I met artist Jamy Kahn in Los Angeles in the late 90s after I fell in love with one of her bright abstract pieces of art that was displayed in our favorite brunch cafe. We got acquainted and, as a very amateur wannabe artist myself, I was attracted to her loose wild expression and she was attracted to what she perceived as my organization and togetherness.

My husband and I had a large home with big white walls to fill, so I bought another very modestly priced, bright colored piece from her - a figure of a woman seated at a restaurant table with a sommelier just out of sight behind her. I was working for Food Network/celebrity chefs at the time but we weren’t in the wine business yet.

Then, one day I was at her house. She wanted my help with something. And I caught sight of a large format painting that just struck me. It featured an abstract rendering of a rabbit on its hind legs gazing upward at something.

I was 28 years old, knew nothing about (still don’t) collecting art, but I knew that the 4 ‘X 6’ size and the striking nature of the piece was exactly what was required on the wall of the “great room” in the house that we had purchased (from rocker Bret Michaels of the band Poison, but that’s another story).

Jamy hadn’t painted the piece. It was part of her own collection. It had been painted by an artist who she named and I promptly forgot. But I remembered the title. It was called Rabbit Receiving His Own Information.

About a week later, on short notice, I called and asked if my husband and I could come by to see the painting together. (no one calls to “stop by” in LA, by the way!)

I knew it wasn’t for sale. I just wanted Scott to get the idea.

He got the idea!

Jamy watched my husband regard the painting, she watched me regard the painting and said, “I’ve never thought about selling this painting but maybe the energy is supposed to move.”

I felt really mortified because that was never my intention, meanwhile my husband felt all too happy to make the deal!

Weeks later, we hadn’t even hung the painting up. It was leaning against the wall. And I talked to Jamy on the phone and asked, “By the way, why are rabbit’s arms bound? She said, well, it’s like we we have to be still long enough, sometimes sadly through something like a grave illness, to hear our own wisdom.”

She didn’t know it, but at the time Scott was ill. Like can’t-get-out-of-bed-for-weeks-with-something-mysterious-and-tests-aren’t-providing-any-clues ill. Something was really wrong.

Yes, something was really wrong. We were in LA’s hustle culture, both working for dynamic but demanding bosses asking ourselves who we wanted to be. And where. We wanted to go create something of our own.

The rabbit was telling us to listen to that calling.

So within weeks, we had written creative proposals to our bosses proposing that we telecommute from Napa Valley.

Scott and I packed up everything we owned, drove up Highway 1, rented a charming historic home in St. Helena where I cooked in a cast iron skillet almost every night, and there were thick throw blankets and piles of good books. We then found a home of our own in Yountville - with 13 raised beds and 3 walnut trees in the back yard, and vines in every direction.

We were determined, naive, passionate, stubborn and with a friendly winemaker who took us under his wing, and a small investment from 4 music industry friends, within 16 months we had made our first wine and gotten it on the list at the famous restaurant, French Laundry in Yountville.

And the rabbit painting not only inspired our winery logo, but it proudly hung and was a focal point for many years in our eventual tasting room in Oregon’s Wine Country. (We didn’t know when we bought the piece in LA that we’d be bringing Rabbit back “home.” Only after moving our wine business to Oregon did we learn that the canvas was painted by Oregon artist and art instructor Cody Bustamante.)

People inquired about the painting and loved the story we told. It very often touched something personal. Once in a while, it made someone cry.

For me, the wine industry was always about the people. Fellow winemakers, our customers, and later the French producers whose wines we imported. I believed I was creating community — in the neighborhood, at school, at church — by bringing groups of women together to sip wine and meet each other.

Life in the wine industry is filled with adventure. We were our own bosses, we created our own vision, brand and way of showing up. I think our longtime customers would say we showed up again and again with elegance, integrity and playfulness. Wow, I haven’t written that ever. And it’s true. And I’m really proud of that.

But it was still a business. And the “success” line just kept moving. And the 3-tier system of the alcohol industry favors Big Alcohol, not the mom & pop operations. So we were doing what people do….we were moving, working, hustling, dealing with it all.

And that’s not being still.

That’s not listening to your own information.

And you know what really numbs you from listening to your own information?

Alcohol.

I was drowning my wisdom. And yuck, I was making and selling stuff that most certainly was helping other people drown their own wisdom. (You know what we forget all the time? That two things can be true at once! Customers told us again and again and again that our wines brought them JOY! Meeting and celebrating with people, enjoying great food, honoring the seasons and flavor, working in a beautiful place….heck, yes, even the buzz that alcohol brings….brought me joy too! And that can be true at the same time that it is true that drinking wine nightly was making me feel hooked in a cycle I didn’t like, sluggish, less motivated, anxious in the middle of the night, etc).

I started collecting little signals and signs, picking up phrases from a book here, a conversation with a friend there. Not knowing what to do with the signals and clues, just collecting them. Slipping them into my pocket like collecting sea shells on a beach, day after day.

Until one day, it clicked and a really distinct voice said, “Martha, it doesn’t matter how much other people in the wine industry drink, or if they drink more than you. It doesn’t matter that your doctor seems to think this is fine. YOU don’t think it’s fine. YOU don’t feel well.”

And that’s the meaning of the rabbit painting.

Our wisdom is there. We just have to create moments of stillness to pay attention, to tune in, to listen.

Your way in is your way out. The message in the painting led me into pursuing a new path and when I was ready and still enough, it led me out.

And now? It’s my honor and thrill to create community - vulnerable personal growth communities where smart, professional men and women (mostly women) bravely come together to slay old beliefs, practice juicy living and unwind any bossy habit that is keeping them from listening to their own information.

How do you create moments of stillness? What is “your own information” and are you ready to receive it?