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  • Hello There!

    I'm Sarajane, a blogger, workshop facilitator, and career consultant based out of Asheville, NC.

    I believe chasing your dreams shouldn't be so hard and I dedicate my energy to helping others to take large and small steps in their career while maintaining creative inspiration.

    This is my space to create whatever comes from my heart. It's not marketable, it's not always good, but it's honest. It's not uncommon to find stories from my experience, portrait projects, my thoughts on the world, and tips for how to make the most out of life.

    Grab a cup of coffee (or bourbon) and make yourself at home!

    If you're interested in a workshop or a 1 on 1 consultation get in touch through the consultation tab at the top of this site!

    with love,
    Sj

Angry Poem

I used to speak up less.

I’d hold my tongue when someone stepped on my toes or the toes of another.
The blood seeping from that muscle as my teeth dug deeper.
Better to harm myself than to make my oppressor feel uncomfortable.

When my gut learned to speak, it behaved like a child learning to use chapstick for the first time.
I rolled my defensiveness all the way up and made a mess of it.

The years of silencing my difficulty, the years of trying to be smaller.
It makes it easy to confuse a man being an asshole with a man just not being a woman.

I’ve searched their eyes for what was left behind in their mother’s womb.
Intuition, emotional complexity, deep wells of compassion.

It’s been a while since I’ve written an angry poem.
I used to write them often.
Shouting rhythmic suppression from my gut like a fountain pen overflowing.

While maybe not wise or calculated or particularly intentional;
there are moments when angry poetry feels like the only option.

How to Get Festive Without Trashing Your Body ( Guest Essay by Lily Calfee )

 

I love any excuse to make things special, and Christmas has all the perks: special music, fancy food, special clothes, ancient traditions…

I love red and gold bows, cute cards, and yummy-smelling candles. I love (dairy-free) eggnog and christmas cookies. I love singing carols, ice skating, wrapping presents and staying up late by the woodstove. I love tromping through the snow to the neighbor’s house on Christmas eve, and telling stories to their babies after dinner. I love popcorn and cranberries and Christmas brunch and festive cocktails

You know what sucks though? Having a sugar hangover.

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Winter is Here.

I ran to the top of the tower. For as long as I can remember I’ve always wanted to see the tops of buildings and watch the people and cars along the street below. To gaze at the grid of a city as if it were so far away that it could be pretend. The cars could be matchbox cars and the buildings just figures of what a real city may look like. I like to watch the people below and think of their lives. Where have they been? Where do they want to go? What is their most urgent concern?

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Why I will not tell you how to respond to the election.

I sat at a table last night with 5 of my dearest friends. We cooked for each other and shared our frustration with the way the election played out. We’re all tired and motivated and cautious with one another’s hearts.

At one point I looked around and realized that while these are the people whose views align with mine the most, we all have vastly different reactions to the results and nuanced opinions as to how we should handle this moving forward. It’s a lonely time in our nation.

week-10-2

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On Partnerships and Asking for Help.

I laid in my bed, staring at the clock as it struck 2am. The tension built in my body, my shoulders tightened, my legs felt restless and my head held the sensation of vice grips slowly but consistently making themselves tighter around my skull. I tossed. I turned. I tried to count to 100 and back again. I heard the laughter downstairs that seemed to echo like knives directly into the most tense parts of my body.

 

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