A love song and story for the inner child of the deep feeling soul

Healing reflections on solo weekend travel, life's little serendipitous moments, live folk music, the way sorrow influences destiny, and a little girl's fairytale bedroom.

Nov 23, 2024

Hello dear readers,

I’m writing you this letter from the childhood bedroom of my dreams.

Truly, it is the room I always wished for as a girl of about nine or ten years.

A room fit for a princess, complete with a four-postered framed bed with sheer curtains, walls lined with shelves that hold plenty of room for books and knick-knacks, and dreamy artwork of Paris scenes, bouquets of flower, and natural life.

Abundant with all the little things you need to be creative, soft, and wondrous in your weekend of solitude.

Not to mention, it’s pleasantly tucked away. Hidden down a private hallway and up a mysterious set of stairs, with walls on either side adorned by humble artwork.

Growing up, this was exactly what I pictured when I would close my eyes and let myself drift off from the words on the page of the great girl stories the likes of Anne of Green Gables, Laura of Little House on the Prairie, and Fern of Charlotte’s Web,

A quiet and peaceful sanctuary; to wonder, to dream, and to wander.

I never intended to be in this place, but as fate would have it, it was the first room available for instant booking on AirBNB the night of the Wailin’ Jenny’s show.

I had purchased my tickets to see the Jennys weeks prior, but up until the morning of the show, which fell on a Friday evening, I hadn’t yet slowed down to consider my plans for the weekend.

I always say that going away, even for just an evening, is an opportunity for self-care and radical self-connection one should not pass up when they get the chance, so I decided that a night over was exactly what I needed.

The Room Above the Barn, at Henniker Manor.

Generally, when I take trips alone, I like to make a real thing about it.

If it’s close to home, I'‘ll indulge a bit on the location, staying in a place I wouldn’t normally find myself–like a restored farmhouse in a historic college town.

I actually don’t know much about the history of this place, but walking up the front steps last night on my way back from the show, I felt as if I was returning to the present, while also stepping into the past. The homesteady charm was off the charts.

If you look close, you can even see my little hideaway room tucked in between the main house and the attached barn, just above the front porch.

How romantic 🥰

What’s that you hear?

It’s the sound of music floating down from the top of the stairs.

I’m sitting cosy in the big bed, listening to the Wailin Jennys the morning after seeing them live at the Capitol Center for the Arts in Concord, NH.

The Wailin’ Jennys were simply, lovely, by the way, and I wish you could have been there to hear them. Just for fun, here’s their upcoming tour schedule.

Never heard of them? Well, you simply must. They have an impeccable sound that blends the gorgeous harmonies and timeless songwriting of contemporary folksy Americana with the charming personality of bluegrass, the lyrical soul of gospel, and the rooted tonal and rhythmic consciousness of Celtic music.

If I had to pick a song to show you, it would be this one.

It was that one song of the evening, for me.

You know what I mean…that one song in every live show that fully reaches your heart; the singular moment during the performance which later finds you walking back to your car feeling the pluck and harmony still lingering on your heartstrings.

My cord was struck this time by the song, By Way of Sorrow.

And the lyrics, which read like poetry, express the feeling.

For the full experience, feel free to hit play on the video, then scroll to read the lyrics below.

It’s a song many a deep feelers heart can surely relate to.

By Way of Sorrow

You've been taken by the wind
You have known the kiss of sorrow
Doors that would not take you in
Outcast and a stranger

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

You have drunk a bitter wine
With none to be your comfort
You who once were left behind
You will be welcome at love's table

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll rеach your destiny
Meant to find you all thesе years
Meant to find you all these years

All the nights that joy has slept
Will awake to days of laughter
All the tears that you have wept
We'll dance in freedom ever after

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

You have come by way of sorrow
You have come by way of tears
You'll reach your destiny
Meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years

If you listened to the song and read the lyrics, I’d love to hear what feelings, thoughts, or stories did this song evoke in you? Did you love it as much as I do?

Encountering my innermost child.

For me, these words, conveyed by the purified harmonies and impeccable timing of the three Wailin’ Jennys–Heather, Nicky, and Ruth–awaken feelings of nostalgia, longing, bittersweet sadness, and the pure, joyful heart of my innermost child.

This was the kind of music that raised me.

The song is beautiful in its storytelling simplicity, yet profound in its poetic wisdom.

It speaks to the universal and timeless human experience of encountering pain and sorrow in life, and the way that these encounters often lead us to exactly where we are meant to be; to our destiny.

Which brings me back now to the little room my girl’s heart once dream of from which I am writing you this letter.

I just stopped to make a cup of peach green tea from the little kitchen nook to the left of my bed, and I’m playing the song again.

(Anyone else here obsessively listen to their favorite song until it feels like its been fully felt, heard, and worn properly through?)

I can’t help but listen again and again as I write because it conveys this little getaway I’m on so fully. And I just want to convey it to you. I want you to feel what I’m feeling.

To see and hear the world through my eyes and ears for a brief moment.

So far, it’s been a weekend of remembering and connecting to old parts of myself; from the younger version of me who first started listening to the Wailin’ Jennys during the pandemic, to the youngest version of me who dreamed of the room I sit in now.

It’s been a weekend of encountering my innermost child.

A Romantic Date with Destiny

How did I end up here? I’m not sure, because I never planned to be.

Twas what the romantics and bohemians throughout history would call destiny–the idea that something could be somehow intended to happen before it ever did in fact, happen.

It wasn’t a fact that I would be here this weekend, yet here I am.

Listening to the song again, just as the lyrics turn toward the end of the chorus, it feels as if I’m having a romantic encounter with every possible version of myself

…you have reached your destiny, meant to find you all these years.

Now, I can’t say for sure that everything that happens to happen to me in my life has some kind of pre-destined nature to it, but it sure as heck feels that way sometimes.

Especially as I sit here writing this letter to you listening to a song that sings of fated events, and I find myself again in awe of the mysterious ways life seems to work.

Strangely, I often find myself in these uncanny, is-this-really-happening-pinch-me-I’m-dreaming situations. Magical, almost fairytale-like moments where it feels like the stars aligned perfectly just to land me gently like a fairy princess on a lily pad or like a lost soul at the door to a secret garden.

Images of the cover to the children's books: The Secret Garden and The Frog Princess. — Two of my favorite childhood stories.

(…and if you’re like huh? understand that I probably read The Princess and the Frog and The Secret Garden at least a dozen times as a girl and it most likely played some non-zero percentage of a role in my early childhood brain development).

There’s truly no harm in getting lost in a little reverie from time to time, is there?

Maybe it’s not magic or destiny that led me here, but rather a kind of openheartedness. A willingness to see the love in everything, and feel it too.

Maybe it’s all just one big…

Healing fantasy.

Whether this weekend away, and the letter I’m writing you now, is destiny, magic, or simply a momentary expression of pure and unfettered nostalgia from a truly hopeless romantic heart, all I can say for sure is that they feel validating, serendipitous, magical, romantic, and simply fantastic.

They are purely, healing fantasies.

As I wrap this letter, I’m sending it to you with the intention of sharing a piece of it, before I head back into my little weekend of reverie and solitude.

May it nourish you like the smell of cedar lined closets, and floral hand soap.

And may it edge you ever closer to your own beautiful destiny, or whatever else was meant to find you all these years.

Whether a cosy dream bedroom room above the barn, or something else entirely.

May all the dreams of your innermost child, come true.

Love,

Leah

PS. Community Reflection and Sharing

Imagine a space where your innermost child feels safe, loved, and free to dream. What does it look like? Is it a cozy bedroom, a magical forest, or somewhere entirely unexpected?

Write a few sentences describing this sanctuary. Include the little details—the textures, colors, sounds, and smells. Then, reflect: What does this space say about what your heart truly longs for today?

Share your reflections in the comments if you feel inspired, or keep them as a love letter to your innermost self. 💖

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