For those of you who have been following my journey, you know that this year I put everything into a piece of land in California. We closed on the acreage in June. It felt like a return home. A place to begin again.
We built a tiny cabinwith care. We planned to do things properly. We were preparing to open a building permit, live lightly on our family land, and slowly work toward building a home.
Then life shifted.
A neighbor called in because we had a conversion bus and an RV on our property before the permit was officially open. Suddenly, we had to move off of our family land entirely. What we thought would be a season of grounding became expensive and daunting. There were very real moments when we almost gave up. I almost gave up.
About a week ago, something softened and strengthened in me at the same time. Not dramatically. Just a quiet decision to stop carrying it as something heavy and instead meet it fully.
Yesterday, while I sat at a restaurant working on site plans and filling out county paperwork, music played softly in the background. Three different songs came on with the word joy in them. Joy to the World was one of them. After that, I began noticing joy everywhere. Written in lights. Printed on signs. Glowing quietly in windows.
Before that moment, Joy was not absent. It simply was not loud.
Later that afternoon, just before the building department closed for the holidays, they encouraged me to submit everything before the new year. New regulations are coming that will dramatically increase the cost of building. The timing mattered. We pushed through.
And we opened the building permit!
That single step means more than it might sound. It means I can apply for a temporary residence permit. It means I can now permit the tiny cabin as an as-built structure. Thankfully, I am an overbuilder by nature. The cabin exceeds California building codes. It will pass.
Progress did not arrive with fireworks. It arrived quietly.
We still cannot legally be on our land yet. So this Christmas, I am staying in an affordable motel. I am not making it home to the island. Because of my absence, their father Mountain, and his lovely new wife are able to have the kids who are available with them. Our daughter Eden and her bf Elias are hosting Christmas Day at their house.
Last year, nearly all of us were together. This year looks very different for me.
As I move toward 2026, the word I am continuing to live is compersion. The practice of allowing joy for others even when something tender is moving through my heart. Not as an idea, but as a way of being.
This season keeps reminding me that our experience is shaped not only by what happens to us, but by how we respond and what we expect. The choices we make. The meaning we assign.
Joy does not require everything to be easy. It can live alongside effort, uncertainty, distance, and change. It shows up when we stay present instead of resisting what is here.
If this season feels layered for you, it’s okay.
If it feels quieter than other years, or more complex, you are not alone.
Quick question:
How are you truly feeling this season? Truly. Maybe you are experiencing grief… or maybe true love is unfolding in your life.
Whether this is an easy Christmas or not, where is joy showing up in your life right now?
If you feel inspired to share, I would love to hear your personal experience.
Sending love from my heart to yours. Merry Christmas Eve. -Joy;)
PS: though I still do not identify as a “deadhead” I deeply miss the shows and my jam fam. Love you guys!
The night before the RISE Festival, I stood in silent awe on my porch in Dolan Springs, Arizona, watching the sun sink through the branches of a Joshua tree.
The light caught on the edges of each thorn, each shadowed limb, and for a moment, it felt as though the desert itself was breathing with me. There was silence — that kind of deep desert quiet that doesn’t ask for words, only presence.
Something inside whispered:
It’s time to live life to its fullest.
To shine your light outward.
To transform your pain into purpose, and your survival into service.
The Desert and the Music
Under the darkness of the vast Mojave sky, thousands of us gathered together at the RISE Festival as the first lanterns lifted into the night.
Each glowing orb carried a wish, a prayer, a fragment of someone’s story — and as they rose, it felt like we were all breathing the same song.
I found myself thinking about how music unites us. How it dissolves the illusion of separation.
As Goose took the stage, the air shimmered with that particular magic that only happens when sound becomes spirit. Their music didn’t just fill the desert — it expanded it. Each note felt like a thread pulling people closer, weaving something ancient and utterly new.
As Bono once said,
“Music can change the world because it can change people.”
And that night, it did.
Later, John Mayer stepped into that same current — not as a star above it all, but as a musician among us. His playing carried both mastery and humility — a reminder that every artist begins not with fame, but with the pure act of listening.
It struck me that this is what art is meant to do: awaken the sacred in ordinary things. To remind us, as Leonard Cohen once wrote,
“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
Because Too Many Artists Are Starving
Not just for food or funds — but for belonging.
For recognition.
For a space that says:
Your gift matters. You matter.
I’ve met so many musicians, dancers, painters, and builders who carry something extraordinary inside them — but no stable ground beneath their feet. The struggle to stay creative while trying to simply survive has become the great silent epidemic of our time.
As the lanterns rose, I realized I wasn’t just releasing a wish — I was making a vow: to help build spaces where artists no longer have to burn out to shine, and where creativity is treated not as a luxury, but as a life force.
The Birth of SonaTierra
Sona means sound.
Tierra means earth.
Together, they become the sound of the Earth.
SonaTierra was born from that vow — a living ecosystem where creativity, community, and sustainability meet.
A regenerative foundation devoted to supporting musicians, artists, and visionaries through housing, food systems, and creative opportunity.
It’s about turning inspiration into infrastructure — building sanctuaries where art and permaculture co-exist, where people can live, create, and give back to the land that sustains them.
Because when artists thrive, the culture heals through them.
When the Earth thrives, our art becomes truer.
As Bob Dylan once said,
“A hero is someone who understands the responsibility that comes with his freedom.”
That’s what SonaTierra is — the shared responsibility to use our freedom, our creativity, and our light for something larger than ourselves.
A Rising Promise
Each lantern that floated into the desert sky carried a promise — not only of hope, but of responsibility.
As I released mine, I realized I wasn’t letting go.
I was rising — into the next version of myself, and into the greater calling of SonaTierra.
Maybe it’s time to find out.
To rise together.
To create sustainably.
To let art, music, and community become the rhythm that heals the world.
Because music doesn’t just reflect who we are —
it reminds us who we’re still becoming.
A Call for Reflection
If it feels right for you, please take a moment — and just breathe.
Think of the light you carry, the art within you waiting to rise.
What promise would you release into the sky if you knew the world was listening?
Maybe it’s time — like all of us at RISE — to lift it higher. Maybe, just maybe, it’s your time to shine.
This morning, as I sipped my tea and looked out at the trees on my tiny porch, I realized something comical about myself: I rarely just “arrive.” I manifest, I create, I ground—and then, almost like clockwork, I’m already dreaming up the next big thing. (I sometimes wonder if my future self is sitting somewhere laughing at me like, “yes, babe, I know, I already built it, now just dance your way here.”)
So today I want to walk with you from processing into integration—that moment when we stop swimming in the swirl and begin to actually embody what we’ve learned.
Here’s my five-step process, mixed with some reflections, a few quotes, and questions for you to explore in your life:
Step 1 – Accept
Integration begins when we simply nod and say, “yep, that’s me.” For me, that truth is cyclical manifestation. I build and arrive, but I’m always called forward again.
“The curious paradox is that when I accept myself just as I am, then I can change.” – Carl Rogers
Your Question: What’s one truth about yourself you can finally stop fighting and simply accept today?
Step 2 – Connect
Once I accept it, I lean in with curiosity. I ask my future self, “What do you want for me? What are you teaching me today?” That question opens the door.
“The soul always knows what to do to heal itself. The challenge is to silence the mind.” – Caroline Myss
Your Question: If you could sit down for tea with your future self, what’s the first thing you’d want to ask her?
Step 3 – Process & Embody
As many of you know, my way of embodying is dance. I let the insight ripple through my body. Sometimes it’s erratic, sometimes it’s graceful, but either way, my body understands long before my mind does.
“The body says what words cannot.” – Martha Graham
Your Question: How can you move, create, or express what you’re learning—without words—so it becomes part of your being?
Step 4 – Weave Inner & Outer
Here’s where I meet my future self more fully. She already lives in the healing home by the water, already welcomes small groups into sacred space. When I picture her, I feel her inner calm weaving into my current choices.
“The longest journey you will ever take is the 18 inches from your head to your heart.” – Andrew Bennett
Your Question: Which inner voice—child, wisdom, healer—is asking to be heard and woven into your choices right now?
Step 5 – Weave Your Narrative
This is the part where I shift my everyday choices. My new normal is saying yes, opening to receive, and relaxing into outcome. I don’t have to force the path. I just have to live it.
“Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.” – George Bernard Shaw
Your Question: What small shift in your daily rhythm could become the new thread in your life’s story?
Closing Reflection
For me, one way I’m softening my own conflict of desire is to picture a rhythm: traveling to visit each of my children at different times of year, soaking in time with them and my current and future grandchildren—and then returning back to my own autonomous home. That image brings me peace, a reminder that I can have both rootedness and movement, both family and sovereignty.
And so I wonder for you:
What’s one small piece of wisdom your future self is already living that you can embody today? Maybe it’s how you breathe, how you speak, how you love. Maybe it’s as simple as letting yourself exhale.
Tarot Card of the Day – The World 🌍
Completion, wholeness, the full circle. The World arrives when one cycle has been fulfilled and the next is waiting to unfold. For me, it reflects this little cabin in the woods—one dream fully manifested. And it whispers: “Well done. Now… are you ready to dance into the next?”
This morning I woke to dappled sunlight and a voice message from a fellow healer who is walking this path with me. I could feel her processing, so instead of overthinking what I’d wear or how it would all look, I slipped on my sweater, put on one of my favorite Diva Primal tracks, stepped onto my porch (crafted with local milled cedar planks) and pressed record.
The sun was behind me, peeking through the trees, and I thought: the time is now. Not someday when I’ve figured everything out. Not when I’ve got curtains hung in my tiny cabin or my tea is brewed. Now.
“With freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?” — Oscar Wilde
Today, I let the nervous energy melt away. I just sat down on my porch and let it pour through. Sometimes all we need is a cozy sweater, a little music, and the willingness to begin.
NOTE: I don’t think my video is working yet. This is a new process for me. I will continue working on it…
So here’s to starting where we are, with sunlight slipping between the branches and our hair still messy from sleep. May today remind you that your joy doesn’t need staging, your radiance doesn’t need polishing. You are allowed to show up as you are, right now. And maybe later, like me, you’ll brew a cuppa tea and smile at how much lighter life feels when we stop waiting for perfect.
“Within you is a light that never goes out. All you have to do is stop hiding it.” — Unknown
✨ Tarot for Today: The Sun ☀️
This card could not have been more literal—I filmed with the sun glowing behind me, reminding us all that bliss and renewal are always within reach. The Sun is playful radiance itself. It asks us to soak in the warmth, trust the light, and remember that our own brilliance doesn’t need effort—it just is.
May your day be truly blessed. From my heart to yours, Joy
The past few days, I’ve felt my words ripple outward, landing softly in places I hadn’t expected. It reminds me how much of writing is a conversation with life itself—sometimes whispered, sometimes thundered, always carrying echoes we don’t fully hear until another heart reflects them back.
Yesterday, while speaking with a dear friend, I promised to put language around a concept my son Sid once breathed into being for me: the conflict of desire. This morning, her birthday message—gentle, luminous—was the spark that reminded me to keep that promise, and so here I am, writing into the heart of it.
For years I’ve circled around the question: what do I want? And almost immediately, before the answer even has time to rise, the other voices crowd in: what do I think I should do, what would be best for my kids, what would make the most sense for my future. It’s like standing in the middle of a crossroads where every signpost has my handwriting on it, but each one points in a different direction.
For me, this often shows up in geography. Half of my kids are here in California, half in British Columbia. My heart splits across borders. I think about my daughter Eden—one day she’ll get married, she’ll have children—and part of me aches at the idea of not being close enough to witness those moments. Then I look north toward my son Cedar and my granddaughter Cypress, and I feel the sting of distance again, only getting to hold her a few times a year.
Desire pulls me in opposite directions, and up I end up scattered like sunshine through too many windows—luminous, yet unfocused.
But here’s my truth: clarity doesn’t come from trying to please every “should” or chase every tug of your heart. It comes from peeling back those layers until you can see the highest path—the one that belongs to this season of your life.
“The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.” — Carl Jung
Conflict of desire isn’t something to “solve” once and for all. It’s part of being human. But staying caught in the swirl—trying to hold onto everything at once—only creates exhaustion. What helps is having a ritual of reflection. A way to strip away the noise and hear the deeper truth.
The dreams you carry in youth are not meant to be abandoned—live them fully, so the person you one day become can look back with gratitude, not longing…
Here are some questions I return to when I’m tangled up inside:
If no one else’s needs or opinions mattered for a moment—what would I choose today? What desire feels rooted in love and expansion, and which feels rooted in fear or obligation? Which choice, when I imagine living it fully, brings me energy rather than draining it? What story am I telling myself about what I “should” want—and is it actually true? If I were looking back from my 80-year-old self, which path would I thank myself for taking now? Where do I feel the tug of excitement and fear at once—that’s often the edge of growth. What vision feels most aligned with the person I’m becoming—not just the person I’ve been?
You don’t need to rush through them. Take a pen, let yourself write freely, and then circle the answers that repeat themselves in different ways. That repetition is usually where clarity starts to shine through.
“You are always one decision away from a totally different life.” — Unknown
I’ve found that sometimes the clarity that emerges isn’t about geography or circumstance—it’s about freedom. For me, it means accepting that right now, California is my home base, but committing to building a life where travel and flexibility let me see my loved ones more often. A vision that lets me grow where I am, while still honoring the pull of my heart northward.
And here’s the most important part: you don’t need to announce your clarity to the world the moment it arrives. Sometimes, sharing your decision too soon gives you a little dopamine burst that tricks your brain into thinking you’ve already done something. Better to let it ripen quietly inside you, or share it only with the wise people in your life—the ones who can hold space while you step forward.
“Clarity comes not from knowing the whole path, but from taking the next faithful step.” — Unknown
So maybe today isn’t about solving the whole puzzle. Maybe it’s about asking the right questions, listening long enough to hear your truest answer, and letting that clarity rise slowly, like the sun.
Sunrise through my window this morning…
And tomorrow—we’ll go deeper. I’ll share a practical step-by-step tool, like a decision matrix or future-self lens, to sharpen that clarity into a vision you can act on.
Tarot Card for Reflection
Today’s card is the Two of Wands. You’re standing on the edge of possibility, holding the world in your hands. The horizon is wide open. Not every path can be taken, but choosing one boldly is what creates momentum.
If it feels right to share, please tell me—of the seven questions above, which one tugged at you the hardest?
May you conquer your personal conflict of desire, develop both your intention and vision for your life. And, despite the little wisps of fear floating through the ether of your mind, may you live your wildest dreams.
Yesterday I wrote about generational curses. About the way grief and silence weave themselves into families, about the shadows that stretch far beyond one lifetime. And on that very same day, Mountain sent me a song.
Shine by David Gray.
Mountain, who was once the truest love of my life.
Mountain, who once walked with me through the full spectrum of love and loss, who witnessed the beauty and the breaking, the trauma and the transformation. Together we weathered storms that reshaped us, standing by one another through moments that might have undone us. Carrying forward the kind of bond that marks a life forever.
Mountain, who I cherished with the fullness of my love, the way a woman loves a man when she gives everything she has to give.
Last night, he sent me that song—not as an invitation back, for his path has carried him forward. Just a few weeks ago he married a beautiful woman worthy of his sweet love. She treats him like a king, she adores him, and in her own gentle way she is weaving herself into the fabric of our family. My daughters attended their father’s wedding and came home with stories of laughter, of music, of love. And instead of jealousy, instead of pain, all I felt was gratitude.
This is compersion.
“Love is not about possession. Love is about appreciation.” — Osho
Compersion is the radical opposite of envy—it is joy for another’s joy. It is love that expands rather than contracts. It is not easy. It requires a heart willing to stay open, to feel everything, and to bless what is, rather than clinging to what was.
I have seen too many families torn apart in bitterness. I have watched love turn to poison, scorn splitting children in half and carving wounds that last for lifetimes. That is not love. That is something darker, something that devours.
“Hatred does not cease by hatred, but only by love; this is the eternal rule.” — Buddha
But this—what I feel now—is love. True love is expansive. It celebrates the happiness of those it once held close, even if they now belong to another. It is the grace of compersion.
And Mountain, in sending me Shine, showed compersion for me. He honored the way I once treated him like a king. He honored the wife, mother, and woman that I was with him. And he blessed me by telling me that it is time to shine again—that I deserve to love and be loved in the fullness of who I am.
He once said to me, “You are such a juicy, passionate, sexual, wonderful woman. Please share that with somebody who can return it to you.”
That is compersion: to want for me the love I gave him. To want me to be cherished again.
“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” — Eden Ahbez
And so here I stand, on the eve of my fiftieth birthday thinking of my friend Gill’s sentiment. He recently told me that perhaps my deep connection to Mountain has been the thread that has kept me from loving again. Maybe he’s right. Maybe the gift I give myself this year is to finally untangle that web, to bless it for what it was, and to open myself to what might yet be.
Because love is not a curse. Love is a light. And tomorrow, I choose to shine.
“There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” — Leonard Cohen
Reflection for You
As I write this, I turn to you—dear reader, dear fellow traveler in love and loss. Where in your own life can you choose compersion instead of envy? Where can you bless someone else’s joy, even if it no longer belongs to you? Where can you untangle the old threads and step into the possibility of love again?
“We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” — Joseph Campbell
Tarot for My 50th Year
For this birthday threshold, I choose a card that reflects not only where I have been but where I am ready to go.
Strength ✨
Strength is not brute force—it is the quiet, steady power of a woman who has faced both love and loss and has not broken. In this card, she rides or tames the lion not through dominance, but through presence. She embodies grace, sensuality, and the kind of courage that comes from the heart, not the fist.
This is the card of becoming the lioness—of stepping fully into my beauty, my power, my radiance. It is the reminder that true strength is soft yet unyielding, fierce yet compassionate. It is the strength to forgive, to practice compersion, to let love expand rather than contract. It is the strength to open again, to trust again, to shine again.
On my fiftieth birthday, this card becomes my vow: to walk into this decade with the lion at my side, not as an adversary but as my own untamed spirit. To live not in fear of what has been, but in celebration of what will be.
“Courage is grace under pressure.” — Ernest Hemingway
✨ And so I invite you: What is the song, the blessing, or the tarot card that calls you to shine in your own life right now?
This morning, I pulled a card for us: The High Priestess.
She is the keeper of intuition, the one who lives between what is spoken and what is unspoken. She doesn’t rush to reveal everything—but she does remind us that silence has weight, and sometimes it poisons what it tries to protect.
I’ve come to see how secrecy was the way of past generations in my family. They were fearful of certain truths, especially the darker ones that ran rampant behind closed doors. So they swept them under the carpet, polished the surface, and carried on.
“What is buried never dies; it only waits for a voice to call it back into the air.” — Clarissa Pinkola Estés
I didn’t fully understand that pattern until recently, when one of my children challenged me about a truth in my history. I realized I had repeated the pattern without meaning to. I had alluded to a shadowy story involving someone no longer with us and thought maybe the story had died with him. But the thing about what’s buried? It’s only six feet under.
And when a secret is rooted beneath you, you want to roll like a tumbleweed—hush it, quiet it, leave it there. But then someone looks you in the eyes and asks directly. In that moment, the truth becomes the only possible answer.
Truth has its own demons. Its own knots that unravel when pulled. But in that unraveling, there’s space—for growth, for transformation.
Inner Landscape
At first, naming the truth felt unbearable. But over time, it became a blessing. This week’s theme, in my life and apparently for many others, has been generational healing. Yesterday, so many women wrote to me saying they keened, they wailed, they cried. They let out grief that had been silenced for years. And I know that when one voice speaks, other voices in other families find permission to unweave too.
“When we speak, we are afraid our words will not be heard or welcomed. But when we are silent, we are still afraid. So it is better to speak.” — Audre Lorde
For years, the unspoken shaped me. I ricocheted between being too blunt, too in-your-face, or silencing myself entirely. I now see how easy it is to excuse that imbalance with: “I’m just blunt, that’s who I am.” But really, it’s a way of saying we don’t care about the person on the other side of our words. Know this; growth is possible. Change is possible. It’s never too late to soften without silencing, to express without shattering.
I remember when my daughter once asked me, “But what do you want, mom?”
I couldn’t even process the question. Rage rose up—not at her, but at the concept itself. “What do you mean, what do I want? I’m a mother. I don’t get to want.” That was the silence of sacrifice speaking through me. That was betrayal of self, passed down through generations of women who gave up everything until there was nothing left of them but servitude.
“The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.” — Alice Walker
But things are shifting now. Securing this California land, building a tiny cabin, going through ceremony, beginning to step back into coaching—it’s all anchoring me differently. My young adult kids now have a base they can return to. They know they can heal here, rest here, breathe here. And even more beautiful—they know they can actually build homes for themselves and potentially others. With their own hands! Shelter, freedom, power. How incredible is that!?!
Just a few days before we closed on the land, I went through a profound unearthing. A secret that had been buried deep surfaced. And on the land itself, I took part in a Bufo, Kambo, and Hapé ceremony. It cracked me open. Hidden truths became real, acknowledged, spoken. The silence ended.
And that is the teaching of The High Priestess: your intuition already knows. The truth has always been there, waiting. We just have to stop running like tumbleweeds, stop pretending what’s buried is gone, and trust ourselves enough to unearth it.
“The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.” — Gloria Steinem
And sometimes, trusting intuition is less about revealing a secret and more about knowing when to walk away.
Just last night, I had an appointment to change my little tree tattoo in honor of my aunt’s life. My daughter Ary sat beside me. The shop was full of Grateful Dead imagery—dancing bears, skulls and roses—which my jam fam friends would have loved, but it wasn’t my style. Still, I was pushing myself forward because I had made the appointment.
As I walked toward the tattoo chair, gangster rap blasted through the speakers: “Bitch, get out the way. Get out the way, bitch, get out the way.” (Yes, really, lol) The tattooist’s name was Michael—my birth father’s name, also once my middle name. At first it felt like a sign. But in that moment, with the music pounding, I realized: this isn’t for me.
I heard my friend Katie’s voice in my head, reminding me we had talked about getting tattoos together. And so I took a breath, turned to Michael, and said: “I deeply appreciate your time, but I think this would be more meaningful if my daughter—who is a tattooist—did this tattoo for me.” I offered to Venmo him for his time, thanked him, and walked out.
Ary was outside laughing, telling her sister Eden about it. Both of them were relieved I hadn’t gone through with it. And instead of leaving in disappointment, Ary and I had shared a full day together. She brought me coffee in the morning, helped me edit my blog, sat with me through the tattoo-that-didn’t-happen. Later, I got myself a hotel room, went dancing, and shook my grief out on the dance floor.
I danced away sadness and keening. I danced like everyone was watching—and I didn’t give a fuck. I came back to my breath, to life, to beauty. And then I showered, curled into a cool bed with air conditioning, and remembered: self-care is sacred too.
“The body says what words cannot.” — Martha Graham
I managed to sleep in this morning and I feel so deeply refreshed. Numerous people yesterday (including my mother) thanked me for choosing to stay. On that note, here is today’s reflection, for all the women learning to trust themselves again:
What truths have you been rolling away from like a tumbleweed?
What secrets are still six feet under in your family line?
What practices help you move grief and trauma through your body? Dance, tears, ceremony, journaling, walking barefoot—what’s yours?
And what would shift if you trusted your intuition enough to act on it, even when it means walking away from a choice you thought you’d already chosen?
Because yes—the truth may come undone. But in its wake, a new weave begins. And what it leaves behind is not just freedom, but fertile ground where strength, peace, happiness, and beauty can grow.
May your day be filled with moments of unadulterated bliss. From my heart to yours, Joy
Two days before my 50th birthday, I find myself circling back to my Aunt Katherine—the woman my mom told me I was most like. Sometimes she said it like a compliment, other times like a warning.
Katherine was born on January 19, 1952, and on Thursday January 17, 2002, she took her life. The year she left, her birthday fell on a Saturday, the same as mine does this year.
My Aunt Kath and IMy Baby Girl Ary and IKath & MarthaMy Aunt Reading to Me
I’m sitting here at 49, waiting to turn 50 on Saturday. This very day in my Aunt Kath’s life was the day she was preparing to leave. The alignment feels eerie, like a cosmic riddle that lingers in me. I’ve stepped into the exact place on the calendar where she stood, but unlike her, I am preparing to stay.
She was brilliant, industrious, and full of contradictions: a yoga teacher, physical therapist, and acupuncturist who helped countless people heal, yet could not always find that same healing for herself. She wove her own wool, made her own clothes, walked through the world with grace, and designed a beautiful home for herself. And yet, in her final chapter, despair moved in like uninvited houseguests she couldn’t evict.
The story I was told is that she walked into the woods on her property, leaned against one of her beloved trees, and cut herself free from this world. Her ex-husband told their daughter that she had frozen to death—a truth wrapped in a lie. Later, when the truth surfaced, my cousin had to grieve her mother all over again.
For me, the wound has always been twofold: losing the aunt I admired and having my mother throw her story at me like a cautionary tale. Get your life together, or you’ll end up like my sister, Katherine. Those words cut deeper than they probably ever meant to.
But in 2018, on a rough Valentine’s Day during my separation, I made a decision. I walked into a tattoo parlor in downtown Victoria and had a tiny tree etched onto my left wrist. The tattoo artist ran out of time so left my tiny tree unrooted. Today I am hoping to correct that and have roots and the lunar cycle added to my tattoo. It serves as a reminder to live. A visual anchor to say: the generational curse stops here.
Last night, sitting in this little cabin I’ve cultivated, I gave myself permission to do something I had never done—fully grieve her. I poured a glass of wine, thought about her life, and let myself cry, wail even, like those women from traditions where keening is sacred—an ancient practice of releasing grief with sound.
“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power.” —Washington Irving
This morning, I woke up to the sunrise. And it struck me that on the morning of her death, at 49, nearly 50, she was preparing to leave. I, at 49 turning 50, am preparing to stay.
As I was sitting in contemplation writing this story, a rainbow from one of my prisms landed on the tattoo on my wrist. I like to think it was my aunt’s spirit letting me know she’s at peace.
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” —Rumi
Her brother, my uncle, once told me that when he went to identify her body, her face looked peaceful. I’ve never been able to imagine that peace—until maybe today. Because in telling this story, in releasing it, I feel a small measure of inner peace myself.
Peaced Begins Within
And Katherine’s line didn’t end with her. Her daughter, Martha, now has two beautiful little girls of her own—wild and free. I remember doing yoga with my aunt and little cousin once upon a time, mats rolled out, our breath rising and falling together. Sometimes I ache that Martha cannot have her mother beside her for those same moments with her daughters. But instead of staying in that grief, I imagine another way forward: to one day sit with Martha and her girls, maybe with my own daughters too, and let our breath weave the generations together on the mat.
“Yoga is the journey of the self, through the self, to the self.” —The Bhagavad Gita
I wish my daughters had known her. I wish her brilliance, her artistry, and her laughter had rippled into their lives. But maybe, in some twisted grace, the baton she handed down was not her death, but the lesson to choose life.
“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot.” —Jamie Anderson
So here I am, two days from fifty, holding both the sorrow and the beauty. Grieving, but also grateful. A little cracked, but also breaking open.
My Depiction Of Life
And unlike my aunt, I choose life. Because even with its shadows, life still holds sunrises, laughter, and so many moments my aunt never got to witness. Maybe that’s the bravest thing we can do. To keep choosing life, again and again.,
If you’ve carried grief that never had space to breathe—maybe now is your moment. Find a quiet place, give yourself permission to feel it all, even if it’s messy, even if it doesn’t make sense. Tears don’t weaken us; they water our roots. And if you’re longing for someone you can’t reach anymore, ask yourself: Is there another way I can honor them by living out what they loved?
Maybe this is the real inheritance: not money, not property, not even family stories. But the choice to keep living. To keep showing up. To keep saying yes when the shadow says no.
And so, I ask you: What is the one small reminder you can create for yourself—like my tree tattoo—that keeps you here, keeps you alive, and keeps you choosing to continue living and loving your story?
And remember, you do not need to walk this path alone. I am here. If you need support, please reach out or share your story with me.
From my heart to yours, Joy
✨ Tarot Card for This Post: The Star
The Star is about renewal, healing, and hope after devastation. It’s the card of washing away grief under the night sky and remembering that light always returns. To me, it feels like Katherine’s message is not just about her death—it’s about the possibility of peace, of living with openness and love even after deep wounds.
Seven weeks; that’s how long it took from setting the first post to moving into my tiny cabin. 7 weeks of sawdust, sweat, bruises, laughter, a few arguments, and the kind of exhaustion that makes you doubt everything—including yourself.
Housing Has Never Been Neutral
For me, houses are never just walls. They’re tinderboxes of memory.
My childhood cabin burned. Then, in 1997, I spent months pouring myself into a lake house renovation with my crew. We finished just in time for Christmas. My husband our daughter Eden, and I, pregnant with Sid, were set to move in on Christmas Eve. That day, I got the call: the house was gone. Ashes.
People often say tragedy comes in threes. The possibility of another loss gnaws at my mind like a rat in a cage. But June 2nd marked a new beginning, a fresh start. When the papers were signed, I felt a rush of relief. We stepped onto over 13 acres of our land, let the dogs spill out of the car; the moment was surreal. Home again. Not just for me—I’m not the only one who’s lost houses. After my divorce, our family home went too. But today I want to share a gentle reminder, dreams do come true. It was like the land itself opened its arms, saying: You can root here, for now.
“The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” — Maya Angelo
Then yesterday—thunder and lightning cracked so loud it rattled the metal RV cover over my head, like the earth itself splitting. Minutes later, smoke rose. A property on nearby Wolf Creek was burning. Fire crews and PG&E trucks swarmed in. They got it contained quickly. Two acres had burned. No one was injured, and no homes were destroyed. Relief again but always shadowed by that inevitability. I have the utmost respect and gratitude for the first responders who contained the potential devastation of this fire.
Out of Square, Out of Patience
A week after closing, I brought in an old friend to help set the foundation. He had more experience than me, so I slipped back into “helper” mode. But the deck—the foundation of my home and the makings of my floor—wound up being 4,5″ out of square.
It doesn’t sound like much, but if you’ve ever built, you know it’s the curse that keeps on cursing, lol. He left, and I was stuck with it. Untangling that mistake through every stage became its own lesson. Sometimes you inherit other people’s angles, but you still have to build something that stands the test of time.
The Build: Family Strength
This wasn’t just me. Ary and Sid were beside me. We rotated strength. On the days I crumbled, they carried the load. On the days they collapsed, I picked it up and vice versa.
Back in ’99, a skill saw slipped—tore through my jeans and left a tiny gash on my leg. Close enough to leave me leery of them for years. That weakness plagued my building process.
It was Sid who changed that. He placed the saw in my hands, confidence gleaming in his eyes. He knew I must conquer my fear. He pointed at a branch and told me to cut. Not what the saw was meant for, but it broke the spell. I made the cut safely, and years of fear loosened its grip. He was also the pillar during the framing and shelling in process.
Later, Ary flew back to BC for a summer getaway and Sid began his own rite of passage. Barefoot, he carried lumber up the ridge, piece by piece. He was beginning his own cabin build. It was more than building—it was initiation. The new focuses meant that the rest of my tiny cabin build was on me.
That’s when I took a desperately needed five-day sabbatical to GD60 in San Francisco. I almost didn’t go, but my crew convinced me I needed to share this experience with them. I also needed to share this experience with our extended jamfam. I danced, I sang, I lost myself in music and friends. I came back sick with bronchitis, which slowed my progress. I also returned with a gift from Chris and Lisa—a fancy new hammer. They also gave me a little pouch that reads, “I’m not bossy, I am the boss”. I giggled at that. And yes—it’s the boss within my soul that carried me to the finish line.
Pride in Progress
One of my proudest moments came when Ary returned from refreshed. The door wasn’t hung. The flooring was only half-finished. I was wrestling the bay window, which proved to be a beast of an install, but she walked in and saw pine on the walls, the trim was taking shape, and she noticed the meaningful progress that unfolded in her absence. Her eyes lit up, and I thought: Every blister, every splinter, every stubbed toe was worth this.
“Houses are like mirrors—they don’t just shelter us, they reflect us.” — Oprah Winfrey
The Empty Arrival
I thought the cabin would be the finish line, the place where I’d finally feel full. Instead, I felt hollow. Maybe it’s because houses aren’t destinations—they’re just containers. The real fullness was already here. It was in Ary’s laughter on the deck. It was in Sid’s barefoot climb up the ridge. It was in the dogs tumbling playfully across the floor of my cabin. It was in the fire that didn’t take our home this time.
I thought I was building a cabin. But maybe the cabin was building me.
“In the process of letting go you will lose many things from the past, but you will find yourself.” — Deepak Chopra
I looked up at the beauty of what we’d built and down at Ary in her conversion bus. A wave of guilt hit me hard—irrational and erratic. I wanted her to have her bus and my tiny cabin too. I wanted my daughter to be more comfortable. I felt like I was overstanding her. I felt guilty for having such a beautiful space. It dragged us all down for a moment. Part bronchitis, part worthiness wound—the same worthiness I coach others through, but clearly still need to work on myself. The lesson I learned through this process many mothers and parents need to hear.
As mothers, we often carry a deep longing for our children’s lives to be easier than our own. Many of us were raised to believe that sacrifice and servitude define a devoted mother. This belief is that love is proven through self-denial. It also means giving until we are depleted and have nothing left to give. My children have always felt my unwavering commitment to them. They know I would make sacrifices for them without hesitation.
But what undoes me, what brings tears to my eyes, is what they ask of me instead: not to sacrifice, not to serve endlessly, but to live. To achieve my dreams. To love myself enough to accept the gift of this life that we have created together. Their request is not for my suffering. It is for me to experience unadulterated bliss and pure happiness. They want me to rise into the fullness of who I am. In doing so, I give them permission to do the same.
Inspiration and Reflection
When it was all said and done, Eda, who often serves Ary and I coffee at one of our favourite local spots looked me in the eyes—bright with her own dreams of land. She told me I was her inspiration. Yes, I believed her. Reflecting on Eda’s sentiment helped me acknowledge our collective accomplishment and step into my bliss.
Then yesterday, with thunder splitting the air and fire sparking nearby, I realized something: even if this land is taken from us, I’ll find the strength to start again. My hope is that we don’t have to. My hope is that we carve out not just happiness, but years of something steadier—belonging, beauty, resilience.
Reflection for You:
Have you ever chased something so hard—only to arrive and realize the arrival isn’t what fills you? If so, please share your process with me. May your day be filled with blessings…
From my heart to yours, Joy
Tarot Card for Today (I needed some inspiration and thought I’d share with you…)
The Tower — fitting, isn’t it? Fire, collapse, shockwaves—yet always with the promise of building again, stronger and truer. This card reflects the fires, the thunderclap, my out-of-square deck *for the record, we corrected my foundation and deck, lol. But also, the liberation: once the false scaffolding falls, only what’s essential remains.
“We remember, we rebuild, we come back stronger!” – Barack Obama
“Sometimes we live no particular way but our own.” – Grateful Dead
Last year in 2024, I began my Dead and Co. Sphere run. Here I am again, doing it all over, dancing through the weekends, camera in hand, eyes wide open waiting to capture moments of pure unadulterated bliss. This isn’t just a concert series. It’s a living, breathing rhythm that pulses through every fiber of the scene. Last night, amid the sea of kaleidoscopic color and swirling sound, something truly beautiful happened.
Grateful Drag didn’t take the stage—but they didn’t need to.
Born of rebellion and reverence, BERTHA: Grateful Drag made their debut on April 29, 2023, in the heart of Tennessee—just weeks after legislation threatened to silence the art of drag. But instead of backing down, they rose in glitter and grace, turning their first performance into an act of joy-fueled defiance.
It wasn’t just a show—it was a celebration of identity, community, and the enduring power of music to unite and uplift. That night, under the soft lights of Dee’s Country Cocktail Lounge, they didn’t just play Grateful Dead songs—they breathed life into them, raising over $4,000 for local LGBTQ+ organizations and igniting a movement that dances forward still.
Last night at the Sphere, members of BERTHA: Grateful Drag shimmered through the crowd like celestial bodies in motion—graceful, glowing, grounded in something so powerful it could only be described as love. I spotted them weaving between heads and hugs, platforms planted firmly in the sacred dust of the GA floor. They were there with us, not above us. And that’s the magic.
They weren’t performing—they were simply being. Being bold. Being beautiful. Being unapologetically themselves. And in doing so, they gave every single one of us permission to do the same.
This is the part of my journey that’s always been about the people. I first started taking photos during the Sphere run last year, after a moment that changed everything. I looked up at Jay Blakesberg, one of the most iconic documentarians of Dead culture, and asked, “How does someone get to where you are?” That conversation planted a seed. Since then, my lens has become a way to remember the truth of who we are: wild, free, and deeply connected.
But my focus was never the band. It was the bliss. The surrender. The swirling expressions of passion and presence on the faces around me. That’s the magic I chase. The magic I capture.
Last night, that magic had a name: BERTHA: Grateful Drag.
What makes Grateful Drag so powerful isn’t just their aesthetic—it’s their embodiment of creative freedom in a time when that freedom is under threat. With each glittering gesture and every layered harmony, they carve out space where being fully seen is not only allowed, but honored.
Their presence is a protest expressed through celebration, a living invitation to imagine a more inclusive world. As conversations around trans and queer rights grow increasingly charged, Grateful Drag offers a reminder that self-expression is sacred. A reminder that art, when rooted in truth, can become a sanctuary for everyone who longs to belong.
They tour the country not just playing music, but partnering with LGBTQ+ organizations, hiring local drag queens to emcee, and bringing communities together in beautiful, glitter-laced solidarity. Whether you’re a lifelong Deadhead or someone discovering these songs for the first time through a veil of lashes and lace, Grateful Drag welcomes you into the family.
“You ain’t gonna learn what you don’t wanna know.”
That line keeps playing in my head. Because you have to want to feel this. You have to let it in. And once you do, the euphoria is unmistakable.
In a world that often feels too heavy, too fast, and too uncertain—this kind of radical authenticity is not just entertainment. It’s medicine. Medicine for the soul.
This weekend, BERTHA: Grateful Drag is performing at Brooklyn Bowl, Las Vegas. Not just a show. A celebration. Doors open late, and if you’re lucky, the glitter will still be glowing by sunrise. Come feel it for yourself. Come let yourself be seen.
“Without love in the dream, it’ll never come true.”
From my heart to yours. Joy
Grateful Drag – Live at Brooklyn Bowl Las Vegas
Join Grateful Drag for two unforgettable late-night performances at Brooklyn Bowl Las Vegas on Friday, April 18, and Saturday, April 19, 2025. Doors open at 11:30 PM for both 18+ events. The venue is located at 3545 Las Vegas Blvd S, Suite 22, Las Vegas, NV 89109, within The LINQ Promenade. Tickets are available through Brooklyn Bowl’s official website, Ticketmaster, and AXS. Clark County residents who purchase tickets can enjoy free parking at any Caesars Self-Parking location by validating at the Brooklyn Bowl retail store. Please note that all tickets are standing room only, and a valid government-issued ID is required for entry.
Stay connected with BERTHA: Grateful Drag—the world’s first all-drag Grateful Dead tribute band—by following them on their official social media channels. Explore their latest performances, tour dates, and behind-the-scenes content on Instagram at @gratefuldrag. Join their community on Facebook at facebook.com/gratefuldrag. For a list of their social media profiles and additional content, visit their Linktree: linktr.ee/gratefuldrag.
My connection with the Grateful Dead began long ago, when I was shy teenage girl. My childhood bestie Lisa and her mama Michelle took me to my first show. I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t know most of the songs. The air was hazy with smoke. The energy was thick, electric. And then—I saw the spinners.
They moved like they were tethered to something cosmic. Eyes closed, arms open, twirling endlessly in devotion. I was spellbound. I remember thinking, how the fuck do they do that!?! I witnessed their freedom. It stirred something deep inside me I could not yet name.
Sphere 2025
The Summer That Shook Me
Decades later, in the summer of 2024, I found myself attending most of Dead & Co’s residency shows at the Sphere in Las Vegas. I showed up searching for that same magic I glimpsed all those years ago. And while I found moments of it—flashes of awe, ecstasy, connection—there was also unexpected turbulence.
Tensions surfaced within the community. Underneath the music and the movement, there were fractures. Conflict, judgment, and division felt deeply out of alignment with the spirit of the band. It was disorienting. I came seeking healing and wholeness, and instead I found myself navigating an undercurrent of discord.
So I did what I could. I leaned in. I talked with people. I tried to bring forward a spirit of collaboration, care, and community. There were moments where it seemed to land. Moments where something softened. But it was a lot to hold—and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to return.
Sphere 2024
A Hesitant Return
When the spring 2025 Sphere run was announced, my heart leapt—but then that old dread crept in. Could I do it again? Did I even want to?
As the shows approached I was settled in Vegas, waiting. Watching. Hoping for a shift. But as conflict began to stir again in the lead-up to the first show, I made the decision to pull back.
On Wednesday night, while the crew gathered to line up, I stayed home—sitting in the dark, meditating, reflecting. I wasn’t sure I wanted to face another season of emotional intensity. And then something unexpected happened. Lowell FaceTimed me from lineup. He’s been a grounding force in this community, though we’re very different people, we’ve found a powerful rhythm working together.
That night, he thanked me for my continued commitment to fostering grateful community. He shared that he’d made an announcement honoring my intention. The lineup had gone smoothly. His call, his words, and his steady leadership meant the world to me.
Lowell & Crew
The Shift
I still wasn’t certain when I woke up Thursday morning. But my good friend Gil’s voice echoed in my head—gentle, persistent, true. And by 10 a.m., I was back. I arrived in time to reconnect with my close crew. I hugged familiar faces. I settled into the space with presence before the show began that evening.
Thursday night, the energy felt different—softer, more gracious. There was a sense of openness I hadn’t felt in a long time. My body began to relax into the music. The people around me were kind, grounded. Something was shifting.
Reconnection
Friday’s Reminder
By the second night, I found myself in a familiar groove. The rhythm returned. The hugs came easier. The laughter felt real. But that night brought its own reckoning. Michelle, Lisa’s mama who took me to my first show, had a health scare. It shook us to the core.
It reminded us how fragile life is. How quickly things can change. And how deeply we need each other when they do.
Saturday: The Circle Closes
And then came Saturday. That’s when my longtime friend Prism arrived.
Prism was tall with long curly gray hair. He has the energy of a musical wizard. Prism brought a quiet magic with him. I had looked forward to introducing him to the community, but I was also a tad apprehensive. What unfolded moved me beyond words—he was welcomed instantly, fully, lovingly.
Watching the people I’ve grown close to embrace him as an extension of me made something click. I realized in that moment: they see me. I belong.
The show was vibrant, alive with connection. Calm yet electric. There were still a few bumps—unpredictable moments—but the energy held. We held. And I felt something I hadn’t dared to name before: peace.
A Tribe, Found
Back at the New Year’s show in Fort Lauderdale, Lisa told me, This is your tribe Jelibean (her endearing childhood nickname for me).
I remember laughing, even resisting. I said more than once, “This is not my fucking tribe!”
But this weekend? I felt it.
By Saturday night, I looked around and knew in my bones—I am home.
A Love Letter
So here’s my love letter to this journey:
To Dead & Co., for creating sonic medicine we can dissolve into.
To the Sphere and staff for being a sacred container of light, sound, and rebirth.
To Vibee for weaving the invisible threads that made it all possible.
To the strangers who became friends.
To those who spun like prayers.
To those who stayed, who showed up, who softened.
And to my crew. They held the line with strength and grace. Their quiet loyalty kept the wheels turning.
From my heart to yours, thank you.
Because in a world that often feels too fractured to bear, we need reminders of what’s still wholesome. We need music. We need meaning. We need moments like these.
While some parts of life are beyond our control, we are in charge of shaping our day-to-day experience. If certain areas of your life aren’t as you wish—whether due to routine, habit, or fear of the unknown—remember that this, too, is a choice. Every day, we hold the power to evolve or stick to the comfort of the familiar. And if we feel stagnant or stuck, on some level, we’re choosing to stay there. Those small, almost invisible choices shape our lives far more than we might realize.
Let’s be real, though: change is hard. Sometimes we cling to what’s familiar because it feels safer than taking a leap of faith. After my divorce, I found myself doing exactly that. I threw myself into “productive” projects—rebuilding my finances, setting up temporary housing, and diving into the endless allure of fixer-uppers. I told myself this was progress. But deep down, I knew I was keeping busy without really letting myself live.
Yes, I became the queen of fixer-uppers. Demo the walls? Check. Replace the counter top? Done. Move to the next spot? On it. It was as if I was auditioning to be the world’s most well-traveled DIY specialist. But here’s the truth—I wasn’t just moving to save money or for the sake of a project. I was moving because staying still meant confronting an uncomfortable question: What do I really want? I was choosing to stay busy rather than get unstuck, avoiding the deeper choice to evolve.
Musicians Who Embraced Evolution
Choosing not to change can keep us stuck, while embracing growth allows us to adapt and thrive. Some famous musicians understood this concept intimately, evolving and reinventing themselves in ways that redefined their careers and created lasting legacies. Here are a few favorite examples of artists who embraced change as their muse:
The Grateful Dead Evolving into Dead & Co.
In 1995, the Grateful Dead faced a pivotal moment after the passing of their beloved lead guitarist and primary vocalist, Jerry Garcia. Losing such an iconic figure could have been the end. But the remaining members chose another path—they evolved. With Dead & Co., the band invited new talent like John Mayer infusing fresh energy into their classic sound. The result? A revival that honored the past while capturing new generations of fans. They chose change, building a bridge between eras and keeping their music’s spirit alive.
David Bowie’s Transformative Reinventions
David Bowie was the ultimate chameleon, evolving his style, persona, and sound throughout his career. From Ziggy Stardust to the Thin White Duke, Bowie didn’t just ride cultural waves—he created them. Each reinvention wasn’t just for show; it was a reflection of his identity. Bowie’s adaptability allowed him to remain relevant across decades, each transformation adding depth to his legacy. He didn’t wait for change to come; he sought it out, choosing evolution over clinging to the familiar.
Johnny Cash’s Late-Career Revival
By the 1980s, Johnny Cash’s career was in decline, and many saw him as past his prime. But Cash refused to let his legacy fade. He boldly collaborated with producer Rick Rubin. They created a series of raw, stripped-down albums. These albums redefined his sound. His cover of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt” became one of his most iconic performances, resonating deeply with audiences young and old. By embracing vulnerability, Cash revitalized his career, proving that growth was essential to longevity.
These artists chose transformation over comfort. They adapted, thrived, and left a lasting impact. In our lives, we face similar choices. We can stick to familiar patterns or embrace change, allowing us to create something even more profound.
Where Are You Choosing Comfort Over Change?
Please take a moment to reflect on areas of your life where you feel comfortable—maybe a little too comfortable. Is there something you’ve been wanting to change? A new experience you’ve dreamed of? A path that’s been calling your name, but you keep sticking to the well-worn road? Do you have a job that feels unfulfilling? Has a relationship grown stagnant? Are you stuck in a mindset that holds you back? Ask yourself: Am I choosing this because it’s right, or because it’s familiar? Sticking to what feels safe might be comforting. However, it can also mean trading potential growth for the predictability of routine.
Action Step: Write down one area in your life that feels stagnant. Ask yourself what small steps you could take today to begin opening up to change. You don’t have to dive in headfirst; sometimes, just the intention to explore something new can shift our outlook.
Why Do We Resist Change?
Change challenges us, often making us cling to what feels secure. I get it—sometimes resistance to change feels like survival itself. But holding too tightly to the known can mean missing out on the beauty of the unknown. This past year, I faced that resistance myself. Before this summer, I was stuck in a rut. I was hopping from one fixer-upper to the next. I convinced myself that this cycle was “practical.” Then my lifelong bestie challenged me to spend three months with her in Vegas. She wanted me to immerse myself in music, friendship, and a life that felt vibrant and alive.
Was it risky? Absolutely. But that experience broke through my comfort zone in the best way possible. I left Vegas feeling lighter, freer, and more willing to embrace life fully. And yes, while I promptly bought two more fixer-uppers (some habits die hard!), I’m now filling my life with music, friends, and laughter in ways I hadn’t before.
Action Step: Think of one comfort zone you’ve been hesitant to step out of. Imagine the potential growth that could come from just one small change. How might your life feel if you embraced even a tiny shift?
Embracing the Balance: Familiarity and the Thrill of Change
Choosing change doesn’t mean abandoning everything we know. It means opening ourselves up to new layers of passion and growth. We find ways to balance the comfort of the familiar with the excitement of something new. So if you’re holding back, consider giving yourself permission to step out, even if it’s just in small ways. Infuse your life with music, friendship, laughter—whatever inspires you. There’s beauty in choosing to evolve. By saying yes to change, you open yourself to a life more abundant and fulfilling than you ever imagined.
A Final Thought
“Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them—that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.” — Lao Tzu
In the end, what we’re not changing, we’re choosing. This simple truth has the power to reshape our lives. Just as Bowie, Cash, and Dead & Co. found new directions by embracing transformation, we, too, can create lives filled with purpose, energy, and meaning. Here’s to the courage to embrace change, the wisdom to let go of “it’s fine,” and the joy of planting roots where we truly belong. Because, as Lao Tzu reminds us, when we let life flow forward, that’s when the magic happens.
I hope you have a truly blissful rest of your day. From my heart to yours. — Joy
Happy Sunday. I hope you’ve found a few moments this week to breathe, laugh, and connect with the people who bring warmth to your life. Today, I want to share a story close to my heart. It is a journey that reminds me just how important our oldest friendships are. These are the bonds that have weathered the years and carried us through life’s highs and lows.
Have you ever thought about the friends who have shaped your life? They are those rare people who know you better than you know yourself. They are the ones who’ve seen you at your best and your worst. They stay by your side, no matter the miles or years that come between you. If so, you know that there’s a special strength in these connections. It’s a quiet resilience that seems to carry you, even through life’s hardest chapters.
Childhood Bonds: Friendship and Survival
My lifelong bestie Lisa has been in my life since I was just a few months old. We grew up as neighbors in farmhouses nestled beside each other, isolated but never alone, because we had each other. Our early years were filled with laughter and adventure, yet they were also shadowed by hardship. Both of us experienced loss at a young age: Lisa lost her father, and I lost my little sister. We didn’t fully understand the sorrow. However, we felt its weight. It settled into our lives in ways we couldn’t yet express.
For me, home wasn’t always a place of comfort. I grew up navigating the shadows of poverty, tension between my mother and my adopted father, and his ongoing abuse. But Lisa was there, a constant light, my safe harborto protect me from the storm. Together, we found a way to laugh and play, even when life felt heavy.
As we grew, Lisa’s family moved to the city. I stayed in the countryside. We endearingly referred to ourselves as country mouse and city mouse. She would come up to the lake. We’d swim, sail, and escape into a world of freedom. I would visit her in the city. It was a place that was daunting but alive with vibrant energy. We became part of each other’s worlds, grounding our bond even as life carried us down different paths.
Rediscovering Joy: A Summer in Vegas
Lisa kept our bond strong through the years. She shared stories of her life and her adventures following the Grateful Dead. She found a profound sense of community there. She insisted that these were “my people” and that I needed to experience it myself. Her stories stayed with me, especially during those years when I was working hard, trying to rebuild after my divorce. I was focused on survival, and giving myself permission to have fun seemed impossible.
But then, something shifted. I told one of my sons I was thinking of joining Lisa for a summer of Dead & Co. concerts at the Sphere in Vegas, and he quickly replied, “You don’t have time for that.” His words stung; they reflected how much I had forgotten to live for myself. Life is in session, I realized, and sometimes, we have to be bold enough to dive in. So, I made a decision that felt both freeing and intimidating—I went to Vegas.
That summer became a new chapter for me. Lisa and I shared an Airbnb oasis, complete with a pool, hot tub, and endless laughter. Family members visited. Our kids came. Lisa’s mom, who had always been like a second mother to me, visited too. Friends from all walks of life joined us. Each day felt like a reunion, and each night a celebration. It wasn’t just about the concerts. It was a season of healing. It was about rediscovering joy. It was about reconnecting with the parts of myself I’d neglected.
Navigating the Deadhead Community: Unwritten Rules and Revelations
When people imagine Deadheads, they often think of open-hearted, accepting, jovial souls who embody love and peace. While that spirit is certainly alive in the Dead & Co. community, I quickly discovered a deeper layer—an unspoken social code, rules that newcomers aren’t always prepared for.
Early on, I encountered a few long timers who were abrasive at best and disturbingly unkind at worst. It wasn’t what I expected, and for a moment, I questioned whether I belonged. But being the strong, independent woman I am, I wasn’t about to let a few rough encounters deter me. With support from Lisa and my new friends, we embarked on a quiet mission. To create peace within the “Rail Riders” group—those dedicated fans who claim the front row, eager to be close to the music. Becoming accepted within this circle was challenging, and there were moments I felt like walking away. But slowly, small breakthroughs happened: shared smiles, moments of understanding, gestures that built fragile bridges.
As the music started each night, it was as if all the egos, conflicts, and tension dissolved. We moved together, swayed together, and lost ourselves in the rhythm. The shows reminded me that camaraderie and empathy aren’t just lofty ideals. They’re essential when people from all walks of life come together to celebrate something bigger than themselves. I realized the community wasn’t about perfection—it was about people, real and raw, navigating their own path to connection.
Not a Deadhead, but Forever Changed
Throughout the summer, people joked that I was the last person to know I’m a Deadhead. Even Lisa teased me, saying, “You’ve been to almost 30 Dead & Co. shows, but oh no you’re not a Deadhead.” I don’t feel the same drive to follow the band from city to city. I do however admire the devotion of the die hards. That level of intensity feels foreign to me. Yet, there were moments when I felt something in the music had touched me deeply. I feel the draw expanding within. Who knows, maybe I am a deadhead after all…
One of those moments happened on July 11, when the moon was full. The real moon was projected on the screen, like it was hanging there just for us. Standing on the rail, I looked up. The band started playing Standing on the Moon, a poignant song that reflects on distance and perspective. Memories of my childhood flooded back. As a little girl, I would gaze at the moon whenever I felt overwhelmed, finding solace in its constant presence. There’s a story my mother tells of a night when I climbed a ladder with a butterfly net, convinced I could catch the moon. In my child’s eyes, it seemed so close, a comforting friend.
I was down the rail from Lisa, but found my way to her. That night in Vegas, I stood beside her, and without any words, we both began to cry. It felt like we were grieving and celebrating all at once. Letting go of the past and embracing the beauty of the moment. In that life altering moment, I understood why people connect so deeply to this music. It’s not just about sound; it’s about the space it creates for shared healing, for unspoken connection.
Taking the Inspiration Home
When the summer ended, I was more exhausted than I’d anticipated. I felt soul-tired from the intensity. I stood at the front with over 20,000 people behind me. I felt the energy of the crowd and the pulse of the music. The vibration ran through me. It was a profound experience, one I couldn’t walk away from unchanged. Reconnecting with Lisa, sharing those moments, and watching her build a beautiful life and relationship was transformative. Her friends became mine, and the bonds we created were gifts I’ll carry in my heart forever.
Since then, I’ve continued to pursue music-focused adventures. The inspiration it sparked in me led me to the Harvest Moon Festival I attended in California. Seeing Neil Young live and getting to hear John Mayer sing his own music was magical. I am looking forward to upcoming adventures in New Orleans, Fort Lauderdale, and even Mexico. Each experience and note reminds me to embrace life. I celebrate the joy of being a woman with a lifetime of memories. Endless possibilities are still ahead.
Looking back, this summer wasn’t just a series of concerts. It was a journey of rediscovering friendship, releasing old wounds, and reconnecting to joy in its purest form. I’ve learned that community, resilience, and empathy are more than ideals. They are essential, powerful forces. These forces shape us when we come together. I leave with a heart full of gratitude. I have a renewed spirit. I am open to the unexpected beauty waiting to inspire me. From my heart to yours, Joy
Good morning beautiful. I promised to share more about my current project. There’s something about seeing potential in the broken that attracts me. The weathered and the seemingly unfixable have always drawn me in. Over the years, I’ve found myself captivated not just by fixer-upper houses. I’m also drawn to “project men”—men with rough edges, untold stories, and scars they carry from life. Like a house that’s stood through storms and seasons, they hold a hidden beauty beneath the surface. I’ve always felt that if I just put in the work, it would all be worth it. Seeing them through to their best would make the effort worthwhile.
This journey with my fixer-upper isn’t just about building walls and patching roofs. It reflects my own patterns and my need to nurture. It also shows my belief that transformation is possible. It’s a reminder. We are often drawn to these projects by a desire to see beauty where others miss it. We want to create something lasting from what feels fragile. For those who’ve been there—who’ve loved, labored, and invested in both homes and hearts—you know the journey isn’t easy. However, moments of clarity and completion make it all worth it.
I landed here solo but some of my kids showed up with their partners. In total I had 5 young adults in this dilapidated home. I felt embarrassed at first, but they share my vision and truly enjoyed the freedom this place provides. A few days after their arrival, I woke in the middle of the night. I heard the rocking sounds of a mandala drum kit. My youngest daughter was playing her bass guitar. My oldest son’s voice echoed through the construction site. The house vibrated with music and it made my heart sing.
They are go getters like their mother. In the vastness of this unforgiving desert, they crafted a music room from nothing but dust and silence. Their industrious spirits brought it to life. With limited resources, they transformed a barren space into a sanctuary for sound. Their boundless creativity turned it into a place where melodies now rise against the quiet vastness. The music echoes their drive to create beauty where there was once only emptiness. The music intertwined with laughter, filling the space with a rare sense of solace. It’s been a tough few years. There were many hurdles to overcome. Some hardships nearly broke me. Others transformed into small victories. My faith and sheer determination will help me see this through.
Now, as I sit here at sunrise, I gather my thoughts. I can’t help but question my sanity for taking on another fixer-upper of this magnitude. The golden light slowly spreads across the barren land. It touches the dust and rocks with a gentle warmth. I wonder… why do I do this to myself? Why, after all I’ve been through, do I choose the hard path over and over? Will life ever be easy for me?
I think back to my birthday at the end of August. It was 6:09 a.m., and I woke up at a nearby hotel. I realized I needed to be there by 7 if I wanted to see the for sale by owner property I found on Craigslist. I quickly threw on some clothes and rushed out the door. As I drove through the desert, the roads were unforgiving—bumpy, rocky, dust clouds rising behind me. My vintage Lexus convertible was not the right car for the job. Without cell service, I had no idea if I was even on the right path. It was just me and the vastness of the desert. The silence was almost loud, the kind that presses against your skin.
And then, in the distance, I spotted a large wooden house. It seemed to rise from the dust like something out of a forgotten fairy tale. Its wooden frame was worn and weathered by time. Yet, there was something enchanting about it. It felt as if it had a story to tell. I turned down the driveway next to it, gravel crunching beneath my tires. My heart sank as I saw where the path led. A second, unfinished house was hidden behind the first. It was in a state of near catastrophic disrepair.
As I pulled into the dirt driveway, my breath caught in my throat. It was still early, too early to be out here alone with no service, surrounded by unfamiliar land. Part of me wanted to turn back. As I drove up the driveway, a man stepped out of the unfinished house. His figure blended with the mess of land around him. There was no turning back now.
I stopped the car. As I opened the door, a pack of dogs rushed toward me. They barked fiercely but quickly warmed to my presence. I stood still, feeling the heat of the early morning sun on my skin, taking in the sorrowful chaos around me. The land was littered with the remnants of projects—started but never finished. Piles of materials lay scattered about, a patchwork of intentions left undone. The air was thick with dust. I felt it settling in my lungs. It seemed as if this place had already begun to consume me.
The man invited me inside. The moment I crossed the threshold, my chest tightened, anxiety creeping up my spine. The house was overwhelming—filled with years of accumulation, clutter everywhere, suffocating in its density. They say one man’s treasure is another man’s junk. If this was treasure to him, it was nothing but an overwhelming amount of junk to me. I stood there, barely able to breathe, the weight of the place pressing down on me. This was not what I had imagined.
I told him flatly that it was a hard no. I couldn’t take on a project this immense. It does not align with my minimalist spirit. I longed for clean lines, open space, and simplicity. The sheer magnitude of what needed to be done felt insurmountable. But then, something shifted. We sat outside on chairs that had seen better days, sipping coffee while the dogs lay at our feet. As I gazed at the desert stretching far beyond, I noticed the mountains painted in soft pastels. I had one of those visions I sometimes get. I saw the potential despite the rubble, the bones of a dream hidden beneath the dust.
By 3:20 that afternoon, I signed the contract. By 4:20, it was submitted to the title company, and just over two weeks later, I closed on the property. Now, a couple of weeks into being here, the reality of it all has set in. A lot of work has been done, but the scale of what remains is staggering. I sit here this morning, watching the sunrise, contemplating what today will bring. There’s still so much to do. It feels impossible. I remind myself to breathe. Take it one step at a time.
As the sun climbs higher, it paints the sky in shades of gold and amber. I ask myself again—why do I make life so hard for myself? But then, as the warmth of the morning light wraps around me, I remember… this is the journey. Transforming the broken and forgotten, the challenge, the moments of doubt—this is all part of it. And maybe, just maybe, the deeper meaning is in the unfolding of it all.
This fixer-upper home has reminded me of the thrill I find in certain projects. Projects that push boundaries. They demand more than I initially think I have to give. For me, these ventures aren’t just tasks; they’re transformative journeys. Each project becomes a mirror. It reflects my resilience and my desire to create beautiful chaos from sorrowful chaos. I gain a sense of satisfaction that only comes from diving into the unknown and emerging with something lasting. It’s about embracing the mess, trusting the process, and learning from every challenge.
If you’re like me, drawn to daunting projects that light a fire within you, I’d love to hear your story. Please reach out and share the times you’ve taken on the “impossible” and found joy in the process. What drives you to begin? What keeps you going when the way forward isn’t clear? Let’s celebrate the courage to take on challenges that are beyond our capabilities. Appreciate the satisfaction of seeing them through to completion. I hope you are having a truly inspirational day.
A gentle reminder from my heart to yours. From the depths of sorrowful chaos, we rise, shaping each shattered piece into beautiful chaos; a life re-imagined. Resilience and creativity turn heartache into art.
As I launch Unscripted Joy, I find myself at a crossroads: the culmination of years of writing, exploring and transformation. Since 2009, when I created Tantrachick, my first blog, I’ve unabashedly journeyed through a universe of words, insights, and experiences. Along the way, I opened myself to new patterns of thinking. I reconnected with my inner fire. I embraced vulnerability in ways I never dreamed possible. My path brought me closer to this new chapter in life. A space where I can share my evolving voice, as well as my personal and professional transformation. I am confident that this global community will continue to grow alongside me. I hope my new blog, Unscripted Joy, inspires you. Through my words and collective experiences, I aim to ignite something powerful within your soul.
Tantrachick emerged from my curiosity to dive deeply into sensuous expression, self-discovery, and intimate connection with myself and my lover. The response was extraordinary. My blog reached millions of readers worldwide over the years, connecting with people from over 150 countries. On New Year’s Day in 2018, I took another leap into Get Naked with Joy. GNWJ was a body-positive blog that invited readers into even more transparent and personal spaces within my journey. Sharing my nakedness was profoundly moving; it taught me what it means to be vulnerable in front of the world. Writing from such a raw, exposed place was eye-opening. It unlocked a new understanding of authenticity. Readers responded by sharing their stories, offering support, and showing unfiltered images of their naked expression.
Reflecting on my journey over the past year, I’ve been on an inward path, focusing on transformation, healing, and growth. This time has been about reconnecting with passion, clarity, and purpose. These reconnections have reshaped how I see myself. They have also reshaped the work I want to share with you. This introspective time has reminded me of the power of reinvention. It also highlights the beauty in allowing ourselves to grow, shift, and experience sensuous living.
Over the past year music and dance has been one of the most profound influences in my life. Throughout 2024, I’ve attended over 30 music events. I’ve immersed myself in a beautiful new community of people worldwide. I have experienced the magic of live music on a whole new level. My travels took me to Florida, New Orleans, Vegas, and California. I explored the vibrant music scenes there. I reconnected with a part of myself that finds freedom and expression in uninhibited movement. I am now based in a rural part of Arizona where my transformative journey continues to inspire me.
“Once in awhile, you get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right”. -Grateful Dead
Returning to my ecstatic dance practice has been a powerful way to honor and release what lives within me. Dance is more than movement; it’s a journey into the self. Dance is both somatic and spiritual for me, and it’s a gift I’m looking forward to sharing with others again. I envision creating blissful retreat spaces. I want to host Dance Temple events and offer immersive coaching. I want to guide others to experience unadulterated bliss. I aim to help them find empowerment and freedom through dance, music, and authentic connection.
“Transformation isn’t about becoming someone new; it’s about uncovering the strength, wisdom, and beauty that’s been there all along. Embrace the process. stay grounded, and let the journey reveal your truest self”. -Unknown
The physical aspect of transformation has also been a part of my journey. Between 2022 and 2023, I spent 13 months renovating a house. Seeing it completed and sold last July was truly rewarding. In many ways, the renovation process mirrors the inner work I’ve been doing. It is a journey from deconstruction to recreation. I am finding beauty and potential in unexpected places. I am currently working on fixer-uppers in Iowa and Arizona. I’ll share more about these projects in future posts.
Launching Unscripted Joy is my way of reconnecting with my community. This community has been with me during so many phases of growth. Through this blog, and other platforms, I’m excited to celebrate transformation, self-expression, and the beauty of living life unscripted. Thank you for being here, whether you’ve followed my adventures from the early days or are joining me now. Here’s to the journey ahead—a path filled with passion, connection, and inspiration garnered from unscripted living.
From my heart to yours, Joy
Just Ask Joy: What does unscripted joy mean to you? How do you incorporate it into your life? Can you find new ways to include it? Please comment and share your thoughts…
PS: Happy Halloween!
Note: For those of you familiar with my writings, I deleted my blogs Tantrachick & Get Naked With Joy. I still have my @getnakedwithjoy X (Twitter) profile. The rest of my work is archived in my soul and in the minds of my dedicated readers. Unscripted Joy is a fresh start and it will take time, energy and work to manifest my new vision. Please bare with me (pun intended;).
If you have been following my social media accounts or reading this blog (which I launched on New Year’s Day in 2018) you have likely seen a variety of nude or partially nude photos of me. It is not my intention to influence others through my photos or my words, I simply enjoy sharing my “Get Naked With Joy” adventures. From what I understand, different groups of people use different terms to describe naturism and related activities.
According to Wikipedia:
“Naturism, or nudism, is a cultural and political movement practising, advocating, and defending personal and social nudity, most but not all of which takes place on private property. The term may also refer to a lifestyle based on personal, family, or social nudism. Naturism may take a number of forms. It may be practiced individually, within a family, socially, or in public.”
Some people are very particular about the term used to describe their lifestyle. There are a variety of terms used to describe personal, situational and social nudity. For me, the term does not matter. Because I love being outdoors, the word naturism resonates with me, but nudism is also a term I embrace.
I grew up with a dad who was a social and situational nudist, so I have always felt comfortable being naked. At the same time, I have avoided sharing naked photos of myself publicly until this year. I suppose I was afraid of the reactions of friends, family and strangers.
On a personal level, my life changed dramatically in 2017. One of the aspects of me that shifted throughout the process I went through is that I somehow evolved into a woman who refuses to allow the conservative, limiting, or shameful thoughts of others to shape my life.
For those of you who read my blog, Tantrachick, I am truly excited to share my new adventures with you! Today, my brother-in-law, drove to Mount Maxwell to take photos of my beautiful sister, Grace, with the gorgeous backdrop of Mount Maxwell.
While they were on their adventure, I explored the wilderness of the Salt Spring Conservancy with a local photographer to have my own rewilding adventure! It has been an absolutely stunning day! I hope you have had an equally beautiful day!
Unscripted Joy 