Change Gonna Come
Mandolin Orange, Chris Stapleton, Lucinda Williams. I would’ve scoffed at country music before. And now I have a playlist devoted to country-ish musicians that my ears deem acceptable. “When you move somewhere new, it changes you,” a new friend of mine said to me. “It’s exciting to see how living here might change you.” I like to play my country music with all the windows down as I snake up M22, the only road that takes me to the five other towns on this peninsula. Jerry Garcia, Bonnie Raitt, Billy Bragg. A 37-minute drive to Northport feels like 37 minutes of magic. I don’t get cell service on most patches of the drive so instead of catching up with friends in the car like I used to, I turn the volume way up, and on special days, I spark up a joint for the ride. Along the route there are countless lakes, a canopy of green leaves that are hanging on by a late-summer thread, sitting at the cusp of change. There are farm stands sprinkled every mile or so. Eggs and firewood for $5. Fresh corn, a dozen for $4. Peaches and late season cherries and blueberries by the quart. Handpainted signs on broken pieces of wood lure you off the road for the day’s bounty and a jar of money sits there for you to add your cash to, honor system.
When you move somewhere new, it changes you. And I feel like a snowman that is slowly starting to melt into a more mellow version of me. Hustle culture, people call it these days. After living in cities for 18 years, I thought hustle was simply my nature. But then I moved here and it felt like slamming on the brakes. The way people do business in Northern Michigan baffles me. I’ve learned quickly that businesses aren’t clamoring for your business, which I do realize is a secondary repercussion of COVID-related workforce woes. But nonetheless, the ice cream shop I was so excited to patronize after my 37-minute magical drive with Dolly Parton had a sign that said they were open from 10:00am to 9:00pm on Wednesday and at 6:00pm they were closed. All I saw were remnants of what could have been. An open sign that wasn’t illuminated. A menu of delicious flavors taunting me. And, in my own mind, the sound of tumbleweeds drifting by my feet as I stood on the empty sidewalk, not another human in sight. I walked around the building to see if maybe it was a joke. Maybe there was a different walk up window reserved for Wednesdays only. But what I saw instead was a different sign with hours listed on it. This one said they were closed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. And I wondered who decided to hang contradicting signs. Ice cream-less and grumpy, I wandered to a store called Porcupine that I wanted to browse for new home items — closed. Another store where I wanted to buy this special soap — closed. After the Fourth of July, my favorite coffee shop posted on Instagram that their staff was tired and they decided to close on Sundays permanently because of that. And I now know to call ahead wherever I plan to go just in case there’s a sign in the window, Gone Fishing, waiting for my arrival.
Considering the trend, I wasn’t sure how it would go when I hired local movers to unpack my U-Box. It seems that, instead of being open consistently with appealing hours, businesses will instead make ends meet in a variety of ways. On the movers’ website, it literally says: “Oh…and by the way…have dry, split, firewood for pick up or delivery, 365 days a year and, AKC Alaskan Husky Pups 3 times a year.” So in the event someone moves to the area and needs an emergency bonfire or a puppy, chances are pretty high that he’ll have a solution for ya. A winery on the east side of M22 happens to have the best Thai food in town, my new friend reports. It merges Thai food with pizza, he says. And they have a killer margarita too. While I struggle to see the correlation in their offerings, I am ambivalently intrigued and will more than likely order both. That is, if they’re open.
When you move somewhere new, it changes you. When there are no restaurants or grocery stores open in a 20-mile radius, you learn to either plan all of your meals weeks in advance or fall to the mercy of eating your nieces’ Special K for dinner three nights in a row. I lost a little weight when I first moved because I could no longer pick up a poke bowl and chips or a giant burrito or even a pizza at any given hour of any day of the week. Modern day conveniences simply don’t exist. I hand wash my car because there isn’t a car wash around. I learn how to hang things and fix things because TaskRabbit is unheard of. Uber and Postmates and a quick trip to Nordstrom — no longer. Amazon Prime is lucky to arrive in six days. And when given no choice in the matter, acceptance is all that is left.
Satire aside, there’s a certain sort of surrender required to live in this tiny corner of the world. A patience that has started to sidle up to my bones. This disruption in lifestyle is teaching me appreciation, understanding, compassion, balance. Isvara pranidhana is what it reminds me of in Sanskrit, translating specifically to “surrender to God,” but I like to dilute it to “surrender to what is.” The ultimate relinquishing of control. We always have a choice with our reaction, and from a backed-up perspective, there’s quite little we can control. What good would it do to get angry about a store or restaurant being closed? It might come with an eye roll at first, but ultimately I get to decide my attitude, I get to redirect, I get to change. I get to choose what ruffles my feathers and what doesn’t. I get to see this special place where I choose to live as a place that honors work-life balance, one that celebrates nature and its ever-changing seasons, a culture of people that values rest and knows how to implement it.
When you move somewhere new, it changes you. And I’m not just talking about food or cell service or fluffy annoyances that enhance my patience and understanding. I’m talking about lifestyle and values and the way I choose to spend my time. The change that disguises itself as learning how to bird watch or identify different trees or take real time out of my day to jump in the lake. But it’s really about learning how to be open and curious and playful. I listen differently in the nature that’s constantly surrounding me. I move more slowly throughout my days. I cherish downtime with my family. I give myself more grace when I choose rest over productivity. And I know that more change is gonna come. Every relationship, move, job, conversation, drive, sunset…every single moment, in fact, is an opportunity to change, tune in, and learn. Life is constantly reminding us about the inevitability of change. COVID made it pretty damn apparent. The deer I hit with my car the other night reminded me about it again. The subcontractors not showing up to work on my house after they promised they would. Change comes at a moment’s notice. And in those moments where surrendering to it is all there is, in the moments when I no longer feel recognizable to myself, when I bear witness to the change that’s right before my eyes — well, those are the moments I celebrate. And I do so by pouring a giant bowl of cereal and turning Willie Nelson all the way up.
Hi, I’m Jenna.
A yoga instructor, trained pastry chef, major book nerd, and former graphic designer. I have a zest for life and am passionate about continuously upleveling my growth – and bringing others along for the ride. My aim is to guide individuals in discovering themselves fully so they can walk through the world
100% self expressed.
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