HeyJared(un)rooted
Essays on culture, belonging, and migration, grounded in lived experience and research, and shaped by movement across places and identities.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 12
- Latest publication
- Sep 30, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 25, 2026
Latest issues
The River Remains a River (opens the original)
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This past weekend I watched the sun rise over the Mississippi River from the large front windows of a loft apartment where I was staying. I sat on my yoga mat with my morning coffee and watched the light slowly move across the water, thinking about how, in all of my 18 years of living in St. Louis, with all of my trips across its bridges, I’d never been able to just sit and watch the river.<a class="image-link image2 is-viewable-img" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!2nAB!,f_auto,q_a
Color All Over (opens the original)
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Right after the psychic/tarot reader told me that I had gypsy energy, that my life is meant to have lots of travel, she paused. “But you’re just so by the book.” She went on to explain: “You only color in the lines, and you’ve got to color all over.”This wasn’t new information. My life looks remarkably free from the outside. With the exception of a few longer stays in Mexico City, Paris, and Guatemala, I’ve been nomadic since 2021. I move when I want. I work when I want. I decide who I want to s
I Was Good at Doing Things Alone (opens the original)
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“Look at her sitting alone at a nice restaurant,” my dad said with pity in his voice while we were watching a show the other night.My mom responded quicker than I could, “Soooooo.”“Dad, that’s my life,” I finally got out.Then, eating his words, he muttered something about it being okay, but the judgment still hung in the room.I’ve been dining alone so long that I forget that it’s not natural for everyone–or that some, like my dad, still find it notable enough to comment on. I remember the first
A Wild Homecoming (opens the original)
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On my first morning run back in the small town where I grew up, I kept stopping. The streets were familiar–the same country roads I ran during my cross country days–but that morning, I kept noticing things. A black-and-blue butterfly in the middle of the road. The green leaves of a tree reaching into a brilliantly clear sky. I stopped, took a picture, and continued on. When I opened the front door, I found my parents huddled around one end of the kitchen table.“Jen, we have two monarchs,” my dad
Beginning Again with What Is Good (opens the original)
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This morning, I marked the beginning of a new month in my journal.1 septiembre.I had been awake since before 4 a.m. Since arriving in Guatemala, I haven’t been able to sleep in, which, for me, means making it to 6 a.m. Is it the roosters? Perimenopause? I can’t be sure. Perhaps, it’s simply the excitement of getting to have my first cup of coffee in the quiet hours before the rest of the world springs into action.Yesterday, I foolishly took my coffee out to the small deck outside my bedroom befo
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