Disclaimer : I’m not giving you the setting for this. It’s confidential. But I know you, lovely, and I know you understand. Thanks for that. And then she said, “Jasmine, the whole time you were sitting up there I kept wondering… What would you be like if you didn’t have to be good for anyone?” And then I said, “Thank you.” And then I thought. Hmm. That’s interesting. I really don’t see myself like that. I squinted one eye. I tilted my head. What an interesting conclusion. I was on the edge of brushing it off, because as the queen of self-identity, I’m quick to assume that there is no way another’s opinion of me could possibly be illuminating. Just as I was about to tip over, I pulled back. I pulled back because I noted the response from everyone else in the room : a row of glorious twinkly-eyed people nodding, bobbing…

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**Disclaimer || I’m not a medical professional. This is my story. This is my truth. I’m sharing what worked for me. That’s all.** I start this with an audible heavy sigh. This one feels gritty. This one feels unclean. This one feels dark. But the only way to get through the dark is to shine a light. So here we go. Let’s get out the camping flashlight – the one with megawatt brightness and massive battery power and shine some SOUL on this darkness. It’s time. *Shake it off, Jonte. Shake it out, Jonte. You can do this. This story is a gift. Write it as such.* I’ve felt the pull to write this one for months, but simply haven’t been able to pluck up the courage. But this story is crashing onto this web page like an avalanche. Maybe that reflection time — those months of avoidance — was…

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I have never considered myself a poet. Like, ever. But I was sitting in the cafe in Irby, and felt struck with the need to be one in that moment. It kind of led me to a momentary identity crisis, and then I decided to lead with my creativity rather than my fear. Love was the outcome. No.1 english gentlemen. Englishmen. go ahead. call me your darling. call me your love. give me your silent winks. subtley sexy, yet intensely intimate. just for a moment, grace me with all of your focus. it’s lovely.

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Little English cafes teach us something… There’s always time for a cup of tea and a chat. That’s just the English way. We slow down enough to ask the question, to listen to the story, to pay close attention. We just pop over for a cuppa. But what a treat to stop by the cafe, the daytime hub of the village, to have a chat. (Note : At nighttime that would be the pub.) 😉 Cafes (or coffee shops to my American tribe) have expanded their original function. It’s a beautiful thing. Now, rather than simply connect with local lovelies, we have the opportunity to reach a global audience and receive a global perspective. What a gift! Maybe you’re reading this from a cafe far away? In this expansion, though, we can’t forget how they served us originally : a meeting space to listen and be heard, to find connection…

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Driving on the left is kind of like life. So many friends + family expressed their fear and surprise that I was ready to drive on the left during this trip to England. But won’t you be nervous? How can you be sure? What about all the things that can happen? My pragmatic nature coupled with my stubborn streak won out. It just makes sense to rent a car given the terrain. Plus, if it scares me, then there is a good chance I need to say fuck fear and do it anyway. And you know what? I was right. It has been WAY better having the freedom that comes with a car. Plus, I learned a thing or two. Let’s be real, you guys. Growth usually comes when you say fuck fear.  Drive on the left || Live in the now 1. Leaders / Drivers don’t react; they anticipate. In this case, anticipate your reaction.…

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