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An Inspired Chat with Jennifer Nealon Garone of Boulder/Longmont

Jennifer Nealon Garone shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.

Jennifer, a huge thanks to you for investing the time to share your wisdom with those who are seeking it. We think it’s so important for us to share stories with our neighbors, friends and community because knowledge multiples when we share with each other. Let’s jump in: What is something outside of work that is bringing you joy lately?
I find a lot of joy in the quiet, living world just outside my suburban back door. I love spending time in the garden — not only the tending and cultivating, but simply being with it. Letting myself be met by the shifting light, the hum of bees, the slow turning of blossoms to fruit and seed. There is something deeply joyful about watching a garden evolve… noticing what’s asking for care, what’s flourishing, and what’s going to seed. It’s a kind of ceremony in itself.

The more-than-human world is always offering a kind of wisdom when I slow down enough to notice. A curled leaf, a hummingbird’s sudden flash, those pesky but stunning Japanese beetles — they remind me that beauty and awe are never far. That everything is always changing, and yet somehow always arriving. This practice of attention has become one of my greatest joys. It re-roots me, again and again.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
I’m Jen (with Small Circles: Ceremonies & Coaching,) and my work lives at the intersection of soul, story, and nature’s rhythms. For more than a decade, I’ve created custom ceremonies for weddings, funerals, and life’s threshold moments. I believe in the power of ritual and ceremony to mark change with meaning — and that same belief now shapes the depth coaching and spiritual companionship work I offer.

In my coaching work, my goal is to support people through life’s deeper terrain using a Jungian and soul-centered lens… whether that’s navigating midlife, grief, creative blocks, spiritual shifts, the early 20s transition into adulthood, or simply the longing for a more meaningful, purposeful and wonder-filled life. I work best with folks who are curious, sensitive, and ready to explore their own depths. Coaching, for me, isn’t about fixing or “leveling-up” — it’s about listening closely for what wants to emerge, and walking with people as they make their way.

What makes my work unique is its rhythm and rootedness. I draw from myth, archetype, dreams, and nature’s cycles. I offer structure, yes.. but also spaciousness. This is a space for transformation that honors mystery. My clients often say they feel seen in ways they haven’t before — and to me, that’s exceptionally special.

Thanks for sharing that. Would love to go back in time and hear about how your past might have impacted who you are today. What’s a moment that really shaped how you see the world?
When I was almost eleven, my cousin (and best friend) was hit by a car and died. She was only nine. It was my first experience with tragic, unexpected death, and it unraveled me and my whole family. I still remember sitting in the church while the priest said, “God plucked his most beautiful flower for His garden.” I felt fury rise in my chest. Even at that young age, I knew something essential was being missed. I was so angry. His words erased her realness. Her laughter, her stories, her short and beautiful life.

I think I wanted the priest to say, “This is terrible. This doesn’t make sense. This hurts in ways we can’t name.” I wanted truth. Not platitudes. I wanted to be met in the heartbreak, not spoken around it.

That moment, I now understand, was the beginning of a shift, or the beginning of a new direction. A young moment (the first?) of self-awareness and soul determination. I sometimes joke that I became an animist that day… because if God needed my cousin more than we did, I wanted nothing to do with that god. But deeper than that, I think it was the beginning of me listening for a different kind of language. A language of realness. Of ritual that doesn’t try to tidy up what cannot be made neat.

When did you stop hiding your pain and start using it as power?
As a child, I experienced a lot of loss and upheaval. My parents went through multiple marriages, and we moved often. The longest I ever stayed in one school was three years, in high school. I know, without question, that my parents loved me deeply and did the best they could. But the instability of my early years left me with a persistent sense of not belonging — of not having a place where I was truly seen, held, or considered in the choices being made around me.

It took time to understand the impact of that particular rootlessness. I spent a lot of time trying to make sense of why I felt so adrift, even in loving relationships. Eventually, I stopped trying to hide or rationalize the pain and sorrow, and instead began to listen to it. To let it shape me in more conscious ways.

Much of what I’ve created in my life (my 37-year relationship, the way I’ve raised my son, the ceremonies I write, the soul-centered coaching I offer) it all carries this through-line: a longing to offer what I didn’t receive. A sense of belonging. A feeling of being deeply seen. A reminder that we are held, even in the hardest moments.

I don’t know if I’d call that “power” in the traditional sense. But there is strength in turning toward our pain and choosing to create something beautiful from it. In that way, my work is both a gift I offer others and a kind of reweaving for my own soul.

So a lot of these questions go deep, but if you are open to it, we’ve got a few more questions that we’d love to get your take on. What’s a belief or project you’re committed to, no matter how long it takes?
I believe we need better stories, and that our constant cycles of negative, overheated news are really damaging us, and especially the younger generations. So… I’m committed to telling better stories — stories that hold both grief and possibility. In a world saturated with collapse narratives and worst-case headlines, I believe it’s a radical act to seek out and amplify stories of regeneration, beauty, and what’s working.

This isn’t about bypassing pain or pretending things aren’t dire — it’s about holding the full truth. The shitty news is only half the story. The Great Unraveling is real, but so is the Great Turning. (Thank you Joanna Macy) I want to help people remember that awe, goodness, and repair are always happening too. What we pay attention to shapes how we move in the world. So I try to pay attention with care, and help others do the same.

Okay, so let’s keep going with one more question that means a lot to us: What is the story you hope people tell about you when you’re gone?
Oh, it’s so simple… That I tried to live my values as best I could. That I brought a little more light and joy to people’s lives. That I was kind, openhearted and generous with my love. That I made folks laugh. That I was deeply reverent and irreverent at the same time. That I did my best to make folk’s lives just a little better. That I was a bit of weirdo and didn’t hold back. That beauty was favorite thing, and I found it eveywhere.

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