Hi! It was nice to briefly talk to you on the phone when you were at Chelsea’s wedding in Vermont, and I hope things are going well with redecorating the summerhouse at the Cape. But that’s not why I’m writing. I know you’ve been hearing some strange things. Some slanders about my lifestyle and wardrobe choices. This letter is to let you know that there’s nothing to worry about. Despite what you may have heard from Cousin Patrick, or that busybody Aunt Thelma, I have not joined a cult or the Green Party. No, nothing so drastic. I’ve just decided to live every day like it’s Burning Man.

The Burn has taught me that joy in life is all about forgoing expectations and the capitalistic trappings of wealth, and instead radicalizing self-expression while finding the beauty in pairing a leather bikini top with the glitter wings from my elementary school Tinker Bell Halloween costume and a space helmet.

Please don’t think I am just dismissing the education I received from a decent public university. My current partner Sven and I are applying my knowledge in ritualistic arts and critical post-feminist theory to the non-use of money in my everyday life, which of course, also includes ignoring my student loan payment obligations (sorry, co-signers) and that monthly soul-crushing tyranny called “rent.” We are on a path of self-discovery, you see, and nothing as pedestrian as currency should stifle our journey.

If money finds its way into my life, I am quick to purge myself of it, usually on a bulk purchase of neon pink faux fur (for my ongoing art installation “touch me here, not here”) and crafting the occasional kneepads needed for our roller disco. Plus, enough MDMA, G, and other drugs named only in uppercase letters that I don’t expect you to know, to keep the fire dancing rolling unto the wee hours.

At 30 years old, Mom and Dad, I am making this decision as an adult, and I ask that you respect my choice, and ask that you please do not kick me off the phone plan. I believe you will be pleased to know that what I now lack in fecundity I more than make up for in an intentional living practice.

Since making this momentous decision, my conscious lifestyle instructor acknowledged the other day as we were dosing out our daily turmeric intake, my aural energy, especially in regard to letting go of the daily duties required of most functioning adults in society, has become almost shamanic. At my weekly cuddle puddle I have a new sense of selfness, and my friend Robotron, whom I met on the playa last year, said they noticed a wellspring of attentive presentness as we did our crystal therapy.

I am not just another fair weather free spirit. I wear a fanny pack in which I hold compost in 24/7, keeping it on during showers and sex. It’s important I feel close to the Earth and its ever changingness. My goats, Lady Lou, Countess Eleanor, and Reginald Jr. Esq. have taken residence in the guest room of my condo, as they are in need of constant care and regular massages, (which I may have dabbled into my trust fund to pay for) but don’t fret, the luxurious milk they will provide for my organic, artisanal goat milk face mask company I plan to start will more than make up for any setbacks.

However, because I want to live a humble life I will be donating any money I earn from the face masks to The International Society of Geriatric Goats and those who love them, a very worthy cause. But I am sorry, I am going to have to cut this short, Mom and Dad, my compost oven (I LOVE COMPOST) just erupted and a new potpourri of decaying mass is disturbing Reginald. I think it’s time to turn it.

Be Well,

P.S. I’ve given up the name Jennifer for something that better represents my whole being.