Category: Grateful Dead

Shine: The Lesson of Compersion

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?

From my heart to yours, shine. -Joy

08/30/2025
From Silence to Self-Care: Dancing My Way Through Grief

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

08/29/2025
Crafting a Home: Lessons Learned in Building My Tiny Cabin

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

08/27/2025
The Spirit of Grateful Drag Shines at Sphere During Dead & Co

“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.

04/18/2025
Finding Community Through Music: My Journey with Dead & Co.

The First Spin

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.

In community,

Joy

03/27/2025
Transform Your Life: Insights from Iconic Artists

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

11/04/2024
Life Lessons from Deadheads: Embracing Community

Life Lessons from Deadheads: Embracing Community

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

11/03/2024