News from Jules | 06.15.2025 | The Longest Day
A clearing away and a bringing forth.
Maybe it’s how long and full the days are getting. Maybe I’m starting to be present in every day. Either way, I’m having short-term memory lapses trying to remember what happened this spring, nonetheless what happened these past couple of weeks since Memorial Day—when it felt like we kicked off summer here in Bend, Ore.
Just like last year, spring felt as short as winter felt long. Probably because we were still getting snowstorms in April and hailstorms in May. But, during these months, the weather in Central Oregon gradually warmed up and became more consistent, averaging 75°F by day and 50°F by night, until the sun was out for most of the day and wildflowers bloomed all over the high desert this month.
As the days grew longer, everything started to speed up.
And everything felt like a “Heck yeah”!
A few days after I finished my last day of work on the mountain at Mt. Bachelor Ski Resort, I boarded a plane headed to Denver to meet my best friend’s baby; a week later, I flew to Philadelphia for another best friend’s Mom’s funeral; just a couple of days later I drove up to Portland to visit my Dad post-surgery; and then I worked REI’s biggest sale of the year before Memorial Day weekend un-officially started the season of being outdoors.
So far I’ve been meditating by the river, soaking at hot springs, trail running, floating the river, biking, hiking, standup paddleboarding, rock climbing, attending outdoor concerts, and enjoying happy hour at local brewery patios. And I haven’t even camped or backpacked or climbed a mountain yet!
There has been so much to connect with—people, plants, and animals—as everyone emerged from the winter. I am still meeting new people here, while hanging out with my local friends, and seeing close friends passing through town, as well as visiting with so many long-time friends during my trips. I saw about 20 folks during my 36-hour visit to Portland alone!
See photos of fun with friends this spring on instagram.
I do recall a deja vu moment at the beginning of this spring when I caught myself complaining about how tired I was, and then I remembered feeling that same sentiment last year. But this time, instead of complaining, I embraced the hectic schedule, slept as much as I could, kept hydrating, and wore a mask in crowds so I could stay healthy for everything. Just like the non-native but highly adaptable Crocuses, Lilacs, and Cherry trees around here, I wanted to enjoy it while it lasts!
I remembered: Spring is practice. It’s about building back the stamina for abundance. Being able to receive it—and appreciate it.
Since spring had the longest days, it makes sense that it was the busiest. But, as of the summer solstice on June 20, we are moving from late spring into early summer, and even though sunset will be at 8:52 p.m. PST that day, the next morning’s sunrise will start creeping later minute by minute. Each summer day will actually be getting shorter.
Joyce Rupp and Macrina Wiederkehr remind us in The Circle of Life: The Heart’s Journey through the Seasons, solstice is taken from two Latin words: sol, sun, and stitium, to stand still.
So, maybe it doesn’t need to get even busier during the summer. Maybe things can actually slow down a bit, especially when it’s sweltering hot in July and/or we’re socked in with wildfire smoke in August.
For many years now, I start the new year on the Spring Equinox in March as one of many small ways to live in harmony with nature. At some point during the fall or winter, I start to discern what the Universe needs most from me and how I need to grow. The answer usually arrives as one word. The word is a seed that I plant and nurture for the next year. The next cycle of growth.
Presence is my word for this year.
Listen to this year’s PRESENCE playlist on Spotify.
And so, for the past season, I’ve been practicing everything I’ve learned about mindfulness and being present: Showing up for my friends and family, listening to my body, following my energy, and paying close attention to my surroundings.
I’m really good at that last one.
This is why I stop to take so many photos while I’m adventuring. I notice all the tiny wildflowers, the wildlife, the rainbows, the texture of the water, the light through the trees, the cloud shadows, oh my goodness, the sky! As well as changing smells, temperature, cloud cover, wind, and so on. I feel totally connected to my environment without feeling depleted, objectified, commodified, or marginalized. No wonder being outside in nature is when I’m most attuned to my body and easily able to follow my energy and intuition.
See photos of this abundant spring on instagram.
And yet, I’m still tethered to my digital To Do lists and calendar synced between my smartphone and computer—still micromanaging my own life. I still find myself saving what’s too precious to use, keeping things that I no longer need, and looking through old journals and photos—still clinging to and reliving the past; still dreaming about and living for the future. I still have too many conflicting goals and passions and dreams that I try to squeeze into my days, weeks, seasons—still striving toward an ideal of a bigger, better life.
And where does it all leave me?
Disconnected from living in the now.
This is what the Universe needs most from me and how I need to grow.
“When we imagine ascending, we often think of what we must do or who we must become. What we rarely think about is what we must put down or walk away from to get where we want to go…but that is often the key to success,” wrote Maia Toll in her book Wild Wisdom Companion: A Guided Journey into the Mystical Rhythms of the Natural World.
“These things that feel so heavy are often begging to be released, and it’s actually you who is hanging on, shouldering unnecessary weight.”
At the summer solstice, Toll reminds us to pause and breathe in the light while we revel in a world bursting and bustling with abundance, the glorious result of months of growth. Now is the time to let go of extra weight, gain perspective, and allow transformation.
Late last fall, when I started to envision 2025, I took notes on my computer about goals and activities. I felt the buzz of excitement, but also that gnawing sensation of a pit in my stomach. There was a sense of unease, but I ignored it. It flared up again as I did my business and personal taxes at the end of March. And again, as I caught up on personal accounting for April and May after my trips.
There was the obvious misalignment of my income not matching my expenses, but it took many conversations with close friends and a few serendipitous encounters during my travels to acknowledge the subtler misalignment of my priorities and feelings.
Per usual, the insights were strong and direct:
I needed to let go of a deadline for writing the book.
I needed to focus on healing the core wounds that are at the root of my choices and why, for instance, I have oodles of friends, but no partner.
I needed to let go of the idea of finishing all my un-hiked trails on Mount Hood this summer and taking a month-long sabbatical through California’s National Parks this fall.
I needed to refocus on climbing more of the Central Cascade Mountain Range—why I originally came here.
And I still had so much more of Central Oregon to explore while I call it home.
In the “Healthy Habits” course on the Happier meditation app I’ve enjoyed for over two years now, journalist and founder Dan Harris talks about the Tibetan phrase that describes the process of waking up, or enlightenment, which roughly translates to “a clearing away and a bringing forth.”
A clearing away and a bringing forth.
And so, a couple of weeks ago, I went back through my goals for 2025, and especially my summer bucket list, and once again, cut, reframed, and reorganized them. Coming into this summer, I want to do less so that I can really be here now.
“Some grown-ups tend to be obsessed with making a living rather than making a life. They become preoccupied with having a reason for doing whatever they do. Children need no reason. Life is the reason. Thus, children can more easily live from the center, from the heart,” wrote Macrina Wiederkehr in The Circle of Life: The Heart’s Journey Through the Seasons.
“It is a purer kind of living. It is living in the moment.”
I still think the purest kind of living would be no To Do lists, no calendar, no plans, little stuff, few mementos, and even fewer goals, passions, and dreams. Still living life to the fullest. But one day, week, season at a time.
I’m slowly transforming while still doing some of what comes so naturally to me.
To be the seed and not
wish to be the flower.
Or to be the flower and
not wish to be seed or rain.
To be the rain and be grateful
to be the rain. Which
is to say, to be the self
and delight in being the self.
But when I say self, I mean
to know the self as seed.
As flower. As rain. When I
say to know, I mean to
ever be in wonder.
—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, “The Secret of Contentment”
I feel aligned and eager for the longest day of the year—the summer solstice—later this week when I will simply walk alongside the ancient Deschutes River with whomever shows up from one end of town to the other, flowing downstream in the path of least resistance.
May you live in the now this week.
Love,
Jules
Hugs!