signal > noise

i wrote this piece and, whew buddy, it kicked up some dust!! i haven’t felt this uncomfortable in a while. it brought me back to one of the most difficult chapters in my life. needless to say, it’s taken me a lot longer to hit publish than it should have. schedules all out of whack.

i struggle with this type of exposure on these here interwebs so pls be gentle. i’ll be curious if this one strikes a chord, though, with you too.

this piece is not my normal share.

a bit of context … every chapter in my manuscript opens with a letter. they are from who i am today and written to who i was then, a wee little one named jenny. given that we are squarely within the lion’s gate portal right now, it felt as good a time as any to share one. especially since everything that i write about here, signal, trust, what erosion and fractures in trust cost, red threads back to her.

jenny is my origin story. we all have our own. yours just has a different name and journey, but read this to them, regardless. something tells me that you will both appreciate it.

love you. mean it.

last wednesday, i posted a video on instagram that really resonated with folks, and, particularly this line:

you can tell who your real people are by one thing—whether you have to translate yourself to them.

so i thought i would come here, a week off my typical writing cycle, and explore translating a bit more. get into what it means, where we learn it, what it costs us, and what’s available to us when we stop.

trust starts with self. relational trust only occurs when more than one set of hands is weaving it. my hope is that this piece helps you tell the real thing from the performance of it, and how to recognize the folks willing to craft it with you.

there is often someone in the room who steadies it. the one people reach for when things start to shake. the safe pair of hands.

if that's you, this one is for you.

jen randle explores

bracing · being the beam · the illusion of strength · engineered harmony · stabilizing v. stewardship · the wobble