Here’s what’s lifting my heart these days.

Head’s up—there are a lot of Instagram links in this post that might not show up well in email, but if you click on them, you’ll be able to view the posts 🙏🏼

I was utterly terrified to try doing that. Truthfully, when I felt the inner prompt to write my way through Lent and to do so publicly, I was afraid of what might come out of my proverbial mouth. It had been so long since I had publicly written about my faith in any sustained manner, and I wasn’t sure I could nor that what I might say would even resonate with you.

The invitation came like knock on the door of my heart. And I just knew—I would regret not trying.

Sometimes divine invitations come like that. The potential future regret I sensed was different than the scrupulosity of my younger self. I love that we get to choose whether we will open the door. I love that I could open that door freely.

We are now in the liturgical season of Eastertide, which I will remind you is fifty days long. It is fitting that Eastertide is longer than Lent, because it takes us longer to habituate ourselves to joy than pain. It takes time to practice receiving goodness as trustworthy, and this season reflects that.

The joy of Easter is not a switch we flip in ourselves. It is a home we step inside, a couch where we rest, a table where we feast and laugh and hope.

Next weekend I’ll be joining my friend Suzanne Stabile to lead a workshop on The Enneagram and Trauma. I’m bringing the trauma—in multiple respects (lol). Suzanne’s bringing the Enneagram. Together, we’ll explore the ways that personality can shift from a prison to a playground.

The workshop is here in Colorado Springs, Colorado at the First United Congregational Church. But you can also join us online!! There will be a replay for those who register, too.

It’s been a long time since I’ve led a workshop, and like every step of my recovery, I’m enjoying discovering that even after so much shattered my confidence and sense of self, this part of myself was not lost. She is re-emerging and that is slightly scary to trust but also full of joy.

Register here

A couple weeks ago I saw The Bengsons perform their song “My Joy Is Heavy” on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. I wasn’t even paying attention to the show; I was reading. But something in Abigail’s voice jolted me with recognition and I couldn’t look away. In her wholehearted, feral performance, I felt the same joy that thrums through my upcoming memoir. I’ve been listening to the full album since, which is a bit of “musical memoir” of theirs from the pandemic years. It and their other music is so alive, so joyful, and so full of the same message of my heart—that joy is part and parcel of grief and that when we embrace grief, we somehow are met with a joy that surprises us and hold us through everything.

I hope you’ll love it as much as I do.

Sometimes a story or work of art strums a chord in my heart so purely that I cannot help but become utterly obsessed with it. That is what happened last month when I saw Project Hail Mary for the first time.

It wasn’t just that Ryan Gosling is like sunshine to the soul. It wasn’t just that space odysseys are delightful. It was the beauty of hope—the kind of hope I write about in The Place Between Our Pains—a hope that can only be held together. Which is funny, since Ryan’s character, Dr. Ryland Grace, spends almost the entire movie nearly by himself in a spaceship far, far from earth and every human he has ever known. And yet, the collective mission to save humanity and the universe, to care for those beyond the self, had so steeped itself in Dr. Grace’s psyche, that even when he did not know who he was or when he felt completely incapable of showing up with courage, an internalized sense of love guided him to do greater, harder things than he believed he could.

Also, the entire movie is made with zero green screens, real sets, and real puppetry for the alien character, Rocky, and in today’s world, that in itself is gorgeous. The slowness and embodied nature of true art is like sustenance.

Anyway, I went on to read the book (the audio is, ooof, so good). And then, of course, I had to see the movie again to enjoy every little detail I hadn’t noticed the first time. Later on, I plan on going again, this time to listen to the director’s cut while I watch. I’ve also listened to the soundtrack probably over 200 times in the last month, because this is a thing I do and it is delightful…

If you need some hope, if you are craving a story that in which people actually come together to care beyond the self for the good of all, please go see Project Hail Mary. My amaze amaze amaze t-shirt is arriving this week…

On that note…

Having a hard week or day? You’ve probably already done this, but go search Artemis II and soak up as many clips of those astronauts as you can. Because, wow, we needed to see wonder and mutual respect on display and these astronauts didn’t just show us the dark side of the moon, they honored the collective grief of humanity and reminded us how interconnected we all really are.

These days, while I am about to publish my new book, I need to show up on social media way more than I usually do. At first, that need felt like a demand. And when I feel the pressure of a demand, I resist it.

After reckoning with my own resistance and working hard to come to a place of pure-hearted motivation to share about my memoir,1 I have moved into a new season of sharing online, a season in which I am showing up with the same joy that compelled me to write The Place Between Our Pains in the first place.

I am determined to show up sharing from a place of joy. Not scarcity. Not fear of what you will think of me. Nope.

In The Place Between Our Pains, I showed up as my fullest, freest, most feral self—in a way I have never been able to do in any previous book. So, I want to share about it that way too.

Enter: ridiculousness.

I am a silly goose. I am serious and can go to the depths of grief and trauma, but much of why I can is because humor lives in my heart. It pulls me up and out of myself into sacred connection with others.

So, last month, on a whim, I decided to film myself dancing while infusing IVIG. I spend two full days every other week hooked up to that damn IV. And, yes, it does get old. I usually feel awful on day one, but slightly better on day two. When I got a strange burst of energy on day two of treatment, I thought it would be hilarious to pretend my IV pole was a microphone and filmed myself singing and dancing to Queen’s We are the Champions—which, by the way, was one of my favorite songs as a kid. IT IS RIDICULOUS. AND I LOVED IT.

One of you commented that I should another video to Chumbawumba’s “Tubthumping”—which is obviously the perfect chronic illness anthem and, honestly, a pretty good synopsis of my memoir: ☠️

I get knocked down / but I get up again. / They’re never gonna keep me down.

Anyway, I don’t even care if you like these videos or not, because I do. I highly recommend being a silly goose as often as you can. I wrote about the power of silliness at length in The Place Between Our Pains, and I believe this particular quote with all my heart:

“I’ve learned this year that if you can bring silliness to a sad thing, it can’t stay just sad.”2

Here’s me in peak Silly Goose mode, for those who need some levity…

The next phase of my healing journey with Avascular Necrosis is doing more and more weight-bearing exercise. I love swimming, but in this phase, my bones need more impact in order to keep healing. So, I’ve been on a mission to find a new form of exercise that gives me the same feeling of joy that swimming does. And I think I found it…

The Class is a subscription exercise app that essentially combines elements of somatic therapy with yoga and calisthenics and ecstatic dance (which we already know I love. lol). These days, my health and schedule are not predictable enough to reliably make it to yoga classes at my gym, so I’m finding that making exercise more accessible to myself greatly increases my likelihood of showing up.

This is not an exaggeration: nothing helps my mental health more than moving.

And, look, I get that movement is a mindfuck to many of us. So many of us carry so much pain in our bodies that exercise feels like a chore and even worse, a curse. We struggle to trust that we can move our bodies without hurting more.

And yet, a sedentary body is a reactive body.

Hear me when I say this, with all the kindness and gentleness I can muster: movement is medicine for every body, including the bodies that hurt the worst.

Movement can and must look different for disabled, chronically ill, and grieving bodies. And it is still possible to receive the gifts of movement, even when it has to look different than you wish it did.

The truth is, when I look at my life and the practices that promote joy, aliveness, creativity, and the resilience I truly need to not give up when blows keep hitting me, movement is the practice that most quickly reconnects me to the unshakable goodness in myself. Movement helps me feel like me. Movement also helps me shake off all that is not me.

This is an essential practice in trauma recovery. We must find ways to expel or release the stresses and scripts and weight that are too heavy for us to hold, that are not our truest selves, that are holding back from experiencing goodness even when grief may not go away.

I’ve been loving the classes on The Class. I use a very thick yoga mat to cushion my joints, which helps me be able to do so much more than I could on a normal mat.3 I wear cushioned shoes to help even more. And I make accommodations for my body throughout the classes to bring myself to the edge of my capacity to tolerate pain—but not beyond it. I’ve been doing short classes to rebuild my stamina, which got pretty low after having to take a long time off exercising while I was in hyperbaric oxygen therapy.4

And this is wild: Every single time I show up for a class—even when my body can’t make it through a full thirty minutes!—I experience a lightness and release and joy that shift my whole mind and body toward hope. I come to my mat with an open heart, trusting that there will be medicine for me in moving. I come with respect for my body, honoring how hard it is to choose to move and to have to face the grief of being far from where I’d like to be both in my weight and my mobility. It is has been a holy practice, and I am committed to keep going. My joy is worth the work of showing up. And yours is, too.

The Class is offering a free thirty day trial to anyone who signs up with my link! It’s seriously so worth trying. And even if you have to do it a little differently than what you see on-screen, it’s still great. But I do find that the teachers are pretty inclusive in how they lead and with a little openness, I’m able to find my way.

By the way, my current favorite teacher is Amanda Martinez. Also, if you do end up becoming a paid subscriber after your free 30 days, I’ll get a month free! Zero pressure, though. I just think you might love it, too.

Here’s a little info on The Class:

The last thing that’s lifting my heart is seeing my memoir get some truly great press. My publisher has told me that it’s very rare these days for a book to secure major trade reviews before publication, and mine has gotten three great reviews so far, including ones from Library Journal, Kirkus Reviews, and Publishers Weekly.

Guys, my jaw dropped when I saw them mention my memoir in the same sentence as one of the most beautiful memoirs I’ve ever read, When Breath Becomes Air. That was pretty cool.

Here’s a glimpse at what Kirkus and Publishers Weekly had to say too:

In other fun news, Lena Dunham of GIRLS fame wants to read my book????!!! And Maggie Smith, a poet and memoirist I have adored for many years does too. Sigh. It’s so encouraging to see my memoir finding her way. And I can’t wait until she finds her way right into your little hands when she publishes NEXT MONTH! 😉 It’s seriously wild that it’s almost here. Next month! Whoa.

In the meantime, if you would like to read a sample of my book, you can do that NOW!

There are also preorder bonuses for anyone who has preordered a copy, and you can find those on my brand new, beautiful website, designed by the kind and talented D. Michele Perry. Also…keep your eyes peeled for an email from me soon about a little launch team and a chance to read the entire book early to help me spread the word. Embodied subscribers get first dibs!

Okay, that’s enough for today. Go grasp a little joy. Go be a silly goose. Goodness is still yours to receive, even if this weekend holds grief too.

With love,

KJ

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