It’s Tuesday, April 22, 2025. This past weekend was overflowing with activity. It felt kind of amazing to feel ALIVE again. I don’t really know how to describe what it’s like to be living in a liminal space where nothing makes sense and everything is hard, but you don’t exactly understand why everything is suddenly so unbearably painful and you’re drowning and need a life vest— but you are also ashamed that you need any sort of rescuing because you don’t remember jumping off the boat and you certainly didn’t fall over the side unawares. I mean…what in the actual heck?!

Except, wait for it… THIS is surely the life experience for an untold number of humans. Brain injury- yep. No support system- yep. Bowled over by the economy- yep. My intrinsic response: Shame. Retreat. Survive. And this is WITH untold miracles keeping me afloat. I had the luxury of languishing. THAT is humbling.

Here’s what made all of the difference for G and I both: Surrender.

Not to the fight. Not to a diagnosis. Not to inadequacy. But to showing up and revealing ourselves in all the complicated & often sticky, smudgy beauty of being human. He certainly didn’t ask for his skull to be shattered by a truck as he was crossing the street when he was 5. I certainly didn’t have any clue why my expectations weren't matching reality after we married. NEVER would I have connected those dots naturally.

Fast forward to last fall when it finally reached a point when nothing made sense at all and there was nothing left to do except to claw our way to answers— a diagnosis, if you will. And what the MRI gave us was freedom to stop casting blame. To stop throwing stones. To stop believing that we weren’t enough just as we were.

We still don’t know everything. Maybe anything. But we can finally exhale and say…wait— a— flippin—hot— minute— What if all we were ever supposed to do was to simply be ourselves? Surrender.

Huh? Too easy. Too complicated. Too much. Reminds me of one of my very favorite books at Papa Harry and Grandma Becky’s house when I was little— the Two Too Twins. Maybe our extra is completely safe. Maybe that’s what makes magic. Maybe allowing our friends, family— strangers (EEK) to see our reality is exactly what we can do to somehow make it all make sense.

I’m finding joy again in places where I felt like I couldn’t measure up (travel planning & life coaching— and ugh, I am not at all comfortable with the term “life coaching” yet— please give me a better title. Bueller? Bueller?!). G is finding purpose and fun in the things that people told him weren’t enough (comic & collectible dealing & music) and it is LIFE-GIVING. IT IS ALL ENOUGH. IT IS GOOD.

The moral of this story is that there is good waiting for you on the other side of simply existing just as you are. Masks off. Love on. It’s ok to not be ok.

An utterly bizarre game of chicken between holding hope & cultivating peace in the uncertainty.

In any case... please excuse the janky audio. It accidentally ran through the vehicle’s system so it’s just going to be “good enough” for today.

Love you. Thank you for being human sunshine to hurting hearts.

• The Indianapolis Children’s Museum was a hit (with the exception of the spring break crowd sensory overload).

• We spruced up the princess’s bedroom to a more suitable shade of pink vs white. 💕

• Welcomed Evan in for a quick weekend visit before he had to get back to University of Arkansas (drum set in tow for his new band gigs around town).

Unexpectedly nestled in between the bright highlights of the week, G, somewhat begrudgingly, made his way to his psychologist appointment mid-morning on Friday. He asked her to level with him. She pulled no punches.

Dementia.

There is no timeline. But there is a progression. A narrowing of the view of limitless possibilities.

So NOW is the time to LIVE big. To seize joy in full and to make memories. To travel. To bathe in life rather than to watch life being lived by others on a screen. Untouchable.

We must touch life itself and allow others to be touched by the life we live in return. Our stories, as they dance and embrace and intermingle, create something altogether new. A balm. Hope. We fan the flames to make the world brighter.

In all that hasn’t made sense along the way, I pulled in and shut down. I did it slowly at first, waiting for dust to settle, naively believing that life would go “back to normal” sooner than later. But there were no words to find. No “normal” where it was safe to return. Now there is only onward. In many ways it is far more beautiful than “familiar,” but it is a disorienting fork in the road of life.

Caregiving and life-sharing IS the new next. It’s all that I can see. It’s all that we can commit to giving back. But IT IS GOOD. I trust in all that I cannot see. Faith has gifted me this sort of grit. The kind of grit that cries a lot but knows that tears shared with friends is a vulnerable and powerful prayer.

Here’s to sharing the raw and calling it healing.

If you have any questions for G and I, would you drop them in a comment below? We are going to try and record some audio posts (podcasts? I dunno— but subscribe & follow to keep up with notes & posts here) but we realize that we have lived this so deeply (how infinitely moreso for him! ❤️‍🩹) that sometimes we forget how to even go back and fill in the gaps where questions hover for you!

If you happen to have any recommendations on things that we can see, do or experience both locally or elsewhere, will you message me or send an email to joyfullykirsten@gmail.com?

We can’t do this alone: Making a living. Making a life. Making memories. I thought I had to figure it all out alone. I was SO VERY WRONG. Those things all take a village! I’m so grateful that you’re my village people. 😉 (Please tell me that made you giggle— we need all the laughs we can get right now!)

It’s now months later, and all the we know for certain is that his MRI does show that he has chronic small vessel ischemia. Essentially there is damage to his brain that is abnormal for his age. Likely due in no small part to a pediatric brain injury that he sustained when he was hit by a truck while crossing the street at age 5 resulting in his skull fracturing in 3 places. Pretty traumatic stuff for all involved. Add multiple head injuries from sports and musician life for the past 53 years and here we are. Simply put: his brain health is our top priority now as we do everything possible to slow further damage even while we wait on the full current assessment.

SO many details of life make about a million times more sense now— because on one hand every day looked a lot like groundhog day for the past few years, but at the same time every day was something utterly unexpected. And trying to navigate any sort of normal when nothing makes sense is the epitome of confusion.

Anyhow…we don’t know what it all looks like just yet. It is grief. It is hope. It is patience. It is letting go of the expectation that I should be able to operate the way that I once could. It is taking forward steps into the fog. I know it means asking for help sometimes and being uncomfortably vulnerable other times— and somehow balancing the need for rest and retreat with the urgency and call not to waste our precious time. It’s about creating magic and wonder and loving fierce and wild. Making memories now that we can tuck in our hearts forever is where we will place our faith and focus. Frankly, it is scary.

I literally heard the phrase “Write for Your Life” as I was praying last week. And so, I will. We will. We will share our adventures and our fears and our hope in whatever ways that we can for as long as our souls feel safe in that sharing. And honestly, nothing feels more vulnerable than sharing when nothing feels certain.

I will try to pop into Facebook and Instagram and post pics & stories, but if you want to support us along the way, Joyfully, Kirsten will be where you find the bulk of the updates on life, travel and finding hope in hard places. ❤️‍🩹

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I was not expecting life to land here.

Tucked deep inside the past 6 years are: divorce, marriage, birth, death, adventure, hibernation, debt, miracles, shame, abundance, sickness, faith, longing, breaking, forgiveness, creating, savoring, surrender, and confusion. Lots of confusion.

I’m not exactly sure what to say about confusion yet, except that when you’re knee-deep in the experiencing of life & love unraveling and being reknit, it has a way of knocking the breath from your lungs. You can’t speak because there is no air to carry words that are hiding somewhere else anyway.

But this is where the story picks back up on a blustery Sunday in March of 2025— because I find myself inhaling deeply and feeling gratitude and safety in the unfolding tale.

Apparently my peace hinged on a diagnostic MRI for Superman & embracing our little world turned upside down.

More on that to follow…

What comes next is both a mystery and a gift. And sharing the unabridged story of Sunshine + Superman and the journey ahead for the Jones family feels exactly right for right now.

Scary? Eh…yes.
Tender? Without question.

This is an offering of hope to our storm-tossed and weary friends. Not that life magically gets better, but that we become magic and that makes US better.

Alchemy.

If the only constant is change, then embracing every excruciating & ecstatic moment seems to be The Way that I want to explore life.

In keeping with my commitment to focus on the present and to savor it’s gifts, if you want to follow along and share in this story, please subscribe to my Substack for notes, updates, videos — and maybe even a podcast or two. My soul needs a simple home for my story. A place to feel safe & seen versus scattered or silent. This is it. You’re welcome to visit any time.

I’m so very grateful to share my reclaimed words with you.

So I’m not moving my creative space to Substack to create yet another Loop (hard pass 🥴); Rather, I choose to share the fragments already stashed away in my digital pocket with you.

If you need a little extra love and compassion today, I hope this serves as a reminder that someone is holding space for the ache in your weary bones. 🤍

This was a Calloway maxim. A good one, mind you. Clear. Concise. Simple. —in 1988.

Carried over and tweaked ever-so-slightly (to maximize the burn of striving served with a dollop of guilt & a side of shame), Charismatic Evangelicalism upped the ante. Rules. Vision. Integrity.

I’m weathered and rusty at the art of writing. While I once spent my days connecting to the world via email tag & blogging. Posts providing a long form release of tension and hope and joy and abundance. Somewhere along the way (I’d say around 2014) it gave way to quick text messages, Facebook updates and Instagram… dancing.

It felt twitchy. It pushed and pulled simultaneously for a nonsensical outcome: Do MORE & share LESS. It felt frenetic. It felt like a snake-oil prescription for connection:

“Post 3 times and call me in the morning.”
Gee, thanks Doc. I feel lousy.

I’ve come to call this gross chaos The Loop.
The incessant cycle of striving > achieving > sustaining > striving > failing > burnout >>> striving

I’ve come to hate the loop.

If nothing changes; nothing changes. Therefore, I accept The Loop or I revolt. I choose option 2. Now. Finally. It took a painfully long time to say it, meaning notwithstanding.

REVOLUTION: A FORCIBLE OVERTHROW OF A SOCIAL ORDER IN FAVOR OF A NEW SYSTEM.

Everything inside of me is screaming to just finish my new travel website. To throw open the socials & tell everyone that I’m still here doing this thing that made me happy — which made THEM happy…even if the way that I was doing it ultimately made me miserably UN-happy. But, The Loop whispers that if you do it better (but mostly the same) and faster (but mostly the same) and shinier (but mostly the same) that you will also be happier. But mostly the same, I’m sure.

It’s in-house arrest. It’s walking into a prison cell willingly— to escape the uncertainty of the simple presence of BEING. The terrifying unknown of how to be REALLY KNOWN in 2025.

I stopped trusting the wonder and magic of our connection to God and to one another through nature. I subconsciously operated under the programming that God only uses social media for our highest good. Without it, surely I am not enough. Surely there is no faith, no manifesting, and no vision without an accompanying social media campaign.

I’ve known since I tumbled hard and fast into the hole of burnout (another story for another day, I pinky promise) that I’m not cut out for The Loop sort of life anymore. Tragically, I also believed that my waning dedication to The Loop meant that I should make myself comfortable with financial failure and shame. If my resilience can’t withstand the digital hustle & grind, then maybe it’s not cut out for natural freedom & success. “Blasphemy!” retorts the best remaining parts of my evangelicalism.

or is it… REVOLUTION?

I said that I wanted peace. Freedom. To be untethered from distraction from my own life.

And it’s hard right now.

The Being.

All the dressed but swollen hives begging to be itched that come with living present.

The NOW vacuum wants sated with consumption. It wants fueled by striving and strategizing. It wants relief from the discomfort of deafeningly empty space. But allowing the quiet means pushing the walls that had been closing in back OUT to make space for creation. For the YOUIEST sort of YOU-NESS to show up & shine.

I’ve said it over and over for the past 6 years. But maybe I didn’t MEAN it until now. Maybe I couldn’t mean it in full until I understood the gravity of what I had said.

I want peace above all else. Quiet connection. Still empty space— a blank canvas to paint with wonder.

Now I mean what I said.

Thank you, Papa Max. Got it.

Love,
Snicklefritz