About Non Wels
I believe deeply in the power of empathy, vulnerability, and emotional wayfinding as foundational elements to our collective healing, recovery, and mental health. I believe we need to talk openly and honestly about our struggles and feely hearts, even if it means we experience discomfort. It’s in that discomfort where we find grow, connect, and discover our bright spots.
I am the creator and host of the podcast, You, Me, Empathy, a safe space for us feely humans to share stories and to embrace empathy and vulnerability and kindness as we attempt to navigate this wayward, often overwhelming, and awe inspiring pale blue dot. It's a podcast for us, together, to engage empathetically with one another, to share our mental health struggles so we can discover the beauty within each of us.
I once buried a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the backyard. The following day, I dug it up and ate it. There was also the pee on pancakes saga. I was an Alaskan commercial salmon fisherman for a summer. I’ve lived out of my car. I started a fight club once, of which I have mixed feelings about. I also almost died once from a cocktail of anorexia, depression, and a real sad heart.
I don’t ascribe to any religion, but I find so much beauty in much of it. I am a humanist—which is to say that I stand up for equality for all, for humans embracing the feely human goodness in each of us, for science, for curiosity, for Mama Nature, and for this wondrous rolling pebble we call home.
I love all stories. I love telling stories. I love listening to stories. Stories bring people together. Stories unite us, and make us feel less alone. Tell me a story and I will love you forever. Stories are my jam, in every form. Even in jam form. Like if you share a story about jam, written in marmalade-based ink, I will worship at your sticky altar.
In the picture to the left, I’m wearing a Moby Dick t-shirt, and my left forearm features a scene of a boy, standing atop a pile of books, looking out into a fantasy world. Books, as a kid growing up in a difficult and sometimes violent home, were an escape for me. And they still are.