Hold On, Help is On the Way: A Leader’s Journey of Remembering and Reconnecting

This week has been one of remembrance and deep reflection. I spent time walking the hills of Fryman Canyon in Studio City, a place that holds personal significance for me, especially today, on the anniversary of my sister Nicole Y. Golden’s transition. As I walked, I listened to Cassandra Wilson’s version of Time After Time. The lyrics, "sometimes you picture me, I’m walking too far ahead," hit me deeply, reminding me of Nicole—of her absence, yes, but also of how she still walks beside me, guiding me in spirit.

Wilson’s soulful rendition, especially the chorus, "if you’re lost, you can look and you will find me, time after time," brings me back to a recurring truth. It’s a message I’ve been reflecting on in my leadership—this idea of returning to oneself, to the core of who we are, and finding strength within, especially when the world feels overwhelming.

I had a meaningful conversation last week with one of our new behavioral health interns, Mira. We discussed her career path in healthcare, and I quickly saw that, even at her young age, she was already loading herself with the weight of expectations we all carry: “I need to be better,” “I need to do more,” “I need to learn more.” I realized that while these voices of self-improvement can drive us, they can also imprison us in a cycle of self-criticism. In our rush to compare ourselves to others or prove ourselves, we forget the unique brilliance we already possess.

That conversation got me thinking about how often I, too, forget to check in with myself—specifically with Little Jameson, the inner child who holds my dreams and spirit. So, in this edition, I want to share a letter to that inner self. I write it in honor of my sister, of Mira, and of all the times we’ve needed to reconnect with the untainted, uninhibited versions of ourselves.

Dear Little Jameson,

Remember who you are. You are the little boy from a small aggie city who once thought Salinas was the largest place on Earth. You marveled at the rows of lettuce and the workers who picked them—people who migrated across countries for the chance to give their children a better life. You saw their struggles, their determination, and it shaped you.

You were the boy who wore cowboy boots with batteries in them at age 4, who sang with the organ in church like you were put on this earth to bring light and joy. And guess what? You were.

Remember when Mom argued with the principal at Santa Rita Elementary, demanding that the school's mascot be changed because it disrespected Indigenous people? That happened decades before the nation embraced Indigenous People's Day. You were learning to stand up for what’s right before you even knew what activism was.

You grew into a poet in the 6th grade, not knowing that poetry would become one of your greatest tools for change. In high school, you pushed your classes to confront the classics, to challenge the status quo, much like you do now with business models. You fought for depth, creativity, and justice, pissing off people who couldn't see the future you were dreaming of.

You’ve lost many people—your family, friends, your love. You even lost Whitney Houston, who you adored. But each loss, Jameson, gave you more strength. You have risen with more light each time the world knocked you down. Losing your sister was a tragedy, yes. But in that pain, you gained an ancestor, a spirit guide who turned up your inner light. And people notice, don’t they? Some are scared of it, others are comforted by it. "This little light of mine," the song you used to sing as a kid, is now your anthem.

You’d be proud of me. I’ve worked to heal the world in the same way you dreamed of doing. I’ve built institutions, provided opportunities for others, and stood tall when people tried to take me down. But most of all, I’ve held on to the light you gave me.

Today, I celebrate us. The child you were, and the man I’ve become. And when I feel lost, when I struggle, I remember your voice whispering, "Hold on, help is on the way."

Always with love and respect,

Dr. James B. Golden (Big Jameson)

Final Thoughts: There Will Be Trees

Moments of reflection and difficult memories can often be overwhelming, like looking for the sunshine from beneath a sky covered in trees. But in moments like this, walking Fryman Canyon, or listening to the haunting beauty of Time After Time, I’m reminded of the importance of self-compassion. That reminder to check in with ourselves, to speak kindly to the child within, can be a powerful tool in navigating life’s challenges.

There will be times where we're not strong; where we look for strength to inspire and lead others. These are the moments when we realize: help is always on the way. It shows up through the people we guide and through the work we continue to pour into the world--and through our little selves inside our souls.

So, my dear readers, in those moments of despair, when you feel the world pressing down, when there are trees, hold on. Help is on the way. If you feel lost, remember—you can look, and you will find yourself, time after time.

God bless you Nicole. Thank you for being my sister.

Be humble. Be reflective. Be young again. Be proud.

Be Healed.

Dr. Golden