The Author Tree Finds Her Voice

Week 60
June 14

This week began with a realization about time.

While sitting with a journal and a glass of sangria, reflecting on the growing responsibilities of leadership, a simple sentence emerged:

There is only so much time in a week.

The words stopped me in my tracks.

For years, my life had been measured in days, hours, and during the hardest moments, minutes. Yet without thinking, I had begun measuring my life in weeks. The horizon had expanded. The mountain had become visible.

What first appeared to be a realization about scheduling revealed itself as evidence of something much deeper. My nervous system is no longer organized around survival. I am beginning to think in arcs, seasons, and futures. The woman who once asked, “Can I get through today?” is now asking, “What am I building?”

An hour later, life placed a mirror beside me.

A woman named Kat sat down next to me at a wine bar. Over wine and conversation, she asked me to tell the story of my life. I spoke about Patty, Rosebud, divorce, Joey’s upcoming wedding, business, grief, and change. To my surprise, the stories no longer felt like wounds. They felt like landmarks.

For the first time, I referred to Zach as my second husband.

The phrase arrived naturally.

Not because the story was unimportant.

Because it had finally found its place in the timeline.

That conversation revealed a truth that echoed throughout the week:

Capacity is not the ability to avoid pain.

Capacity is the ability to remain whole while holding complexity.

As the week unfolded, another realization emerged.

For much of my life, I believed honesty and truth were the same thing.

They are not.

Honesty is an external expression.

Truth is an internal realization.

An honest person tells what they believe.

A truthful person sees what is.

This distinction reorganized years of experience in a single moment. I began to understand why patterns matter more than promises, why actions often reveal what words cannot, and why my favorite question lately has become:

What is true right now?

Truth is not what I hope.

Truth is not what I fear.

Truth is not what someone says.

Truth is what remains when all the stories fall away.

This realization seemed to unlock something else.

My voice.

Literally and metaphorically.

I found myself singing loudly at Boombox Bingo.

Speaking more confidently at work.

Trusting my decisions.

Occupying more space in conversations.

I realized that a childhood moment in church, when I was told not to sing so loudly, had buried part of my voice beneath decades of self-editing and fear of judgment.

This week I saw clearly that the voice was never gone.

It was waiting.

And now it is returning.

Not for approval.

Not for performance.

Not for anyone else’s expectations.

For me.

The image that emerged to hold all of these realizations was unexpected—the Tree.

The Sun became Truth.

The Mountain became Perspective.

The River became Flow.

And then the Tree appeared.

Rooted.

Expansive.

Capable of holding growth without floating away.

From that symbol evolved another: The Author Tree.

An old seven-trunk maple named Myrna holding a purple pen in her branches, furiously writing on her own bark. Every page formed from her rings, her seasons, her storms, and her growth. Each completed note released into the wind to land wherever it may.

Some pages change lives.

Some inspire thought.

Some drift by unnoticed.

Yet every page carries the fingerprint of its source.

I realized that I am no longer merely stewarding my life.

I am authoring it.

The revelations of the week were matched by action.

The paint-by-number gift for Andrea was completed and delivered.

Purple boots were painted.

Time with Sophie was cherished.

Back taxes moved forward.

Intentional time in nature deepened.

And in one of the most intimidating work challenges of the year, I successfully migrated four websites, including an unexpected subdomain, without my technical support team available.

What once felt overwhelming became manageable.

The fog lifted.

The confidence remained.

I learned something important:

I do not need to know everything.

I only need to trust my ability to learn.

Lunch with Andrea revealed another subtle shift.

For perhaps the first time, I noticed the boundary between old Jen and new Jen.

The old instinct to shrink appeared briefly.

The urge to simplify myself.

To make my life easier to explain.

To make my ambitions more comfortable for others.

And then it passed.

I remained visible.

I spoke honestly about work, leadership, growth, and even the regrettable night I spent with Zach weeks ago.

The friendship held.

The truth held.

And so did I.

I left that conversation realizing something important:

I am no longer middle-school Jenny shrinking in her chair because she knows the answer.

I am becoming the woman who trusts her voice enough to speak it.

Perhaps the deepest realization of the week is this:

The Universe of Jen is no longer a planning system.

It has become a way of living.

The Galaxies are no longer separate categories.

They are interconnected pathways.

Lessons discovered in one area ripple through all the others.

Business strengthens voice.

Voice strengthens creativity.

Creativity strengthens spirituality.

Spirituality strengthens discernment.

Discernment strengthens leadership.

The whole system breathes together.

The lessons unfold.

And then fold back into my soul.

Symbols of the Week

☀️ Sun — Truth

⛰️ Mountain — Perspective

🌊 River — Flow

🌳 Author Tree — Rooted Expansion & Authorship

🐎 Fire Horse — Momentum Emerging from Integration

🖋️ Purple Pen — Voice & Conscious Creation

Closing Reflection

A year ago, I publicly announced the end of my marriage and wrote:

“I recall my power back to myself.”

This week, I realized something beautiful.

The woman who wrote those words was hoping.

The woman reading them today is knowing.

The roots have deepened.

The horizon has widened.

The voice has returned.

And after months of integration, the Fire Horse has begun to move.

Not away from the past.

Toward the future.

I stand exactly as I am.

I move as exactly who I am.

And somewhere beneath the branches of the Author Tree, new pages are already being written. 💜🌳🖋️✨🐎🌕