As I barrel toward my 44th birthday next week, I’ve been thinking a lot about my life’s journey. Because I’m now a single parent, and an entrepreneur/writer/artist, I have had to investigate my value. What value do I bring to the world? But first, what do I value? Integrity. Compassion. Empathy. Kindness. Awareness. Acceptance. These are the core values that I try my best to uphold and model for my son.

What used to be of value to me in my youth was so fleeting and never actually gave me what I was looking for. Being thin. Pursuing beauty. Having nice clothes. Sure, those things still call to me and I like taking care of my body and looking nice (for myself, not for the benefit of others or for fear of others’ judgement, that’s changed, too). But the inner work that I’ve been privy to as enabled me to find my value in much richer, deeper places.

My ability to forgive, my ability to listen, my intuition and imagination. These things are valuable. And so are yours. All of you. Every single person on this earth.

Yet we are taught, by media messaging, by our caregivers or innocent, well-meaning passers-by, that beauty and money and fame are the end-all be-all — the only things that are truly valuable. Yet, ask anyone who has those things and they’ll tell you straight. They’re not. The human condition prevails no matter the square footage of your house.

A recent student in one of my Unlocked online courses came to me with a crippling devalued sense of herself as a writer. She was utterly stuck, having been at the same desk job for 30 years, and unhappily so. She always wished to be a writer instead, but the safety of a “day-job” is what took precedence over the risk of pursuing creativity. Her college degree was in Creative Writing and yet, she hadn’t written a word since graduation day. She timidly asked me if she might be able to send me something to read, so afraid that it was “unreadable” but trusting me enough as her teacher to tell her the truth: the truth in her mind was that she sucked, she couldn’t write anymore, she never could, actually, and that she held no value as a writer and that she should put to rest any notion of being a writer evermore.

What happened, instead, is that she sent me three pages of the beginnings of a novel she has dreamt about writing. I wept. I didn’t tear up, I didn’t smile with the corners of my mouth. I wept. It wasn’t the structure or the flowery adjectives or anything about the artistry of her writing, it was the story. Her story. A story that was so personal and vulnerable that it moved me to tears, moreover, her willingness to honor me with the privilege of reading it moved me further. I immediately wrote her back and said that while I couldn’t responsibly tell her to quit her job, I could tell her that she absolutely has Ultimate Value as a writer and a storyteller. She has Ultimate authority on this subject and she HAS to write this story. Her vulnerability and the underlying strength it took for her to email me those three pages… that is her value and that is her superpower.

So, I’m asking you, what’s your superpower? What do you bring to the table that has nothing to do with the size of your pocket book or your day-job or where you live or what car you drive? Trust me, it’s more valuable than 100 times all of those things put together. You are valuable.

Your story is valuable. Your vulnerability and the willingness to leave it on the page. That’s magic.

I love you. Keep going.

Xoxo,

Jen