Turning 29: Redefining Life's Stages

I turned 29 last month.

We ran off to the water to escape the wake of buyers making offers on our house and backing out, car trouble and career moves, and to forget the viscous house selling cycle we were caught in the loop of.

To just be.

Without a preconceived plan, we hit up Lemonjello’s in Holland to take coffees out to the beach. The winds were high that day, making the hot cup in my hands even better and perfect for the cake in the back of my car. It was a chocolate and flourless recipe by the Mast Brothers—I’ll have to give it to you. It’s only four ingredients and stupid rich and dense and perfect.

We soaked in the hours—the day to ourselves—unfussy and unplanned. For weeks we’d both been so stressed and worn to the bone, I just let myself alone. I didn’t reflect on the past year, not because I don’t believe in its importance, but because I didn’t need to. Instead of looking back at what I accomplished, I let it all go. Stayed present. Tapped into my senses. I’m a serious advocate for giving your body what it needs, and that day I just needed to be clear of mind.

I believe society holds preconceived notions about where you should be and what you should’ve accomplished in your 20s. But I call bullshit.

I used to get down on myself when I’d read about other twenty-somethings nailing a lofty position in New York or Chicago. As I got older, I realized I didn’t want New York. I didn’t want Chicago. Or Seattle. Or Portland. Or San Fran. Or even hip Palo Alto. 

During my last year at college, there was a major push by the faculty to get out. Detroit didn’t even count. Just move away. Get out of here.

But I didn’t want to. I had a mad and fierce conviction about it too. This was my home, and this place had marked me. I knew the roads well, and had history with its cities. I grew up on the water and never felt more at peace when I’d return to it. It’s where my ancestral tree took root from Germany, and where my parents were living out their golden years. I found my love for Michigan wine in the summer, road-tripping up US-23, and all the hidden gems like Hollander’s and French Paper Company. The four seasons were in wild distinction, there were peninsulas and islands to explore, and mad beer to experience.

And I was going to strip myself from all this… in the name of the job?

No. I’m not done here. And my sole purpose in life is not about chasing the corporate dollar to prove my “worth” to the Joneses.

No. The job doesn’t define me. My identity falls somewhere deeper. Somewhere unshakeable. Somewhere between a place of empathy and acceptance. A place of mindfulness and essentialism. Where the care and keeping of relationships with others as well as your own body presides.

So hello, 29. May this be a year of growth, opportunity, contentment, and courage. And to hell with the standard benchmarks.

Summer 2016 Musts

Earlier this week I was in the grocery store restocking up on sun lotion and sparkling water when I saw it. The end of season sale. The floor had been cleared and there stood all the gardening tools, grills, patio lights, and lawn chairs in their discounted glory.

As I write this—bum planted on a blanket in the grass, shoes off, hair up, the sun dipping low to the west leaving a warm humid breeze—I must say,

Summer’s not over.

I was an August baby, and have lived Indian summers my entire life. July is merely our midpoint. Our peak. And while this season has been a bit more tied up for the two of us due to Chris’ new position and our impending move, there are still a few things left on our non-negotiable list to round out this summer:

1     Go to a wine tasting and try something we've never had before.
2     Try stand-up paddle boarding. At sunset.
3     Hit a new trail north of here.
4     More beach days, more bonfire nights.
5     Shop all the indie art fairs.

Something I’ve recently been introduced to and now love is Eventbrite. You're able to look up any city, even remote areas up north, and save happenings you want to get to. One of my favorite finds is a free summer cocktail workshop that's just screaming for a backyard party under the stars (scroll through what else I’m planning to hit up and add to my non-negotiables right here).

So summer is not over babes. Grab your sunscreen, chill the aloe, and hit the road with me.

An Afternoon Hike in the Wetlands

Last week we packed a bag and hit a trail about 30 miles north of here. It felt good. The last time we were able to get out was back in April, and you haven’t even seen that yet. Because life.

That afternoon was teeming with life. Lush, and green, and thick, and just soo much life everywhere. I instantly regretted not throwing my wildflower guide into our pack, as lovely tiny flowers were all over, carpeting our walk. Spotted knapweed, bird’s-foot trefoil, common mullein, and pineapple-weed grew all around us, and that’s only what I could identify from memory!

Frogs jumped from our path and a small beaver (maybe muskrat) dipped into the dike among the cattails. At one point we both froze with our breath in our throats as a large osprey lifted himself from a tree branch in front of us and soared low and away. 

What was that?! Was that an eagle?! I was beaming.

There were obvious signs no one had been by to maintain the trail in quite some time. We attempted to continue the full mile, but weren’t outfitted for the tall grass irritating my uncovered feet and Chris’ uncovered legs. Though I adore summer grass and advocate private buff sun sessions, I wasn’t in a hurry to surprise any sleeping field snakes. When we spotted a small garter snake sunning along the path back to our Jeep, I knew I made a good decision.

Tonight we’re heading back for the ledges, a place we visited in the winter on our very first hike. Maybe we’ll pack some wine. Maybe we’ll see new wildflowers. I’ll be sure to pack my guide.

A BFA Graduate from Michigan State University

Last weekend I graduated. It’s taken me so long to write this post, to tell you how it feels, to wrap up four years of incredible growth, to relive a day that happened in a blink yet carries so much gravity… 

So I started thinking about the everyday.

Parking on Orchard Street, and walking the rest of the way to campus.

The magnolias.

Having drawing class on the sprawling lawn.

Painting in the studio before sunrise.

Meeting friends for lunch.

My heart skipping over Marcel Breuer, Helen Levitt, Mark Rothko, and Alexey Brodovitch.

My wildly feminist art history professor. She was too much while I had her, but I admire her tenacity in hindsight, and her prowess has stayed with me.

Having a meltdown in my graphic design professor’s office, and for once hearing everything I needed to hear.

Those in-between moments made it for me. All the walks, all the coffee, all the crying and long hours and creative messes between deadlines. It was a taste of perfect.

Family had arrived a couple days prior and filled our tiny house with love, excitement, and muddy puppy paws. The day of my ceremony, I felt lighter than air. My heart was full and surprisingly (for me) at peace. I expected to be a ball of nerves and sobbing incessantly during the coronation speech. Accepting my diploma didn’t feel real, as anyone can tell you, but it happened. And I swear I floated all day.

After the ceremony we opted to bypass the crowds at the Spartan Statue and the Beaumont Tower for private photos at my building—a gorgeous, linear, mid-century modern art center. Far from the bustle of west campus, it was quiet here, and the occasional jogger would run by along the riverbank, smiling as she passed. I’d pause to return the look. To anyone who passed by, it was just another day, just a normal afternoon getting their run in. While they were comfortable in their routine, mine was rumbling towards a glorious, tectonic shift.

We slowly walked back to the car and headed for a luncheon at the The Creole, our favorite little place in Old Town, Lansing. We sipped on champagne and talked about life as George Lewis played overhead.

Now then. We are all wildly different and one woman’s challenge is another woman’s cake walk. I’m not claiming to be the end-all of late-in-lifers, and I’m certainly not the oldest to have graduated among twenty year-olds frequenting Tinder. But there’s a couple of things I bet we can universally agree on, and I lovingly pass this on to anyone on the fence about taking a defining leap:

Let’s stop measuring life by age. Reread that. Reread that, again. We live in an exciting time where advanced aged women are splashed across the screen, you can be a first-time mother at 50, and Eat Pray Love is real. You will get to it, on your own terms. This isn’t a suggestion to put things off, and yes, certain things are much more suitable for the spry, but it’s a valid way of shifting the way we think about longevity. It doesn’t matter if you’re 30 or 65—you’re still on this planet and still have a life to celebrate and dreams to fulfill.

Before the mic drops, I have one more pearl of wisdom to pass off onto you. 

When you get blackout mad, and so frustrated and so fed up and things are just way too hard in the moment… dance. And dance hard. The sensation will be elevated if you’re alone, it’s after dark, and you have an amplifier. Nothing else will matter, I promise. It’s the craziest sugar.

Hiking Lake Lansing

Chris had been gone an entire week building up his store, which meant I had the house to myself! That was only cool for about eight hours. I missed him terribly and our pets have this stressful habit of acting out when there’s a long-term change. Daddy’s missing, and I’m not cool with it. And so, over one of our late-night phone calls, we planned to have a day to ourselves when he got back, and take our next hike.

The drive to the lake was my favorite. We headed out on an early Sunday morning, when many homes were still sleeping or getting around for church service. With a coffee to-go, we had the roads to ourselves as it curved around the lake, passing only active adults and moms running solo or with partners in fun neon fitwear. 

We parked the car by the lake, and walked to other side of the road for the trailhead. A young couple headed out in front of us, in cozy warm sweats and a thermos of coffee. They had brought their silky golden retriever and cocker spaniel with them, and I was jumping inside to be sharing the trail. They soon lost us, however. They knew these trails, and knew them well.

The preserve was 530 acres, giving our minds an easy escape. The trail was mild, but winding, and we stopped frequently to read the interpretive signs. We learned the patches of tall grasses in marshes aren’t tall grasses at all, but invasive phragmites threatening the health of wetlands.

A runner went by, with her unleashed dog running behind her. I love that—dogs so loyal and trained they're rockstars off the leash. He (or she) went right by the two of us as if we weren't there, totally undistracted by all the sights and smells. Chris and I gawked at each other, wondering what that life's like. Our dog adopts anyone as her own. You run by? She'll turn right around and run along with you, excited by her new pal.

Along the way, we spotted squirrels, chipmunks, and an awesome wood pecker tapping a tree for breakfast. We also crossed paths with an arborist, who told us he loved walking through here seasonally, just to observe change in the trees. He said there would be a crown gall coming up ahead, so big it's hard to miss. I felt like a child on a scavenger hunt the moment we spotted it. The growth was huge, and equally mystifying as it was sad.

At one point, we realized we missed our original turn-off! Every lost-in-the-woods joke started rolling out, and we laughed about starving, looping the same path until dark.

Everything was cool though, and we soon hit our turn-off and came across a deer bed near the end of the trail. Growing up in a northern forest, I was used to finding them when we'd play, and deer alone wasn't rare as you can imagine. In fact, it was so ordinary, we all grew up subconsciously driving with our eyes peeled so as not to hit any leaping into the road. Now after several years of city living, looking at that bed brought me such peace, such a warm, fuzzy feeling, and I was excited to show Chris who hadn't seen one before.

I’m finding a major draw to hiking is the act of being submerged in a natural area. With nothing to do but watch your footing and look in every direction around you, there’s a mental freedom I wasn't expecting. I simply wasn’t tuning in to the insane agenda that was on my desk back at home. Again, you don't need any hiking gear to get out in the wild. Heck, I was hiking in the coziest Uggs I own. The gear will come with time, so right now it's about being alone together—getting away from our current overcrowded life and reconnecting with each other.

Read more about why we started hiking here.

A Weekend Retreat in Alpena, Michigan

During the same trip as my time in Ossineke earlier this month, I spent most of my stay out around town with Chris and my parents. I had packed light, only bringing pieces I could walk in, lounge in, and shop in all on the same day. 

We spent our morning at the harbor. Among other favorite places around town, it’s become a given that we’ll wind up out on the breakwater any time I’m home. It’s one of those spots in a city everyone makes their own—dog owners, runners, boaters from the yacht club, angsty teens, and businessmen lunching from their cars. 

This time the lake was covered in ice, slowly thawing itself out, and in the coolest shades of slate and green, sometimes almost sea-glass green. Every once in a while we could hear the ice crackle apart and see tiny bubbles rising beneath the thin sheets of ice. 

I’ve been coming here since I was very little, climbing out over the rocks with my sister. Now that I think of that, good grief Mom! You must have been worried out of your mind!  But then again, maybe she had that mysterious mother’s sense and trust. Whatever it was, it taught me how to move on my feet and trust my footing, and connect with the earth beneath me. As a result, I grew up a little fearless around similar terrain. Several years ago while visiting my sister in Colorado, I decided to yolo and climb a waterfall barefoot, despite the explicit warning signs not to. Another time I took a series of photographs of my dress in the wind on the coastal breakwater in Southern France. When I got back down to the beach, one of the men we were traveling with was shocked at my gumption to climb up there, barefoot. I remember thinking, You kidding me? That was nothing. 

After a while we left for caffeine to Cabin Creek Coffee, which is my favorite coffee shop in the area. The menu is huge—HUGE—and they’ll still make you something you’re craving off-menu. Like a mocha chai. Which was out of this world. Thank you ladies. They also offer an original, full menu of Shakeology shakes. I immediately saw myself moving back, running every morning in some vibrant, kickass Nikes, and ending downtown for a protein shake. Dangerous, is what that is.

We ended up near the north end of town, taking a walk along the river where a brave soul was still ice fishing. The path takes you behind the old brewery, where I hold ten million and one memories. After things hit the fan in 2008, the brewery changed, and then eventually closed its doors. I can never walk past it without getting incredibly sappy and quiet and my heart just chokes itself out. You know something? And this is going to sound a little bit selfish, but, a part of me is at peace that it’s closed. Don’t get me wrong, the building is gorgeous and it’s on AMAZING real estate where tall ships dock, historic train tracks run through, and the summertime vibe has never been so killer… But it’s a place that was mine, and left when I left. It didn’t live on to become someone else’s, passing hands and bartenders and fresh 21-year-olds, then 22-year-olds… it closed. Sealing it’s last years inside that I was a part of. 

Anyway. 

I pulled myself away and after a couple of days we loaded up the car and headed back downstate. Looking around our home, I know now I'm ready to move. I'm ready for our next stop. I think I'm learning how restless my nature is, a bit rebellious and a bit headstrong. And until I find what's calling for me, we're ready to shake off the rugs, find new ground, see what else we're made of, and hit the road north whenever we feel like a Shakeology on the beach.