Transformation is rarely easy.

I once spent a few summers helping to shepherd monarch caterpillars into butterflies for release, an undertaking that’s both astonishing and beautiful: The insatiable caterpillar munches loudly on milkweed leaves, readying itself for metamorphosis. After a couple of hungry weeks – shedding its skin as it grows exponentially – the arthropod finds a quiet spot, hangs upside down, and essentially digests itself, becoming soupy goo.

It’s probably safe to say that many people find this a relatable feeling these days…

Sometimes, there comes a moment when you realize the earth has shifted on its axis, and your life will never be the same.

Memories flood in…

Me, age 6, one big shoe in each hand, carrying the kicks to my dad as we played Shoe Store, a fantastical game of make-believe.

“Would you like to buy some shoes?” I’d ask my dad, imitating a salesperson.

Sometimes other people have faith in you, before you have faith in yourself.

The description for the class recommended wearing loose-fitting clothing.

But when I arrived, I saw that most of the students sported white jackets tied at the waist and wide drawstring pants – the traditional karate uniform, or gi.

“Everything okay?” the man behind the bar asks.

I’m standing just inside the doorway, and it crosses my mind that this guy must not see a lot of people that look like me enter his establishment. Maybe he thinks I’m having car trouble?

I’m incredibly honored to have an article published in the latest edition of The Career Astrologer magazine, which is the quarterly journal of the Organization for Professional Astrology!

There’s an ancient Taoist parable about a farmer*, which goes something like this:

Once upon a time, a farmer – who earned his livelihood with the help of his horse – found that the horse had gone missing.

The neighbors felt sorry for him, and offered condolences, “Oh no! Your horse ran away – what bad luck!”

The farmer, who had gained some wisdom in his years, replied, “Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows?”

“I’m going to go collect my parts.”

My wife taught me this phrase. We tend to offer it up whenever we’re feeling like our emotional bits and pieces have been strewn about – when we’re scattered or flustered, and just need a moment to gather ourselves.

Just got an unexpected medical diagnosis? Roof leaking? Or maybe ten little things have been irritating you today?

Sounds to me like you might need to go collect your parts.

Rex had a good heart.

Physically, sure: Strong and young, he was on the high school track team and could run and run. Boundless energy, that kid.

But my nephew’s heart was more than just strong; it was good. Rex was compassionate and liked helping people.

I’d been meeting with 16-year-old Hannah* for a couple of months when she finally told me the reason she didn’t want to be adopted.
As an adoption recruiter** – Hannah and her three siblings had been in foster care for eight years – it wasn’t uncommon to hear kids say that they weren’t interested in adoption. Moving around so much, and being let down over and over… well, it’s heartbreaking, to say the least. And when you’re a young person, and you allow yourself to trust – and then that trust gets broken, again and again – it can be hard to see a path forward.
For teens in foster care, it's like the heart is a boomerang: tossed out there, just waiting for the day it returns.

Several years back, a friend of mine had the ridiculous and lovely idea to gather our pals, make individual pieces of crop art, and submit our creations to the Minnesota State Fair.

I’m guessing your first question here is, “Jen, what the heck is crop art??”

To quote Wikipedia, “Crop art is an environmental art practice using plants and seeds in the landscape to create statements, marks and/or images.”

If you knew me well, you probably wouldn’t think of me as someone with a yen for turning grain into craftwork…

In 2014, a mountain knocked on my door, and took up residence in my life.

A crush injury, they called it. And what a fitting term - I have been crushed, quite literally. (Quite metaphorically, too, if we’re being honest.)

I recall back on that autumn day, I looked to the future with enthusiastic anticipation: Two days prior, I had resigned from the nonprofit that I’d cofounded in order to pursue other dreams. But that mountain had other ideas for me, and although I didn’t realize it at the time, a long road to recovery would follow.

“Jen, wait up a second!”

As I heard my name, I turned around and saw Ann* approaching with a serious look on her face. I started getting worried; we’d been having regular disagreements over my work for more than a year.

“I heard the radio documentary yesterday…” Ann began.

My work with two teen siblings in foster care had recently been featured in a one-hour documentary on National Public Radio. At the time, I was working for a five-year federally funded project with the goal of finding adoptive and permanent families for Minnesota teens under state guardianship.

“…and I need to talk to you.”