Category Archives: Writing

Permission to speak…


To the wandering soul who needs to hear these words tonight…

You’re not failing
You’re not failing by feeling this tired
You’re responding
Appropriately to years of compounding crisis

Any human would be tired
Any human body would be strained

You don’t have to break to deserve stillness

Grief and trauma don’t expire
They morph
And enduring multiple major traumas…
That’s not weakness; that’s reality

When people say “you’re so strong”
What they often mean is
“You make hard things look easy”
or worse…
“I don’t have to worry about you”

But strength doesn’t mean infinite capacity
And compassion doesn’t mean you owe yourself to every need that arises
The strength people admire can become your cage
It can bankrupt your reserves, erode away your body, and suffocate your spark

True strength isn’t just saying yes
It’s also saying no
With Love
It’s disappointing others rather than abandoning yourself
It’s choosing rest even when there’s more to do
Even when there’s always
So. much. more. to. do

I’m not telling you to quit–trying, improving, working, growing
But there is no medal for self-erasure
No reward worth the slow burn of collapse

You are not weak, and you are not broken

I know. It sounds like a cliché now; everyone says it
But maybe that’s because it’s a message we desperately need to hear

You are responding perfectly to impossible circumstances
And you are so deeply worthy of rest, healing, and being held too
Not just always being the one who holds
Not just always being the one to reach out first

Don’t normalize martyrdom
It gets us nowhere. It cages us even more
And it doesn’t keep good company with unconditional love
Or good mental health

Normalize treating ourselves with as much human dignity as we offer others
Normalize self-care, health care, self-kindness, and rest
Rest isn’t weakness; it’s sacred return
Normalize time to play, time to visit
Time to breathe

Breathe

That’s the legacy I want for my daughters
That’s the freedom I want for the future
Including mine


July 25, 2025
11:52pm

Rest calmly and breathe in the Sun - meditation bed

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Un-American


Election years rumble like earthquakes, growling, rippling, and unsettling everything.

The economy slows, and markets shudder while everyone holds their breath, unsure of what actions to bet on.

Yet, as soon as a new king is chosen, it doesn’t matter who takes office; watch the layoffs come in waves.

The financial world holds its breath, uncertain and weary, while finger-pointing fills the silence where solutions should be.

During an election year, rational minds divide into factions.

Good people stoop to behaviors they normally would reject, ready to pounce on anything alien to them.

Express a view, any view, at your own peril.

Politics: the modern religion used to excuse the crucifixion of our fellow man.

In the bluster, real needs go unmet.

Budgets stall, and veterans suffer as leaders posture and play the same hollow games.

Keep your eyes on the bouncing red ball while you can’t see what my other hand is up to.

Politicians make decisions about medicine and technology that they know nothing about.

As my rocket scientist friend says in exasperation, “They’re breaking things they don’t even understand.”

Breaking futures they haven’t the education or eyes to see, blocking research and cures.

Growing pains of a technically advancing but unequally yoked society.

You can be an expert in medicine or politics, not both.

In an astounding time of access to overwhelming amounts of good and bad data, the knowledge gaps yawn wide.

Ignorance and information warfare win.

The bickering, though—always simmering, whispering—waits for its next righteous excuse to erupt.

Election years are necessary, and they pass, but the cost lingers.

tattered American flag against a stormy sky

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Bottle of Resilience


My bottle of resilience sits quietly

Silent witness on a shadowed shelf

Smudged and worn, it’s not much to behold

Scars and traces of simpler smiles

I’ve uncorked it so many times

Tipping it carefully

For just a few drops of resolve

Or more for a toast or a dare

“You’re going to share that potion, right?” I am asked

“It may not work for you,” I whisper sadly, “but we can try”

“Just a drop would help,” she says

“No one has an elixir like yours”

I pull the cork; they hold out their hand

Cradling the tilted bottle carefully

A starlit tear of indigo rolls out

Reflecting every hope to splash into their palm

And resurrect the dead

But it is not meant to be

The liquid wisps into sand

Its tiny crystals, soft and fading

“I’m sorry,” I whisper

“It’s ok,” she says, closing her hand

“Sometimes grit will do. I will plant it like talents”

I smile at the thought as she turns away

Resilience is coveted, but it lives within—

Distilled by the heat of battles and journeys

Each drop born of chasms, and stars, and storms

And a million fates we’d never choose alone

Contemplating the bottle once more, I pause

Etched with character and mercy, its roadmap is revealed

Imprinted by every patience,

Its waters refilled in the overcoming

Gathering strength from every creative spark

Knowing the bottle is me


November 4, 2024
11:49pm

Copyright © 2024, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

potion bottle elixir of resilience

 

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The Guests


Last night, I dreamed my house was full of people, and everyone had covid.

People I knew and people I didn’t—just milling around.

My mind raced.

How’d all these people get here? WHEN did all these people show up?

WHY did I let them in??

I rummage through my pantry, wildly trying to conjure a meal plan.

How am I going to care for all these sick people? WHY am I caring for people?

WHAT DO I DO?

Overwhelmed and confused, I choke back tears.

As I close the pantry door, suddenly a coworker is standing beside me.

“Hi, Jules!” he says with a cheerful smile, gathering me into a big hug.

For a second, I’m so surprised. The hug is warm. I feel relieved and grounded, and everything seems OK.

I sigh and take a deep breath. And then reality kicks in.

And I think, “Oh no! Why are you here? This house is full of COVID!
I have to get him out of here!”

So I try to tell my friend that his life is in danger, but he interrupts.

“I need a drink,” he says, disappearing the other way.

I look around and realize there are liquor bottles all over my house!

And people I don’t know, with COVID! Drinking alcohol in my house!

I don’t understand why anyone is here. I don’t want strangers in my house!

My panic rises.

I need to find my coworker, tell him the situation, and get him out of danger before it’s too late.

Then, I must figure out what to do about these plague people.

And as I’m wondering, “Does single malt kill covid?” I wake up.

Bewildered and wiped.

The only restful thing out of the experience, frankly, was the hug.

orange x city reflection

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Imperfectly


It’s been years since I participated in the November daily blog writing challenge.

For 11 years, I competed in challenges like NaBloPoMo and NanoPoblano without fail—until John died.

And then I struggled to find my voice in the same way.

I didn’t stop writing altogether, but I was so raw and unsure that anything I had to write could matter anymore.

I felt the burn to try again this year and threw my hat in the ring.

I’ve already failed. But I’ve decided not to give up.

I’ll do the challenge this year—imperfectly.

cracked mirror girl imperfect reflection

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And so, I became a writer


I became a writer out of fear.

Fear of being misunderstood and fear of misunderstanding others.

I became a writer out of desire.

Desire to conquer my silence and to give voice to those who had none.

I became a writer out of pain and sorrow.

Desperate to put words to the shards in my belly, so I could finally understand. Wilful cry for an embrace I have yet to find.

I became a writer out of rebellion.

To shred the pretty boxes and labels. Daring to Create and taste the sky; to touch the ocean and smolder my fire.

I became a writer for truth.

To demystify a tangle of lies and misgivings.

I became a writer out of loneliness.

My pages bearing witness to what others would not hear or see.

I became a writer out of friendship.

Because I heard your whimpers and whispered back.

I became a writer out of safety.

When I stuttered and hid my face, you did not try to understand. So I had to find another way.

I became a writer for hope.

A heartbeat searching stars for reply.

I became a writer to see.

Because I saw you that day, one fragment in eternity.

I became a writer out of love.

Because I hold your story for you and remember what you cannot. When you forget your truth, I will cradle the jewel of you to your palm.

I became a writer out of protection.

Because I saw the onslaught and joined you in the fray. I built a shield for us, plus a weapon or two.

I became a writer out of need.

Because I was starving and a desert surrounded me. What a great chef they said as I tumbled.

I became a writer without conditions.

Because I didn’t know what I was doing. I was simply compelled to alchemy.

I became a writer for wisdom.

Because I wanted perfect words for any need. Even if only to nurse my wounds with no one else here.

And I stand here alone, in my mother’s room, gazing over her last traces.

Grasping at straws, choking for air, keening for a hand I cannot have, floundering for the words to text a friend.

Will anyone hear, or will I fall. The black hole beckons.

Water in my lungs, a desert in my hands, I am simply.

Without words that can help

stranded

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Memories of Mom


Today would have been Mom’s 73rd birthday. It’s hard to believe it also marks 4 months since she left us.

Women are often afraid of becoming their mothers. I’m no exception, yet I cannot deny that mine formed the very foundation of who I am. The things people know me for, the skills baked into my very soul–my mother was at the heart of forging them. My volunteer work. Even my music and writing are at the forefront.

In my childhood memories of Mom, I recall a mother who worried about her children a lot. She worried about our grades. She worried about what opportunities my brother and I might have. She worried about our safety, about our health, about us going to college, and about finding the means to pay for it.

My journey to learn piano really is an odd one. Even when we couldn’t afford a piano, Mom found ways to expose me to learning how to play. Even if it was a self-taught situation. Borrowing a keyboard from church. Staying after school to play in the auditorium. Even sending me to summer keyboard camp at the local university when I’d never had lessons in my life and (still) didn’t have a piano at home. A place where I met amazing teachers and opportunities. After all, I was a spectacle every summer amongst the sea of kids who knew what whole steps and half steps were (and I didn’t). Those teachers told Mom they could help me if she could just get me a piano. Mom talked to family, and my aunt came forward to give me her piano. And one day, in my mid-teens, I finally had piano lessons at the university. And even though I was the most frustrating student Dr. McCollum ever had, with all my self-taught bad habits, it all set the stage for many experiences to come. Competitions. Performances. Dates. Even random lessons with savants.

When it came to my writing and research skills, my mother was the driving force behind my early successes. She and a certain principal I’ll always be grateful to. Mom even helped me develop my early public speaking skills, though it terrified me at the time. I was painfully shy and afraid of people. So she gave me homework to notice elderly church members who seemed to be alone and to go talk to them every week. To go listen to their stories. An activity I grew to love. And she signed me up for the 4-H speech contest when I’d never given a speech in my life. I bombed my intro joke for that speech, froze in front of an audience of strangers, and still won a prize. And I learned that I didn’t die.

As I think about Mom’s life and how she lived it, I’m reminded of the importance of nurturing vision in our kids and an undying belief in their potential. When Mom wasn’t sure how to help us, she found other mentors to put into our lives. She told me once that she prayed daily for God to make up the difference in her parenting and to see to it that her children had what they needed to grow and be wise. These are lessons I’ve carried in my heart as I raised my own children.

Mom taught me to be acutely observant of others and their feelings. And it was because of her that I learned the importance of treating others with kindness and compassion. We never know what someone else may be going through. Many stories are hidden, and what we see on the surface is rarely “everything.” A kind word or gesture can make a world of difference. It can shine a light of hope where there once was loneliness, fear, and despair.

She didn’t always do it for the right reasons, and we didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but I’m grateful for the lessons my mother brought into my life and the faith she always had in me. Mom was the first to believe I could do things no one else thought I could, not even me. And somehow, in all that, even in adversity, she taught me creativity. And that I can create my reality if I want to. I’ll always carry her memory with me.

Happy heavenly birthday, Mom. Love you. Say hi to John.

mother-child-umbrella-rain-storm-sadness

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Nothing left to give…


A friend commented once about how she and I were often put on a pedestal in our communities as “superwomen.” Highly skilled women who could conquer anything thrown at us, manage every task asked of us, raise good kids, run a business, volunteer, and more.

It seems like a compliment, doesn’t it?

Until you realize it’s completely unsustainable. Unhealthy even.

Humans are capable of heroism when the need arises.

But as a continuous state of being, it’s nothing anyone should aspire to.

Because we’re NOT — superhuman.

It was easier for us to go faster and do more than to figure out how to stop and say no. It was easier to just do it all instead of only handling a more humanly sustainable load. It was easier to be “compassionate” and say yes to everyone.

It was easier to stuff ourselves into every yawning gap because we couldn’t figure out how to ask others to help. And everyone else just figured we had it under control.

But there’s no room to gasp, much less breathe that way.

Chopping every candle in half to burn at all four ends.

Others saw us as compassionate inspirations and examples of capability and strength.

We were called godly women.

But as we saved the day over and over, no one realized we were isolated, starving, and drowning in everything hurled our way.

There was no one to heal the healer.

When you’re always flying by the skin of your teeth, there is no room left to adjust for adversity. No bumper pad.

No reserves left to adjust for human physical limitations.

No space left to pivot out of the way of the oncoming train.

No bandwidth left to actually save lives or survive the next disaster.

No patience left for friends or family.

No place left to even Be.

And the truth is–adversity is inherent in the human condition.

It will come. It’s inevitable.

Living by the skin of your teeth only works inside a closed system.

A place where no anomalies or aberrations exist to overcome.

No challenges. No growth.

No one to get in your way.

And that’s just not human.

Perhaps the next time we are complimented as superwomen,
we should see it as a warning.

We’re in danger. Getting too close to the edge.

And listen.

Take off the hero's mask

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Easy Button…


I find myself writing a crochet pattern again (spawned by a request).

It’s been over a decade since I completed and published my last pattern.

Writing a pattern to international crochet standards is one of the most challenging–yet rewarding–exercises I’ve ever learned in crochet. But even the photos, illustrations, and formatting of the document layout took many hours and a lot of work. Don’t get me started on pattern testing, modeling, and photoshoots.

Designing is a lot easier than figuring out how to put an understandable (and pretty) explanation on paper that describes how I make things without thinking and “how you can too!”

And maybe I’m a little picky about the appearances of what I stamp my name on.

So I haven’t been looking forward to this request, for which chicken scratch isn’t going to do. Even though, at the moment, all I need are clear, basic beginning instructions that I can disseminate quickly and digitally.

As if that isn’t marvelously critical to the success of everything when working with newbies.

And then I remembered–I have tools today that weren’t available to me a decade ago. Even my Adobe and Word products are better tools today.

And it occurred to me–I’ve been writing and marketing on social media all this time. I’ve been designing graphics, e-courses, and web pages for clients–all this time. And I’ve been writing scripts and building templates. All. This. Time.

I wished for an easy button, but honestly–she’s right here. It’s me.

I’m the magic I seek.

And even better–I have a Canva Pro account today. Which is slick as heck and fun to use.

I’ll flesh out a right nice template that I can slip my instructions into in no time.

One of my favorite quotes: “Do something today that your future self will thank you for.”

Thanks, younger me.


September 19, 2022
7:49pm

Copyright © 2022, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

crochete meme

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Filed under Artist Information & Notes, crochet, Crochet Patterns, Crochet Ruminations, Editorial, Random Thoughts, Writing

Words for my 17-year-old self…


Sweet girl, seize a little more confidence.

You are more capable than you think.

And the county reporter’s job isn’t that bad.

Keep the music degree.

But for the love of Grandpa, take some business and finance classes and join the debate team.

Take an acting class.

Enter more speech competitions.

I promise, if you don’t, you’ll wish you had.

Keep composing.

Stop hesitating on those ideas of yours.

The window won’t be open long.

Get to know your professors.

They would like you to talk to them more, I promise.

Ask Grandpa to talk about the wars.

Stay in touch with JC.

Don’t stop writing letters.

Love yourself enough to have boundaries.

You have a right to safety.

When you head to California next year, take advantage of every opportunity, including sound advice.

Go to Magic Mountain with your friends.

Go on the ski trip.

I know you don’t have the money.

Find a way. It will be worth it.

That campus will close, and you won’t have the time left that you thought.

Also, don’t talk to strangers in CA.

And don’t walk alone.

You have no idea the danger there.

Thankfully a few of your friends do, and they will watch out for you.

Speaking of, you will make many new friends–don’t be afraid of them.

When Elaine asks you to call, don’t forget.

Don’t.

When you head to Texas the year after that, take advantage of every opportunity.

Adopt others into your family.

Take breaks just for yourself.

Accept those free horseback riding lessons!

Sleep more.

It’s not laziness, I promise.

Grades aren’t everything.

You are going to break your immune system, so stop it now.

And stop sacrificing sleep because a friend needs to talk.

They can talk to you in the morning. I promise–you won’t miss anything.

Friendship should never bring you to the brink of death.

Don’t get the tonsillectomy, but do see the surgeon in New Orleans.

Remember the people who show up.

Open yourself to new career ideas and swap to a better major.

Watch out for the math classes, though.

That plan of yours to take all your high school math when you were 14, so your grades stayed high?

Yeah, it doesn’t work out so well when you wait a few years before taking college algebra II.

Your authenticity is a strength, not a weakness.

And your loyalty is a breath of fresh air.

Stop beating yourself up for being honest; it’s what your friends count on.

And don’t be timid about keeping up with your relationships.

You may feel awkward and afraid, but so is everyone else your age.

And most of your friends in college have no idea that you’re terrified.

They don’t see you the way you do.

One day those relationships will save your life.

And one day, many will pass away.

Your choice to call and write everyone you can is the right one, even if you don’t get to everyone.

So don’t give up.

Dare to define yourself.

Dare to create something worthy.

Trust your gut.

When it tells you to run, don’t hesitate.

It’s the right choice–never to violate your conscience.

Stop doubting what you know to be true.

It’s OK not to know where the next step is sometimes.

Love hard.

That and compassion will get you everywhere you need to be.

Don’t let anyone tell you it’s God’s will that you be barren.

And don’t you ever feel ashamed for challenging the system.

ANY system.

When your body changes, love it.

She’s so much stronger and heartier than you realize.

Everything you need truly is inside you.

And the right people will accept all of you.

Keep your mind and body plastic.

Keep researching.

Keep writing in your journal.

Take a risk making new friends.

And label those photos.

Above all else–

Love and believe in yourself.

I do.


September 3, 2022
8:13am

Copyright © 2022, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

Risk, Dare, Believe in Yourself

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Conscious Rebellion…


I’m not a joiner by nature. Never have been.

And as a result, there are times I’m cross-wise with the world.

It’s just that I resist, more than anything

being boxed,

and labeled,

and tied up with a pretty bow

to be cataloged on a shelf.

I want to remain free to evolve.

I reject the world’s arbitrary expectations and control.

I question all the shoulds.

I question why you want to redefine me without my permission.

The more you try to convince me, the more I’m not.
The more I see your blindness.

Why do you think these limiting things?
Why do you define life this way, much less MY reality this way?

It doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in rules.

The polite world needs an honor code.

I’m a lover of systems. I see the world in patterns.

I notice when seemingly unrelated things are connected.

Which, of course, is part of why I design.

I Am a Creator.

I recognize that when we use design thinking and build conscious systems, which require cooperation, we improve quality of life; we solve world problems.

Systems are just programs that we use to empower ourselves.
They work alongside us as we continue to innovate.
Once built–click.
C:\Users\Julia>start program.exe

Now I don’t have to use up brain power and resources for that.

The program is now built.
It runs.
It maximizes what I can accomplish.

I enjoy using, analyzing, and building systems–as long as they serve as the good tools they were meant to be.

Systems help us understand our universe and free up our horizons for greater things. Tools, however, should never shackle the soul.

As a spiritually evolving people–Collectively, we are Stronger.

But, if we’re not careful, we can get into a rut.

We can stagnate, become toxic, and oppress.

Our systems of expectation become our God.

And we become finite echoes of what could have been.

We can forget the individual, our unlimited capacity, and lose our humanity.

And in the pursuit of “peace” and flow, we can forget conscious compassion and individual responsibility.

We can stop seeing the human, the soul.

Make everyone a label.

Become victim to the system.

There are times we just have to get out of the box and rebel against the status quo.

Dare to be and think differently.

Allow ourselves to become uncomfortable and take the inconvenient path–because it is the right one. Or at least, a better one.

I become weary and jaded the more people push me to live or be something that I just am not.

Try to convince me to care about things that, on the eternal level, just do not matter.

In the process of John’s dying, never was the superfluous more clear.

Things that don’t make sense. Things that make me ask why, why, why.
Things that make me feel like finding another planet to live.
Things I DON’T want to give energy to.

The more people tie me up with those pretty labels.

Am I what you expected?

If I label you, you’ll stay in your lane–right?

And as a Creative, I reject all notion of living a life of sameness without purpose.

It’s hard being here, in this reality.

Beauty and wonder are matched by pain and difficulty.

Risk is everywhere, and nothing (and no one) is guaranteed.

Not even the next breath.

If I have to be here, I will have my Creativity and Purpose and Face the unknown head-on.

I will partner with my Creator and consciously Craft my Direction.

I choose to bear witness to and celebrate the paths that cross mine without the world’s arbitrary rules of definement.

Where there is no room to breathe, I will hold space for oxygen to unfold.

Among the things that I appreciate that John gave me while he was alive was the grace to be me and the space to evolve.

There was always room to move and oxygen to breathe in the air around John.

We shared the same Chaotic Good heart, the same first-born sense of protection and responsibility, and the same desires for the freedom to Create, Transmute and Become in this life.

Never violate your conscience.

The strong should protect the weak.

The able should teach and elevate others.

Always do the right thing.

Embrace the suck.

Help others find their way through, and you will too.

We never forced expectations on each other, John and I.

It wasn’t our thing.

We didn’t adhere to the marketing concepts of what our life together should look like.

We had no insecurities about each other. We didn’t starve each other’s needs for career, friends, life experiences, or dreams.

And I think one of the defining features of our friendship, as well as our love, was that we allowed each other space, always.

We were never glued to the hip. We didn’t have to be.

We were two whole people who decided to become lifetime battle buddies.

We had no desire to stifle each other, and we were never threatened by the need to be alone or have our own things.

Maybe because we were both firstborn, I don’t know. But it worked for us.

In doing this for each other, we evolved in ways that wouldn’t otherwise be available. And we helped each other pursue our individual goals and dreams.

We didn’t have to have a life partner. We didn’t have to be together.
We just wanted to be. We liked being in each other’s space.
And we freely chose to be tethered and back each other up in this life.

It was a much deeper, more respectful way of being. I was never afraid to be myself. I knew I was loved for me. The young woman I was. The mother I became. The soul I was growing to be.

We always held space to rediscover each other as we grew further into adulthood together.

And there was born great love. We became more than our parts–together.

I think back to John’s grandmother’s words, “You don’t marry a body; you marry a mind.”

Though I think for me, it’s that I married a soul.

How can you possibly contain a soul?

Especially a force of nature like John.

You can’t. And you don’t want to.

What a crime to try. What a blessing to share.

John loved me fiercely and never wanted to change me or bottle me up. So as I.

I never understand people who want to remanufacture their partners.
Go remake yourself.

I don’t want to lock down the world and reality. Even while there is chaos, I know that possibility reigns and that order will come. Out of Chaos, magic is born, and Creativity holds all the cards. Holds all the art supplies too.

If we are to be free of the chains of the past–we have to explore and innovate new systems. We can’t stick with the same old habits and perspectives and expect different outcomes.

They’re only tools. And they lose purpose and wear out.

We have to allow each other the space and grace to evolve.

And dare to craft new systems as needed.

Craft new lives. Embrace new purposes.
Change our labels, or reject them altogether.

It’s mucky work, being human.

This Life was meant to be rich with experiences and opportunities to grow.
But it was not meant to be a museum and always pretty.

It wasn’t meant to be without Risk.

You have to take chances to have and love more than you thought possible.
And be willing to see the world and Life differently.

You have to be willing to get hurt along the journey, knowing that even failure enriches our growth.

The Path of the Conscious Rebel is not easy.
Yet it’s ripe with possibility and rich with uncommon love.
A journey of creative textures and colors.

After all, who are humanity’s heroes?
If not those who Dared a Life that was Different?

While I may look at life, love, and the world differently, I am not that unique.

I am not the only widow in the world. Not the only mother whose child is fighting cancer. Not the only woman carving out a career in a male-dominated world. Not the only friend trying to sift through the digital age to reconnect with someone real.

And not the only wounded soul trying to free herself from the black hole behind her and find the next step on the path.

But these are the things I sometimes think about.
On a pensive Sunday morning over coffee.


August 21, 2022
2:21pm

Copyright © 2022, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

People in boxes

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Stop Waiting for Something to Happen…


Stop waiting. Stop wishing.

Stop holding out for the perfect thing–or someone.

And allow yourself to taste Life.

I promise you, stagnation isn’t a Life well Lived.

Or Loved.

And never mistake stagnation for Peace.

Allow yourself to be uncomfortable.

Allow yourself to be vulnerable.

At least sometimes.

Risk is everywhere.

And in every one.

Yet so are the greatest of treasures.

As I’ve shared before, one of two things will happen.

Either you’ll take the next breath.

Or you won’t.

Risk is in the very air we breathe.

All creation comes with inherent risk.

So there’s no sense in being frozen while time flows into oblivion.

You might as well breathe deep and smell the rain.

Or the coffee. Or the Italian Tex-Mex restaurant around the corner.

Rest in the Now.

Breathe in deeply and savor what the Universe delights in bringing to your doorstep.

She is so excited for you–if only you could See.

You made it here against all odds.

Maybe take note of that. Like Hey.

Soak up the Miracle of those things showing up in your life now.

Celebrate that with Trust.

You might as well dig your toes deep into Mother Earth and let her hold you.

You might as well look beyond the surface of things and see what a Creative Life, consciously Lived, looks like.

Or, for that matter, a Creative Love.

Have you truly looked at the hearts around you?

Have you dared to bear Witness and see their Souls?

And dared to let them Remember yours?

Have you truly accepted and given friendship–unconditionally?

You may get hurt.

I can’t promise you won’t.

But I can promise that if you genuinely Love and Live…

The means to come back to Life after a crash are also there.

Risk is about Receiving as much as anything.

Stop waiting to Live.

And Love.

And Breathe.

And Receive.

Stop waiting for permission to Exist.

Stop hesitating just when things get good.

Stop judging the Universe when it toddles over and places its gifts in your lap.

Dare to live unconditionally.

Dare to love and give unconditionally.

Dare to receive and feel unconditionally.

Dare to face fear and ego.

Dare to value what others can not see.

Dare to share life, give life, and taste life with others.

Dare to Adventure.

And dare to dig deep and Believe.

Believe that you are powerfully Favored.

Believe that you have all the art supplies you need.

Believe that you deserve to be a Creator.

Before it’s too late.

“The trouble is, you think you have time.”
— Jack Kornfield, Buddha’s Little Instruction Book.


August 11, 2022
11:11pm

Copyright © 2022, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

A frozen rose will surely die

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Elusive


I want to write.

I’ve craved it for weeks.
An omen welling up. A portent.
Murmurs of words and feelings threaten to howl.

But there is no moon.
And my lungs are bruised.

A song of wisps.

Reaching through the fog.
To take initiative. Evanescent trust.
To seek connection, audience, witness.
To offer comfort.

Ten minutes. That will do.
Duty served. Pledges complete.
She’s ok.

She’s the strongest person I know.

Bloody thorns–to reach out first again and again.
Holding back the event horizon.
I will only be first so many times
before I relax and give in to the waves,
watching you peacefully
from the drifting deep,
at one with the seaweeds.

I will watch and listen from the other room,
remembering our once mingled laughter.
I’ll read your books and treasure your sorrows;
provide sanctuary when you pass through.

I’ll watch you walk away and never return.

The silent cornerstone balanced on a pedestal–
until the earth shakes again. Silly humans.
That’s not how any of this works.

It is challenging to reach out and preserve,
much less nurture a one-sided companionship.

But this is my blog–a reflection.
And I guess that means my struggle
on this one-way street
is with me.


June 23, 2022
12:21am

Copyright © 2022, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

Elusive

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It’s Not Enough…


It’s not enough to just be a writer.

We must be partners and creators.

Comprehend more than reducing life to nouns and verbs.

We must be ambassadors between worlds
that otherwise would not share a glance.

Bearing witness to the untold story–we celebrate the unfamous.

We must not be quiet.

Otherwise, certain stories will never be told, and many of us will disappear.

—-
Pondering pitches….
November 4, 2021
6:41pm
Copyright © 2021, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved.
We must be more than just writers

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Copyright and Fair Use…


I run into creative licensing discussions when writing ads for clients–frequently.

Many myths abound over an image’s fair use, what’s considered public domain or free, whether you can be sued if you’re not profiting, etc.

The following resource was developed for educators, but it is one of the most comprehensive and easy-to-understand explanations of creative copyright that I’ve found.

https://www.theedublogger.com/copyright-fair-use-and-creative-commons/

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Sanctuary…


It’s raining, but my backyard is filled with birds and squirrels—even the rosy red minnows in my ponds love the rain.

Yesterday I saw the cutest baby squirrel inch its way down to the pond’s edge to drink and then munch on one of my water lilies that were blooming right at the edge.

I had no idea that squirrels could eat lilies—nor could I have imagined the sweetness of a baby squirrel face gingerly buried into a snowy water lily! Wish I could have whipped out my camera in time to show you, but it did not last even a moment.

Cardinals and sparrows bring their babies to the feeders. Dove, robins,
blue jays, titmice, chickadees, wrens, mockingbirds—they’re all regulars.

It calls back memories of Grandma Dot, who always
had a metal drum filled with bird seed sitting on her back porch,
some recycled Parkay and Coolwhip tubs to scoop with,
and a rainbow of birds lined along her fence.
Like pigeons on a telephone wire, they would sit
and wait for her every morning to open the door.

Cardinals were her favorite, and I always think of her
when I see our cardinal families come to visit.

Occasionally I see a hummingbird or hawk here
(there’s a cast of Cooper hawks in our neighborhood).

One of the last times I saw a hawk in our backyard,
it flew off with a baby snake! It was right after John died.

I looked up from my computer to see the hawk sitting on my back fence,
seemingly staring right through me before he dove for the snake.

Recently I’ve also seen meadowlark, kingbird, and goldfinch!
Not many yellow birds visit, so it’s always lovely to see them.

If the local monk parakeets ever find my backyard,
it’ll make my whole year.

My yard is a bit wild and definitely not manicured,
and I surely don’t know how to garden,
but it holds songs and peace for me.
It’s my blessing place.

#LoveMyBackyard


April 30th, 2021
2:24pm

Copyright © 2021, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

Water Lily Pond

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Words…


That moment…
Revealing the Voice
to someone’s story in their heart;
the meaning behind their work;
the vision they aspire to;
the soul that has been there
…all along.
Words to the songs
no one has sung. Yet.
Wings of the butterfly
not formed, yet.
Born, steps forth
the creator anew.
Welcome to the world,
little song.


4-27-2021
Copyright © 2021 by Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved.

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Remember When…


I have a love-hate relationship with each digital app that shows me memories.

I mean, it’s not bad. It really isn’t.

In some ways, it helps me to reconnect pieces of my life, so there’s more in my line of sight than just this crisis or that.

But there’s no denying that being faced with a sudden memory can have an emotional impact at an inconvenient time.

John’s smiling face in a hospital room.

My kids when they were little.

Conversations with friends who have passed away.

Memories from a time that was less “responsible.”

Memories around old goals. Dreams unspoken.

Memories from before deployments.

From before Cancer.

From before Death.

From before.

Before…

These inconvenient memories pop up while I must be serious
and keep my game face on.

Making up for my shitty memory.

Oh yeah. That’s right. I was going to…

Waves crashing…

Is that even bad?

Probably not.

We’ve tried to create a world where public perception and professionalism always mean never showing what’s really happening under the surface.

Never let them see the mud–unless artfully displayed.

Always have a show closet near the door.

A YouTube corner.

Selective reality.

But is that healthy?

Is it natural?

Is it destructive denial in the long term?

Life is full of challenges, some bigger than others.

And that’s how we grow as humans.

Life has always been in the overcoming.

In the transmutation.

It has always been about becoming bigger than our initial perspectives.

Digging through challenges and beliefs–layered deeper than we thought possible.

Reframing our viewpoints.

Dawning new understanding.

Digging into why we’re really here.

What meaningful thing can I learn in this experience that can serve others?

Surviving is surviving.

But to THRIVE, we must grow.

We must transmute.

But that requires acknowledging reality as it is.

In order to transmute it into something better.

Anyway…

Facebook showed me memories today, including a memory of profound words spoken by my son a year ago.

Somehow I needed to hear them again today.

And while I’m inconveniently emotional, I think I’m also grateful…


April 8, 2021
9:22pm

Copyright © 2021, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

Memories

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Gig Hunting On Social Media…


Shenanigans with Algorithms

Taken from actual job suggestions I’ve received on social media in the last month….

Digital Woman AI Algorithm: Hey Julia, I have job suggestions for you!

Me: Great! Show me what you’ve got!

AI: “Technical Writer!”

Me: Totally makes sense. I am a writer after all. Let me look at what industry that’s in.

AI: I have others, do you want to see them?

Me: Sure, what’d you find?

AI: “YouTube Media Manager.”

Me: Eh, close-ish. I don’t really specialize in the videography side of the social media pool.

AI: How about “Temperature Taker” or “COVID-19 Test Administrator?”

Me: Nooo. I mean, we have a cancer patient at home and really wouldn’t want to risk that. And I don’t have any formal medical certification either. But I guess there’s a wide-spread need for people to do that job right now. I understand why you might ask. Thanks anyway, AI.

AI: There’s “Office Clerk” and “Personal Assistant.”

Me: Eh, not quite the field I’m aiming for, AI. I hope you didn’t ask because I’m a woman.

AI: I know! “Medical Device Quality Engineer” or “Pharmacist!” Or there’s “Veterinary Technician!”

Me: Uh, nooo. I do write for the healthcare industry, so I can see why your wires are crossed there, AI.

AI: “Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist!”

Me: Um… nooo?

AI: There’s “Nursery Worker” and “Toddler Teacher.”

Me: Look AI, I know I’m a seasoned Mom, but I’m not looking for that kind of work. I’m a writer. Remember?

AI: How about “Full fabrication and installation of quartz and natural stone countertops?”

Me: Excuse me?

AI: Or “Shuttle Driver” or “Car Wash Attendant?”

Me: What? No!

AI: “Farm Hand.”

Me: Now you’re just making stuff up!!

AI: FINE! Be a “Sheriff Department Jailer” then!

Me: 😑

Copyright © 2021 by Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. Julia has more than 25 years of experience as a freelance writer, content creator, and editor.

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What Hope…?


A couple of days ago, a brain cancer charity let me know that I am one of the top 10 influencers on Twitter for brain cancer. The data measurement is done through a service that serves the healthcare industry only.

I haven’t known how to feel about it. I mainly share studies and medical articles aimed at treatment for Glioblastoma. As is logical.

I used to be one of the top 20 influencers in crochet, but… that’s another story.

As I read the note, I was teary-eyed. My son was in the room when I read the note, and he queried the look on my face.

I don’t know how to feel, and I’m kinda sad, I said. I can barely do what I do. I don’t have any resources, and I can’t create a charity or foundation yet. Brain cancer patients suffer so much for lack of research funding.

And here, I make the rank of top influencer on Twitter.

What hope is there for a cure if *I* make the top 10? Because I have not yet been able to do much. I don’t have time to network or chat. I cannot unleash my full dedication to move mountains, create a foundation and find a way to help. All I can do is share links to studies. I don’t even have the bandwidth to write much about it.

And my son said, “Excuse me? What do you mean, what hope? With everything you’ve been through, even while working as hard as you do, you still manage to help. Something good is born. The willpower to make a difference with literally nothing but your determination to do so. You demonstrate the difference that a single person can make, even with nothing. To be an influence for good in the world. And if that isn’t hope, I don’t know what is.”

A second revelation dawned as I felt the truth in his words.

Even one imperfect voice can matter.

I love that kid of mine. And sometimes, he has me in awe.


April 8, 2020
7:10am

Copyright © 2020, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

Hope

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Filed under Community, Friends and Family, Glioblastoma, Grief, Random Thoughts, Writing