visionaries with no real plan for execution. The ones swinging for their most out-there dreams.

I’m also wrong about this a lot.

Not completely wrong — I usually walk myself back to something more reasonable. But the first reaction? Harsh. And here’s the secret: almost no one knows how I actually feel. They turn out to be awesome humans.

This isn’t new information. I have journals full of moments that I was hesitant on something. Judgy, wrong about an initial assessment of a product. Hating on things I deem silly only to be proven totally wrong and in love with said silly thing - hi down skirts. Don’t get me started.

So here I am. Tail between my legs, posting on a social media platform, having joined a cohort I’ve been genuinely blown away by, and jumping into Slack channels that turned out to be some of the best professional support I’ve found in years.

In the last two months I’ve leaned in. I joined a slack group to connect with likeminded folks - shoutout to The New HQ for building something actually worth showing up for. Signed up for a cohort-based course for solopreneurs and consultants — thanks Indecollective. Networked with strangers who turned out to be interesting humans. Joined a travel group and booked a month in Norway because apparently that’s who I am now - okay the wanderlust isn’t new.

Some of it felt like it could be a scam. Mostly, it was real. A few wrong turns, mostly right ones.

The things I kept pushing away turned out to be the exact things that helped me find focus. Find support. And land here.

We were meant to need people. However we find them.

So that’s where I am. Building in public, writing more, figuring things out with people instead of despite them. If you want to come along for what’s next — I’d love to have you here.

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P.S. I’m also building JKatz Consults — career and HR advising for people navigating real work stuff. If that’s you, DM me or find me at jkatz@squirreltheory.com.

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• I walk around in fear of people asking - what are you doing now?

• I can simultaneously rock leading a meeting for a non-profit while internally panicking about spending too much time on the volunteer work while I have no idea where my next dollars are coming from.

• I question every decision I’m making. Then assess it from about 7 different angles. Only to end up at the first gut decision anyway. I did this with buying new smoke detectors.

• I am grateful for all that I have. It seems like I’m living a dream. But I honestly don’t know what my dreams are anymore.

I have no idea what I’m doing. I have lots of great ideas, unrealized opportunities, I have built businesses, friendships, relationships, and grand plans in my head. Only to sit down, start creating and freeze. Get overwhelmed - or get bombarded by about 17 other ideas.

This gets in my way. So here I sit, both knocking out a number of tasks that move me forward, while still going down every substack rabbit hole, grabbing hold of every meeting, wanting to connect with a plethora of people. Only to sit here and feel stuck in just a new way.

I’ve been stuck in grief. I’ve been stuck in the unwillingness to accept where I am. I’ve been stuck in fear. Now it feels like I’m stuck in opportunity.

People ask what do you want to do? What’s your dream? Your vision. That’s what’s stuck. I don’t have one. The truth of the matter is that my dreams of a life I thought I would have, the experiences I grew up thinking I would get to replicate have changed. It’s not to say I can’t have them - it’s just to say that life is constantly “life-ing” and moving forward and there are realities we can’t get around. I’m not in my twenties so building a relationship and family in my twenties or even thirties just isn’t an option any more.

That’s the truth. So I have no idea what I’m doing. But in this decade I’m owning it. I think it’s just what happens. We reach this point where it doesn’t work to hold it in. So I guess that’s what I’m doing here. Sharing the fear. Sharing the second guessing. Building space for having no clue what we are doing but doing something. That’s the thing even in the cluelessness, time marches on. Something happens.

Things I said yes to weeks ago and completely second guessing this week:

• Home swapping my house for a few days.

• Booking a remote work/coliving trip for a month in Norway this summer

• Agreeing to renting my house to people for longer than I really was planning on being gone.

• Spending time in NYC and making the most of it - both professionally and personally.

I have no clue what I’m doing. I’m just fine - but here for it. What is this space for?

Stay tuned to find out.

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Unsolicited advice can feel like a squirrel stealing your acorn—unexpected and mildly rude. But sometimes, it’s the nut you didn’t know you needed. The truth no one else will say out loud.

A friend was sharing all the ways they were bending over backward for family and everyone else’s priorities. I immediately had feedback waiting to be said. But this wasn’t a consulting, coaching, or therapy session.

So I asked, “Can I give you unsolicited advice?” (Spoiler: almost no one says no, and I’ll likely say it anyway.) She said yes.

Then I said:

It came out a bit more insistent and less soft than I had wanted; and she wasn’t asking for feedback—just talking. But I heard a pattern and shared some feedback. And guess what? She thanked me. Because no one else had said it.

Sometimes the clarity you need comes from a question that shifts the focus back to you. You need that outside perspective to be able to find the point you were trying to make - or to hear your own words said back to you. Do you have that person in your life? Someone with objective perspective?

I was concerned that I was just going to add to her noise and opinions from others. Which was of course not my goal. When we get this objective perspective it takes the emotion, the baggage and everything else out of it. I didn’t actually tell her what to do. I just heard the spiral she was headed for and made her aware of it.

When any of us are spiraling we often just need someone to stop us and shift focus for one minute and it opens our eyes. This what I do well.

Need an objective perspective? I’m your girl. Need a 20 minute boost to take the next step. First step. Right here. Connect with me and let’s set it up.

🗺️ Trail Map Ideas - a few quick tips to start climb.

• Lose Yourself (The Good Kind): Get lost in something fun—a hobby, a walk, a playlist. But don’t lose yourself in everyone else’s opinions.

• Find Your Gut-Check Person: Family can be too close. Friends mean well but sometimes sugarcoat. Who tells it to you straight?

• Give Feedback with Care: Sometimes, kind honesty deepens relationships. Timing matters. Tone matters.

• Want a Neutral Voice? Connect with me and maybe I’ll be just that.

  Thanks for reading Squirrel Theory! This post is public so feel free to share it.

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I’ve said all of these things at some point in life:

• I’m not starting my own business.

• No, I wouldn’t consider myself an entrepreneur.

• I don’t get it. Leggings aren’t that comfy.

• A down skirt? Why? So weird.

• I’m not really a writer.

• Eh, I wouldn’t call myself a “yogi”.

I’ve proven myself wrong on every single one of these things.

Seriously. Every. Single. One.

And more.

Some of proclamations happened out of stubbornness, or what I thought might be my own personal desires. Sometimes it was a not-so-serious contempt for something I thought was useless. Cue the down skirt. Boy, was I wrong.

I wore it on the regular this winter. .

We make grand proclamations about things we will do or won’t do. I was fearful and apprehensive about what would happen if I did do that thing. In reality doing any, all, or none of these things has just continued to help define who I am, and who I will be.

I figured it was time to define myself as a yogi when I went to a yoga class in Germany, on my own, speaking zero words in the German language, to a class taught entirely in German, and had an amazing time!

That down skirt goes so well with leggings and keeps your tushy warm.

What I’m getting at is that sometimes you have to prove yourself wrong to get it right. I’ve learned that the things we tell ourselves we need to be, or we shouldn’t or can’t do, are rules we make up for ourselves.

Many times, they aren’t your values, or your beliefs, just rules YOU made up. We create our own obstacles where there don’t need to be any.

So, here I am, crossing that “I’m not starting a business thing” off the list. Might as well check off the “I’m not an entrepreneur” one while we’re at it. I launched this thing called Squirrel Theory.

So yes, I’m “open for business”.

I’m an entrepreneur. Ready to figure things out.

Squirrel Theory is not only my writing here - but my people ops shop. The opportunity to work with small businesses, start ups, and individuals on their people things. Think performance, onboarding, process and leadership.

Reach out for more info - or shoot me an email and I’ll keep writing more.

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I’m saying that upfront, given that I’m writing a whole series about songs that start my day. Felt a little dishonest not to.

Here’s my actual concert history: Britney Spears. Probably 1999, probably with my mom, definitely because I couldn’t figure out who else to invite. Then, nearly 30 years later, last summer a concert with friends — genuinely fun night, great music, and I could not tell you the name of the band. I suppose if you count random bars where I also had no clue who we were listening to and I tried to awkwardly bounce to the beat - then there are a few more. But that’s it.

Historically, I mostly listened to the radio in the car. Or Books on tape/cd. In the last 10 years, I spend my life in podcasts and audiobooks. Then more podcasts. I consumed them to fill the silence at first. Car rides, walks, workouts — all content, all the time. If there was silence, I filled it. If there was silence AND I was cleaning, I’d end up finding things to organize instead of moving onto the work I needed to get to just to keep listening. Productive. Sure. Too much sometimes, also, sure.

Looking back, I actually do have a history with music - I just never realized it. Inspired for some reason by my first car, a 1980 Buick Regal, inherited from my grandparents, driven first by my brother - a rap fan. I lived on like three cds (yes a cd player had been installed) featuring Tupac, Bone Thugs-n-Harmony, and Eminem. Maybe a little jock jams, add in some Will Smith and I think randomly Celine Dion and that’s all. I didn’t know what else was out there.

Fast forward to working retail - in an outdoor store. Let’s just say the staff leans, crunchy, granola, outdoor loving, heavily caring about music - especially in the store. I was introduced to folk, Mumford & Sons, Bon Iver, chill, banjo heavy music.

I also learned what I didn’t like, thanks to inventory. You know when you stay late, use a little laser gun, pew pew pew and count every item in the store? When they played the right stuff, I was unstoppable. Counting, sorting, getting it done - happy to be there. When the techno came on? Rage counting. I’m talking aggressive, joyless, anger and weird negativity while counting. The music didn’t just affect my mood.

Crossed techno off my list and filed it away. Did not act on it.

Somewhere in my thirties, I stumbled down an Irish pub songs and sea shanties rabbit hole. I’m not going to explain how. I don’t fully understand it myself. What I will say is that there is something about a steady, driving beat underneath the work that lets your brain settle into a rhythm without demanding anything from it. When my music at work somehow slipped out of my headphones, I definitely got weird looks.

But mostly — mostly — I defaulted back to podcasts. Information, stories, something to keep my brain occupied while my body did other things.

Until one morning I couldn’t do it anymore.

I was having a hard stretch. Pretty lost. Felt a little numb to the world. I put on a podcast in the background while I got ready, and about twenty minutes in I realized I hadn’t heard a single word. It was just sound. Organized noise.

I turned it off. I’m not even sure how I got there but suddenly turned on Good Day by Nappy Roots. Listened to it on repeat and I immediately felt better.

I don’t know what happened. Something in my chest lifted. I smiled. I was ready to leave the house and face the day, then I found Jerusalema - afro beats came on next and I listened to it for probably 30 minutes straight, and loud on the way to a meeting that I rocked.

That was the beginning of this whole thing. Not a grand plan. Not a strategy. Just a morning I needed something different and music, just sort of showed up.

I still don’t follow artists. I couldn’t name a current album if you paid me. I find most of my songs through TV show soundtracks, Peloton outdoor run playlists, and yoga classes. Or just pure luck.

But I’ve learned that music doesn’t need to be your whole personality to do its job. You don’t even have to be a fan. You don’t have to resonate with the words necessarily, you don’t have to have the concert wristbands. You just have to be open on the right morning.

So that’s where this series comes from. Not expertise. Not taste. One song that turned a bad morning around, and the question that followed: what else will make my day start a little better?

Turns out, a lot.

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There is a lot of lessons to be learned in that moment. It’s not a competition, you have to find your flow. But the thing that stuck out to me, was that I could no longer call my self a beginner. Because I wasn’t.

Then I went to my strength training class. It was my first time stepping into this kind of gym since grad school. I was beyond intimated, and watched the people around me choose heavy weights, do the move, and keep going with their day. I chose a weight, realized I am NOT as strong as I think, and then look around to figure out what to do.

It was my first time there.

Six months later, I still ask the instructor for help - on literally everything - but I went up in weight. I smile and greet new people when they show up.

So often we give up on round one two. It’s hard, I don’t know what I’m doing, I can’t do this, look at everyone else. We are all beginners sometimes. It’s a little cliche but it’s real.

Trying something new but hate your first class because you don’t know what’s going on. Go back again. This time you’ll know what you are walking into and have a different perspective. Go back - it might have been your mood, the teacher, the timing, the fact you were hungry. We jump out so quick, we sometimes miss what’s there.

For some reason it’s very easy to utilize this thought process for hobbies (working out, running, yoga, ceramics, basketball), but forget to apply it to our professional lives.

So often a friend will have started a new job, and be so frustrated in week two because they aren’t executing yet. They haven’t figured it all out yet. By a friend, I mean me. But also, I’ve seen it a ton of times. We don’t give ourselves the grace we need to learn. Or two do things our way.

We look around us and measure ourselves next to people who have been doing the thing for years sometimes, or that have practiced or studied, or just happen to have natural talent - only to feel less than because we can’t keep up.

Everyone starts somewhere. Not everyone starts at the beginning, you start where you start, and go from there.

I often don’t feel like a “yogi”, I look around and see people doing handstands, and reaching their arms around themselves. But then I have this experience, and realize he’s looking at me doing a headstand and thinking obviously she’s a yogi. The reality is, he’s probably not even looking at me - he’s so focused on not falling.

Sometimes you are a beginner for years, in professional world it takes time to learn, time to fit in. Don’t measure yourself against the person who’s been at the company for six years and is twice your age.

Measure your self against only you. Or wild thought. Don’t measure yourself. Do the thing because you feel good - look good - want to.

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