Tamanowas Rock

Below is a journal entry from last March. At the time, I was avoiding technology as much as possible, so I didn’t digitize it until now. It provides insight into my mindset leading up to our decision to move from New York, and I felt it was important to share it here to give you more of the backstory on how we got to this point.

**March 16th, 2024

Tamanowas Rock**

In the past few weeks, I've traveled out west, visited Victoria, BC, and spent time at my mom's place in Sequim, WA. I felt the need to step away from my life in New York for a while. It seemed like I no longer belonged there, but I wasn’t sure where to go next. Despite our deep roots in New York, I felt like Rochester had drained me over the last four or five years. Thankfully, my mom's invitation to "come home" provided a welcome excuse and a much-needed diversion while I tried to reorient myself. Ironically, New York was where I grew up, the place I always considered home. But now, home feels more complicated.

Over the past few years, I was diagnosed with a debilitating autoimmune disease, lost our business, our dog, my sense of purpose, and our plans for the future. Many of the things that once defined "home" were suddenly stripped away, leaving me feeling lost and disoriented.

This morning, I ventured out to Tamanowas Rock near Anderson Lake in Washington State. Located on the First Nation’s Jamestown S’Klallam land, the site exudes a sacred and ancient energy. For centuries, tribe members have used this place to seek their life’s purpose, engaging in rituals lasting three days that included fasting and purification baths in Anderson Lake. Mastodons were hunted here, and it served as a sanctuary from tsunami floods.

I've felt drawn to this place ever since I first learned about it. However, given my struggle with AxSpa over the past two years, I doubted whether I could manage the hike to visit it. There were times not long ago when I went from using a cane or wheelchair to barely being able to get out of bed. Fortunately, after numerous trial-and-error treatments, I’m finally beginning to engage in activities I love again—nature being the most healing of all.

Of all the natural places I’ve visited, Tamanowas Rock has taught me the most.

I approached the hike with intention, as if entering a place of worship. Having never been to the area, I had no idea what to expect from the climb. While most trails in Olympic Park had been manageable, these unmarked uphill paths posed a real challenge. The worn soil from previous hikers was the only indication of the way ahead. We climbed steep hills that others might find easy, but for me, they pushed my limits.

I had been contemplating this pilgrimage since first learning about Tamanowas. Its Klallam meaning, “Spirit Power,” resonated with me at a time when I was seeking direction. I felt compelled to visit and discover it for myself, despite battling internal doubts and fears. I didn’t want this hike to leave me feeling more lost than I already was. I yearned for something meaningful.

As we passed through the wooden panels marking the trailhead, it felt like crossing a threshold from the ordinary into the sacred. The lush forest on either side of the path heightened the atmosphere. Despite the physical challenge, the warmth of the March day and the solitude of the trail were comforting. Like all significant journeys, it required an ego death. I was visibly tired as I pushed through exhaustion and steep inclines, determined to reach the summit. There was no way for me to fake an ease of exertion.

At a trail fork, I instinctively continued upward. We climbed higher until we reached a clearing overlooking Admiralty Inlet, Indian Island, and Whidbey Island. Surprised by the view, I realized we had completely overshot Tamanowas Rock.

After retracing our steps, we finally found the rock sanctuary nestled below. I collapsed onto the soft moss, basking in the warm sunlight, overcome with joy and peace. Sitting in silence, I hoped for profound insight or epiphany. Instead, I received clarity in the form of a metaphor.

Much like the hike, I had spent years relentlessly striving for success, always climbing upward without pause or reflection. But reaching the summit wasn’t what I expected, nor was it fulfilling. I realized then that I needed to backtrack, to find a different path that offered sanctuary and peace.

As it turned out, my journey to Tamanowas Rock was not just a physical hike, but a metaphor for life. It taught me the importance of pausing, reflecting, and seeking sanctuary amidst life's challenges. While I initially sought answers and direction, I discovered that sometimes clarity comes not from reaching lofty summits, but from finding peace within ourselves and reconciling with our past. Tamanowas Rock became a symbol of resilience, guiding me to embrace the present and find solace in uncertainty. As I left the sacred site, I carried with me the reminder to question, and the freedom to change course whenever needed in order to reach my own version of peace and abundance.