A Preface | 08/30/22
This is the second time I’ve shared this particular newsletter. The first time it landed in subscribers’ inbox was late last night and immediately upon waking, my entire body contracted at the thought of it being out there. I couldn’t delete it fast enough.
I’ve not quite had a response to my own writing like that before, especially after a night’s sleep. Typically allowing my self to sleep on it eases hesitations I have around things I’ve written. This time did no such thing.
After some thought, feeling into the contraction, and two friends offering me invaluable reflections, I regretted deleting it. I wished I’d taken a bit more time to chew on the discomfort the post brought me and stand in my authenticity even through said discomfort. A lesson learned for sure.
Through the conversations with my friends, I realized I felt vulnerable. I felt like I’d overshared a small detail about a past relationship (the beach man, not my ex-husband) that for some reason felt like I’d crossed my own boundary and “exposed” someone. Like I “bashed” them. I believe there are two sides to every story (likely many more) and that none are right or wrong. Every perspective is valid and though I value my own truth, I navigate relationships - especially the ending of them - with respect, communication, and as much neutrality as possible while also honoring the experience and emotions of all involved.
The relationship I speak of later in this post did not end when it ended. Meaning, our break up was not the end of our story. Likely even what I share here is not the end. There is so much unknown and I can not predict how/whether life, the Universe, or our souls will bring us together again or not. But over the last two years the relationship has been a major growth point in myriad of ways as we’ve come in and out of eachother’s lives and I’m realizing that today it challenged me as a writer.
The writer Jenny speaks from her heart. She doesn’t succumb to the pressure of critics. She holds space for all of her words. She doesn’t allow fear or judgement to hold her back. She speaks truth, and values being expressive and vulnerable in that truth.
Today I don’t feel like I honored those aspects of my self. I felt like protecting someone else was more important than telling my own story. And I think as I continue practice being a writer, I am more and more challenged in the realm of vulnerability. A lot of what I write is based on my own lived experience, and people and relationships are part of that. And as I continue to evolve and live from a place of more depth and open heartedness, my shares will be more revealing. I feel like there is an entire book inside of me just waiting to be written about the last two years of my life. That relationship is a part of that.
I would not effectively be the researcher and data collector, the magician and spell caster (“the truth is a spell your word is your wand” is the message I always receive from Beyond), experimenter, writer and truth teller if I did not allow my self to speak my own truth regardless of how it may make others appear in my story. I know my self to be compassionate and of integrity, and I’d never paint a picture of someone that was inaccurate or slanderous.
All that to say, I felt really strongly about re-sharing this newsletter. It feels like a momentous time in my life that I want documented, and resending feels like a meaningful action that validates a part of me that wants to be vulnerable but is also sometimes afraid. The writer that has so much to say but it sometimes afraid to say it. The human who has lived a rich and full and painful and beautiful life who just wants people to feel a little bit less alone in that. The human who just wants to be seen and heard by none other than her self.
So thank you for being here, for potentially reading all over again, for witnessing my truth. We are truly here for each other. What you read beginning with “Independence Day” is were this particular story begins.
Independence Day
In 2017, I began what felt like a love affair. My marriage was not working for me, I did not feel fulfilled in my work, I did not want to be a home owner anymore, I had just revealed to my husband that despite the pretenses with which we got married, I actually did not want to have children, and all I dreamed of was detaching from any and all obligations in my life and hitting the road. Where to, I did not know. All I knew was that the life that I claimed as mine felt foreign. It was mine, but in no way did it truly feel like me.
One day I was at Target, avoiding my life and partaking in a little retail therapy when a beach chair caught my eye. It was a day or two prior to July 4th (the day that America celebrates their independence) and there were multiple aisles filled with beach toys, towels, coolers, and everything and anything Capitalism could get their hands on to print an American flag; mainly hats, streamers, t-shirts, and koozies.
I made a beeline past all of the red, white, and blue to the neon green foldable beach lounger with backpack straps and a large pocket on the back. All I saw there was opportunity. Potential. Room for snacks. A space to hold rocks. While the last thing on my mind was the freedom of the Americas, nothing in the moment felt like it said ‘Merica to me more than some La Croix and potato chips in a beach chair pocket with backpack straps on it. $30 later I had a plan and supplies.
A couple of days later I made my way to a state park that had several hiking trails all leading to different areas of a beach on Lake Michigan. I picked this particular park because I was familiar with the trails, and also because I knew the beach would not be as busy as other public beaches; most people were not interested in hiking through miles of sand dunes with their coolers, flotation devices, beach chairs, and umbrellas. A long hike to a somewhat secluded beach with only the essentials on my back? To me, that sounded like a dream.
This was not my first beach rodeo. Having been born and raised in Grand Rapids, and only about 30-45 minutes away from multiple beach locations, we frequented Lake Michigan during the summers of our youth.
Somewhere along the way my parents purchased an above ground swimming pool from our neighbors across the street when they were moving, so our trips to the fresh water coast became few and far between. We spent hours in that pool, and it was no secret to anyone that I loved the water. It didn’t matter the time of day, the temperature, when the last time was it was vacuumed or the surface of the water was skimmed of all the leaves and dead bugs. If I was home, and not on my bike, I was in that pool.
Some thirty years later, Lake Michigan became a sanctuary to me. I spent several days a week during the summer, alone, on the beach. Some days I’d just lay on my lounger dreaming of a different life, conjuring the courage to change it. Sometimes rationalizing with my self as to why in my marriage I should stay. Some days I’d scour the beach for treasures like shells, stones, or glass. I’d spend hours swimming and jumping over wave after wave. I explored my love for photography, finding delight in capturing myriad of diverse moments on a simple yet complex landscape where the land meets the water. I felt a kinship with the seagulls and enjoyed their presence more than that of the man I’d promised my life to. My life that became more about living in a dream a couple of days a week rather than being present to the actual reality of it. It was then I knew things had to change.
A Proclamation
After we finally separated and then divorced, I did not discontinue my trips to the fresh water coast. As an entrepreneur, I had set up my life well where I had a lot of time freedom. If I was not working, there was nothing I wanted more than to be outside. Swimming. Sun worshipping. Exploring.
The beach became a place I could cancel out all of the noise of daily life and hear Jenny again. Feel Jenny again. It was the place I felt the most my self, and if felt so good accessing her again. It became a place I began considering that magic could be real. That joy and love and enthusiasm for life were attainable. I felt so alive there, spacious, and expansive. It was where I went to dream and begin reconnecting to my heart. It was where I was the most safe to be the most me. It felt like home.
When it came time for me to leave the beach to go back to my downtown studio apartment, I’d always say a short prayer to the land and the water. I’d express my gratitude to the water for literally holding me. I’d express my acknowledgements and gratitude to the natives that founded the land and inhabited it before any of us did. I’d wish blessings and protections upon it all, and before turning my gaze away from the water and heading back to the trail, to the parking lot, back home, I’d say with gratitude: “I can’t wait to live on you someday.”
When I said earlier that I began considering that magic could be real, it began as small moments at first. I’d show up and find 20 of the same kinds of shells. Shells I’d never seen prior to that day. Other days I’d find stones with the perfect progression of colors or I’d capture a paraglider at just the right moment.
Things that didn’t feel like accidents began happening. Perhaps if you spend enough time in a certain place, you’re just more apt to be present for more interesting things to happen. I don’t believe, though, in chance or coincidence or accidents. I believe that moments are intentional. That everything contained within them are on purpose. Joe Dispenza says the present moment is generous. Ram Dass said we should expect miracles. All of the evidence I’ve ever collected at Lake Michigan supports both statements, and beyond. Because of Lake Michigan, I believe in magic. Because of Lake Michigan, I believe in miracles.
For example, after my divorce I began a tradition with my self to spend every Christmas day on a hike or at the lake. It has historically been the most stressful holiday for me, so I wanted to reclaim that time of year and begin curating a more peaceful end of year experience.
In 2019, a friend of mine just so happened to not have her son on Christmas day and all of her celebrations with family took place in the morning. She invited me to a beach I’d never been to and we spent the evening drawing words and prayers in to the sand with driftwood, words and prayers for what we wanted to the new year to feel and be like, while watching each letter be washed away by the ebb and flow of the waves. Less than a year later, I fell in love with someone who lived a block from that same beach and spent a majority of 2020 summer and fall there.
That relationship has since come and gone. But not without exploring as much beach as we could from here up the coast to the tippy top of the state. It was a magical time in my life. I basically lived part time there; a sort of semi-manifestation of my desire to someday live on the lake.
And after the relationship unexpectedly ended, this body of water caught me. And as betrayals have been revealed from that relationship almost two years after it’s ended, it continues to be a safe place for me to continue unraveling stories and identities and all of the what ifs. It has been a safe place for me to come back to me again. To become clear about where I’m going. To get clear about what is true for me right now. To process and close a chapter in my life. To decide where it is that I’m going.
There are several other moments ripe with magic and whimsy and majesty and allure that have since been part of my journey with this land and water. I’ll leave it to you to check out my Instagram if you’d like to know more; I post pictures frequently of the magic I experience there.
Finally Up North
I haven’t had a job since June. And yet, I’ve been provided for. Not because my parents are supporting me or because I’m a trust fund kid; neither are true. Support just shows up, usually in ways I don’t expect. I still frequent my beach at least once a week, if not more. I’ve magically landed multiple paid house sitting gigs, one of which allowed for me to spend nine days in Northern Michigan, getting paid to do all of my favorite things in my favorite places. I’ve been doing Akashic Record readings thanks to word of mouth. There are a lot of things shifting and being created that I haven’t felt ready to share yet, but will in due time.
I’ve spent my unemployment deepening my belief in magic. I decided that at almost 36 years of age, I am owning my belief in it. That it is real. That we are all magicians. Scientists. Alchemists. Creators. The more I claim this as my truth, the more true it becomes. The more evidence shows up in my reality. I do believe that magic has to come with a bit of healthy inspired action, but my penchant toward trusting what I can’t see is growing moment by moment.
So when a friend told me she found a house for rent in Empire, MI that allows both of our dogs and is a five minute walk from the beach, I knew it was at the hand of magic. Actually, I almost said no at first. After years of trying to move north and coming up short, I let go it completely and began entertaining the idea of becoming nomadic again and hitting the road toward the southwest for the winter. But therein lines the magic: as soon as I let go of moving north, a move north made itself known.
With buckets full of unknowns, we’ve both said yes to this move. In a week’s time I’ll be living in a small lake town. A dream realized. A house the owner calls the FUN House, which stands for “Finally Up North”. Since we’ve said yes, we’ve received constant confirmation of this in the form of wild signs, synchronicity, and yes- magic. And in all of this, in the deepening of my trust and my sinking deeper in to the presence of this moment as I wait for more to be revealed, it is decided:
You can not tell me magic is not real. You can not tell me it is not real.
It’s Always Been Me
I can count on one, maybe two hands, the amount of people in my life who have shown up as steadily for me as Lake Michigan. And when I reflect on that statement, because I know there is someone out there who is questioning my rationale in comparing people to water (like, how can a body of water can be so profoundly integral to a life?) I realize it’s because of what it represents.
It’s not that I’m personifying a lake. It’s that it’s been my mirror. All these years it has been the thing that allows me to clearly see my self. It has held expansive, steady, neutral space for me. It has offered a clear reflection with unconditional love and safety. I don’t know if I can explain the importance of natural spaces for this reason if you don’t understand it already. But it has been medicine for me. In some ways, I even think it’s maybe not the lake itself that has helped me, but moreso it’s always been me that’s helped me. In some ways, me and the lake are interchangeable. There may be no difference. It may have always been me, and always been the lake too. I’m still measuring.
Someone informed me the other day that Michigan comes from the Ojibwe word “michigami” which translates to “great water”. You really can’t make this stuff up.
So again; you can not tell me magic isn’t real. You can’t tell me it’s not real.
And so the adventure continues.
Tallyho my friends,
Jenny