Welcome to Notes On A Moment, or NOAM, as I affectionately call it to absolutely no-one out loud.
Who’s behind Notes On A Moment?
That would be me. I’m Jen Grieves - a broadcaster, event speaker and moderator, podcaster, copywriter and editorial producer for British TV shows.
What that all means is that I’m a storyteller. I love stories as a way of processing the world, of connecting people to new ideas, to each other… but most of all to themselves. And believe me, that doesn’t have to be deep. I’ve got the memes to prove it.
I am the ‘words person’ to my friends, and I have brought people together through the power of communication for my entire professional (read: unprofessional!) life, doing all sorts of fun stuff as the online voice of some of the biggest TV and radio brands in the world.
But I’ve finally made it here. Writing words for you, as me, about what it means to be human - what it means to think and feel and ultimately to live. In the bigness of experience and the smallness of the everyday.
I’ve found there’s so much to be found in all of it… if we just take the time to notice.
What is Notes On A Moment about?
Notes On A Moment is about quiet courage, loud vulnerability and daring to embrace the messiest parts of being undoubtedly, wholeheartedly, meaningfully alive.
Which is to say, rather grandiosely, is that it’s a place to get curious about why we’ll often choose to spend time with anyone but ourselves - more specifically our own thoughts. It’s about the magic and power that can be found when you step off the wheel and turn down the noise for a moment, in order to really know who we are. It’s a grandiose way of saying that the most beautiful experiences of this absolutely wild ride called life are not grandiose at all.
Because I’ve done it. In seasons and stages, in big and small ways. Through a collection of moments I’ve jumped fully into the throes of discomfort and pain and experience. And despite what they tell you, I don’t think it’s anything to be afraid of. Quite the opposite, actually.
I’ve always grappled with a contradiction of constantly seeking permission and approval, while quite clearly pushing every boundary possible. I’ve found myself quietly rejecting the norms without consciously meaning to. As well as relationships, mortgages and pensions, I left the best job in the world to go freelance and seek out meaning beyond the 9-5. I later dismantled my own status quo to pack my life into a suitcase and take that freelance work across the world, hiking active volcanoes and surfing across sand dunes of a weekend, dragging my chronic illness with me for the ride.
The more I stepped out of the boxes, the more I stepped into my soft, assured, calm power - one that I didn’t know I possessed. A regulated nervous system feels wonderful, who knew? And the good news for you is that it doesn’t lie at the top of volcanoes - it’s all within you, with the smallest of shifts in perspective about what this is all for.
And no-one showed me more about that than my dear friend Sarah. It’s mostly her fault I’m writing this, so please forward any complaints about the penchant for cliché to my Yorkshire force in the sky.
Within the four walls of our small (1 bedroom!) London apartment, I lived in complete awe of this woman as she fought to stay alive. Not once did she ask for an ounce of pity or sadness. In fact, she cackled her way through the darkest of hours and I cackled along with her, in spite of it all. Sarah died of a brain tumour at the age of 34, but not before unequivocally reinforcing that it’s the simplest of moments that matter, and showing me the extent to which you can live an unapologetic, juicy, meaningful life - even when you’ve been forced to contain your life inside four walls.
It’s all so fleeting, my lovelies. So saying yes out of obligation to things that don’t matter, that don’t serve you, that are ‘fine’ or just about bearable - this is not an act of service. It’s an act of self-sabotage.
So this is a place to get curious about saying yes to the wholeness of being alive.
It’s about not settling for a life that’s bearable, but instead creating one that’s meaningful.
Why should I become a paid subscriber?
Great question. I appreciate that asking you to part with your money in exchange for my words is bold. I appreciate that your inbox is already full.
If you join the adventure as a paid subscriber for less than the price of a (London) glass of wine each month, you’ll allow me to keep showing up here, where I won’t be offering you any answers (a therapist I am not) but I will create space to get curious about the questions. It’s not about solving anything, but it is about feeling something.
And I’ve felt - and feel every single day - the value of connection through words. Hopefully the above words were some proof of that. It’s really hard to prove the value of words when everyone writes, but there are so many words out there that are… not great. At the very least I’ll endeavour to make mine better than not great ;)
In reality, you’ll get frequent newsletters from me that are pretty personal, often juicy, and occasionally spicy. You’ll get other notes about noticing, too, plus my eternal love and gratitude for valuing (my) words.
I love exploring the nuance, the in-between, the both/and. I think a lot, I feel deeply, and I’ve (un)learned enough to know that life isn’t black and white, despite the boxes they’re so keen to put us in. I live in awe, in technicolour, and if it takes you a little less time than it took me to figure out that was even possible, that would be really great. You don’t even have to hike a volcano to get there.
Jen x
You can follow me on Instagram here.
You can follow Notes On A Moment on Instagram here.
You can listen to the Type 1 on 1 Diabetes Stories podcast here.
