Jenny Block
See How Jenny Block, Of The Houston Area, Has Created Badass Manifesting, A Manifesto For Living Unapologetically Bold, Brilliant, And On Your Own Terms
Manifesting isn’t just a buzzword; it’s a lifestyle upgrade. In her new book, Badass Manifesting, Jenny Block turns the practice into a chic, fearless act of self-creation. Think less “waiting on the universe” and more “commanding the room.” With clarity, humor, and unapologetic confidence, Block, who lives in the Houston area, reframes manifesting as a daily practice of owning your worth and shaping your world. In this excerpt, she shows how desire becomes design, and design becomes destiny. Here, in an exclusive, is the second of two excerpts of the soon-to-be bestseller.
To read the first excerpt, visit here.
You Can Open Yourself to Others and Expand Your Manifesting Powers
If You Can Let Others In, You Can Find Your Way in the World.
Making things happen can feel isolating. Sometimes, that isolation even seems necessary. We don’t want anyone to steal our energy or our joy—or our ideas for that matter! But the truth is, being around your herd will make you more able to achieve your dreams. Being surrounded by other badasses can feel empowering. You can look around and know that all of those other people are making their dreams come true. And if they can do it, you can too!
I am a badass.
It’s badass to be around other badasses.
What makes me feel badass today?
I am a badass.
It’s badass to be around other badasses.
What fear will I face today?
I am a badass.
It’s badass to be around other badasses.
What can I do today to make me feel even more badass?
I am a badass.
It’s badass to be around other badasses.
What fellow badass can I connect with today?
I am a badass.
It’s badass to be around other badasses.
Why is being a badass important to me?
I am a badass.
It’s badass to be around other badasses.
I’m not sure why this was such a tough nut for me to crack at first. I used to think I needed to be the only badass in the room, or the best one, or the biggest one to somehow prove I was one. But no more. Now, I surround myself with badasses. Being surrounded by badasses doesn’t make me less of a badass. It makes me more of one.
Being a badass has nothing to do with comparing yourself to anyone else. Everyone gets to be their own badass self, whatever that looks like. It certainly looks different for everyone. But isn’t that kind of the best part of badassery?
Who cares what anyone else thinks. Be where you feel like a rock star because you are a rock star. Comic-Con? Yes! Quilt conference? Yes! Prom themed purse bingo? Absolutely!
My friend Justine told me once that it’s important to have three kinds of friends—ones who are just like you, ones who you aspire to be like, and ones to whom you can be a mentor. I love that.
And here’s the thing. All three types can be badasses like you—just different kinds!
So, how do you go about finding your badass herd? Well, you start by seeking out activities and places and groups where you can imagine finding like-minded people. For many years, I went to a writers’ and artists’ commune outside of Charlottesville, Virginia, where I was able to add all three of those kinds of friends to my herd.
Every summer for up to a month, we would work, play, eat, and laugh together. At one point, I believe our ages ranged from twenty-five to eighty-five. So don’t ever let age be a barrier. Writing is what brought us together. Our humanity is what kept us together.
Now, this can go terribly wrong. There is a villain in the creation of herds, and its name is Envy.
I went to the famed Bread Loaf writers’ retreat. I was so excited. I didn’t learn until after attending that there is a self-imposed hierarchy between the writers that doesn’t have to do with talent or success. It had to do only with how you were there. If you were there on a grant, you were a rock star. If you paid to attend, you were a peon.
I paid.
I let that make me feel small. Perhaps it was set up to make me feel that way, but I allowed it to make me feel small despite the fact that I was the only writer at the retreat other than the instructors who had already published a book and was working on the next. I even booked an appearance on the Tyra Banks Show while there and still managed to let myself feel small.
My advice? Avoid those situations at all costs. Avoid places, people, and events that don’t care who you are, or those focused on one-upmanship. I refuse to participate in that any longer. I love some healthy competition, but that’s about respecting one another and raising one another up. Anything that’s about tearing other people down, you can count me out. And I recommend you do the same. You don’t need them, and they don’t deserve you.
Surrounding yourself with badasses will make you feel like more of a badass. I feel the most badass at workshops and festivals—places where you are surrounded by like-minded people. I learned that magic trick in high school, a place where there were all sorts of badasses around me. But I was so extremely concerned with fitting in with the “cool kids” that I had a tough time finding my own way.
I became very self-conscious the summer before I entered high school. Everything about me suddenly seemed wrong—my hair, my nose, my clothes, my body, my interests—it all just seemed backwards and babyish and not okay. I was a student at the John Carroll School, a private, Catholic school that I had begged my parents to allow me to attend.
It seemed like all the girls were blonde and had boobs already: They looked like women. They wore makeup and knew how to flirt with boys. I was a geek and felt like one. I cut my hair into an asymmetrical bob, put safety pins in my ears, and joined the drama club.
I was lucky in some ways, I guess. Although I never got invited to the weekend field parties or was asked to any school dances (except by boys on the debate team or in the drama or Latin clubs), I could sit anywhere I liked in the cafeteria. This was no small feat in high school. One of my best friends was head cheerleader.
Don’t ask me how that worked. I suppose I was good enough to hang out with at school—in moderation, of course—but anything more than that, like any invitation to sneak out for lunch or go to a party on the weekend, was just out of the question. The funny thing was I led sort of a double life. Although school was of course my primary pursuit, I also went away several times a year on what we called conclaves.
Conclaves were youth group events sponsored by synagogues throughout the region. Now, we certainly did attend services, take part in workshops, and learn Israeli folk dancing. But I have to be honest with you here. Conclaves were basically where I learned about sex and drugs, including alcohol.
You see for some reason, I guess because these were supposed to be religious events, the girls and guys were allowed to stay together. We would sometimes sleep over at the hosting synagogue, but more often, we would stay with different “host families”—with six to ten teenagers per house depending on its size. We’d all be allowed to stay together in the oversized family room or finished basement.
The contradiction for me was that I was very popular at MAFTY (Mid-Atlantic Federation of Temple Youth) events. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Sure, I was popular—I was queen of the geeks. But these kids weren’t geeks, they were attractive—even by my snobby school’s standards. They were smart and funny as well as often well-off. I had a million friends and plenty of male attention.[1]
It was actually incredibly confusing. I remember crying uncontrollably every time I left one of the weekend-long events. I even remember praying (they were religious retreats, after all) that God would turn back the clock just this once, I’d do anything, anything to be able to live out the weekend all over again. It never worked, of course, but you can’t blame a girl for trying.
I was a badass among badasses there, and I knew that was something I would seek out from then on. And I have been lucky enough to find it time and time again at places like the writers’ weekends at Nimrod Hall before it sadly changed hands.
Nimrod was a long-held family property that hosted families, artists, and writers year after year. It was like Badass Heaven. For anywhere from one to eight weeks every summer, you could live in the mountains of Southwest Virginia and enjoy three home-cooked meals a day while spending your time taking long walks, tubing down the river, or simply rocking on the porch, sipping whiskey from a red Solo Cup as hummingbirds whizzed between brightly colored feeders.
If you were there as an artist or writer, you had what felt like endless hours to write or paint among your peers. In our writing group, ages ranged from people in their twenties to eighties. Skill levels varied from beginner to award-winning author. But support was at 100 percent for everyone all the time. Writing critiques included as many compliments as suggestions for improvement. Nimrod made me a writer. But perhaps more importantly, it lifted me up as a badass. Nimrod was a haven for badass writer women.
I never felt envious there even though there was plenty of reason to be if you chose that route. Instead, I felt the desire to celebrate the successes of the women around me because I knew that their successes didn’t take away from mine. And being surrounded by success just seems to beget more success for yourself and those around you. I loved it.
Fern Fest is like that for me too. It’s a women’s music festival that takes place every summer in Michigan. It too makes me feel big and strong and small and squishy and funny and kind and generous—basically I feel like my true self. There, I emcee for the musicians’ performances, I host a workshop on beading bracelets, and I swim in the support and love and talent that surrounds me in that context.
I am a summer camp girl, I always say: Camp Nottingham, Girl Scout Camp, Camp Louise (except that one summer), MAFTY, KUTZ, Lightning in a Bottle, Fern Fest, Feast Portland (which is sadly no more), and even conferences, workshops, and trainings. I thrive in a herd of my people. You can too, so seek them out.
It’s amazing to be in a totally immersive situation. But meet-ups and clubs can give you a similar fix: book clubs, crochet club, pickle ball club, wine club, bunko, mahjong, you get the idea. Find your badasses and circle up.
Once you experience being with your people, lifting others up, and feeling the joy of being able to be yourself, you will feel the kind of boost that you can’t get anywhere else. You will feel more confident and more motivated. You will have more trust in who you are, what you want, and what you can do.
Don’t shy away from connections. Don’t do the “She’ll steal my thunder” thing. Revel in similarities you discover you share with others and find your place and your power among your fellow badasses. You don’t have to be an island. That shit is hard. All you have to be is you, and there are so many people who are ready to watch you shine.
You are a badass.
It’s badass to be around other badasses.
Loud enough for the cheap seats to hear:
I am a badass.
It’s badass to be around other badasses.
It sure as heck is!
Manifesting Moments
“To me, manifesting means setting a focused intention and believing wholeheartedly in the vision of what you want to bring into your life. It’s not just about wishing; it’s a combination of clear intention, belief, and action toward creating that reality.
I have definitely manifested things in my life. One example is my journey with B. Stuyvesant Champagne. It began as a dream, one fueled by my love and passion for champagne. I envisioned creating a brand that not only celebrated champagne but also represented my heritage and entrepreneurial spirit. Through persistent work, believing in that vision, and taking every opportunity to make it real, it has come to life. Manifesting, for me, has always been about aligning belief with action.”
—Marvina Robinson, founder and CEO, B. Stuyvesant™️ Champagne
“Okay, so true story: before manifesting became the term that we all know today, I used to think that I had premonitions—for real.
That’s because when I wanted something or had a vision of how I wanted a room to look while decorating, I would envision it in my mind and direct all my energy into making it happen. What I didn’t realize at the time was that I was actually manifesting my vision. So when I ‘see’ something the way I want it or ‘see’ something as if it is in my possession, I feel like I put that energy out into the universe and will it to come to me—and it usually does! Maybe not quickly, but eventually—when it’s meant to be—it happens, and my vision comes to fruition.”
—Danny Villareal, interior decorator
“To me, manifestation is the energy you give off to the universe in your efforts to steer your life in a desired direction. Manifesting alone isn’t enough, it has to be done in conjunction with action that will lead you to where you want to be. I think manifesting has gotten a bad rap due to social media and so many people preaching about the topic. I think it’s simply a different way to approach your goals in a way that will help your life move forward with abundance. I also believe that that you can manifest things in a negative way. If you put out negative energy into the universe, this is what will realize itself in your life. I think we have to be cautious about what we speak out into existence. I try my best to manifest positive things in my life like good health, healthy finances, and lots of love from friends and family.
I am not an avid manifester, but earlier this year, when I found an opening for a job that I loved, I tried to manifest it into existence for myself by speaking it out loud into the universe. I would say out loud that this position was ‘mine,’ and I would talk to my friends and loved ones about how I was ready for this role. I think that speaking in this way and putting it out into the universe gave me the confidence to present my best self throughout the interview process.
‘Manifesting’ this new job even helped me to believe that I was worthy of this job and that making this move would be a positive change in my life. Along with manifesting, I took action by taking steps to prepare for interviews and learn more about the company. In the end, I got the job, and in some ways, I feel as if the manifesting I did throughout the interview process really helped with the end result.”
—Luis Morales, visual merchandising manager, Louis Vuitton
You Can Take a Chance on Yourself and Trust Your Choices
If You Can Take a Chance on Yourself, You’ll Give Yourself More than Just a Chance
It’s easy to follow the band. It’s easy to go where everyone else is going. It’s easy to keep doing what you’ve always done. But the same recipe yields the same meal. The same path leads to the same destination. The same decisions lead to the same results. If you want something new, do something new. Try the thing you haven’t tried and you just might get what you haven’t gotten.
I am a badass.
I am always open to the road less traveled.
What makes me feel badass today?
I am a badass.
I am always open to the road less traveled.
What fear will I face today?
I am a badass.
I am always open to the road less traveled.
What can I do today to make me feel even more badass?
I am a badass.
I am always open to the road less traveled.
What fellow badass can I connect with today?
I am a badass.
I am always open to the road less traveled.
Why is being a badass important to me?
I am a badass.
I am always open to the road less traveled.
I spent a lot of time scared. I spent a lot of time accepting what seemed to be the “right” path. I turned down a theater scholarship because I would never get a “real job” if I stayed with theater. I majored in English because “that’s what I was good at.” I went to law school because “that’s what English majors do.” All along the way, I ignored the signs and options and possibilities.
What I wanted was to be an actress, to perform, to make my mark. What I was doing was what I was told and not what I desired. I wanted to go to NYU; I wanted to go to Boston College. I wanted to spread my wings. But when my mom said no to both, I simply accepted that. It’s a regret I try hard not to have. But it lingers. I tried to follow the path that was basically laid out for me.
I was lucky, right? I was smart. My parents were paying for school. I needed to get out of dreamland and into the real world ahead. But in 1993, at twenty-three years old, I couldn’t seem to do it anymore. I had to try the road less traveled because the road I was on was smothering me.
I decided to drop out of law school and join the closest thing to the circus I could manage: a touring children’s theater company. Besides, I wasn’t very good at law school despite everyone saying I was perfect for it.
So, on winter break of my second year, I called my father and told him I didn’t want to go to law school anymore.
“So, why go back?” he’d said to me over the phone. “If you hate it—if you can’t do it—don’t go back.” I was stunned. “But what will I do?” I asked.
“What do you mean? You always think of something else to do. You always make it work. That’s what you’re so good at.” My father is amazing. It’s unfortunate that he hadn’t been able to override my mother during all those years of saying “no.” She was always so scared for me, so unnecessarily and overwhelmingly scared. And fear can be dangerous and contagious.
But I took his advice, faxed in my “resignation,” and answered an ad for a children’s theater tour.
I had gone to the audition thinking, “If they hire me, I will go.” Hire me they did, and so off I went in a dilapidated gray van tightly packed with costumes, sets, props, and the five of us.
First, we traveled mainly throughout central Virginia. Then we crisscrossed the southeastern states: Mississippi, North Carolina, South Carolina, West Virginia. Finally, we crept a bit northeast into Maryland, Delaware, and Pennsylvania.
We stayed in hotels that were only as safe and clean as the theater company manager deemed necessary to keep us from suing.
We spent weeks at a time on the road, covering mile after mile in that gray, seven-seat passenger van with no exterior markings save for scratches, scrapes, and dents. Many a neighborhood busybody called our van in, suspecting “illicit activity.” But there were no drugs nor teenage runaways inside, just six people, ten costumes, one set, three puppets, and a multitude of props whose identities would reveal little to nothing about the drama that we twice daily performed. We looked like vagabonds with an odd proclivity for stealing the bizarre.
All along the way was dirt I didn’t recognize: the crags of the West Virginia mountainsides, the red clay of the Tennessee hills, and the rich mud of the North Carolina farms and fields. Never were two nights spent in the same state, and never did we come to know more about a place than where to find the local Morrison’s and nearest Walmart.
We knew each other so well after driving hundreds of miles together that there were times with little left to say. We fought, we laughed, and we dashed from state to state, escaping like thieves from each location, leaving nothing behind but shadows and smiles.
In fact, we rode constant swells of exhilaration from the curtain’s twice daily rising and suffered equally predictable waves of exhaustion that blanketed us after the curtain fell. Setting up and tearing down, performing, greeting, driving, checking in, checking out. It was a blur of Comfort Inns and Chinese restaurants with names like Yum Yum and Chen’s Den nestled in roadside strip malls.
We had to be it all since it was such a small tour: actor, props mistress, costume master, set designer, sound engineer, van maintenance roadie, travel agent, navigator. That last one demanded skills which none of us seemed to possess, and we found ourselves getting lost on a daily basis.
It was a wild existence. I spent each morning battling imagined monsters, climbing a foam beanstalk, and talking to a golden goose puppet. And I spent every night looking for the best of the worst on another sticky, plastic menu, grateful for the van full of weirdos with whom I was lucky enough to share this adventure.
When the tour ended and we turned in our costumes, we headed back to our respective homes to assimilate once again into our previous lives. I was grateful for four walls and a safe, warm, and familiar bed to sleep in every night. But even so, at least every now and again, I miss hearing the magic harp sing. Law school, though? There’s not a single thing I miss about that. And the reason why is simple. It wasn’t me. It was never me. It was the imagined me imagined by everyone but me.
The thing is, I never would have known if I hadn’t taken those trips, both the one to law school and the one in the van.
Then there was the trip to Springfield, Illinois, where I lived for a season as part of a summer stock theater company—The Great American People Show.
We lived in a “condemned” building rumored to have once been an asylum for the mentally ill. I don’t know if it really was condemned or if it ever had been an asylum. But I do know that I had an amazing time that summer, just as I did the summer after as a dancer at The Lost Colony in Manteo, North Carolina. That, too, was a magical experience, all thanks to taking the road less traveled.
On paper, they were crazy ideas. I didn’t know anyone who had done those things before. There was no tutorial I could Google on how to do a deep dive. I just had to do a deep dive of my own. I never would have known what a badass I am, or how capable I am of manifesting a badass life, if I hadn’t tried.
I made the calls.
I found the opportunities.
I went to the auditions.
I went to the callbacks.
I said yes.
I wanted it. I could see it in my mind’s eye, and then I captured it. It wasn’t even necessarily that clear of a vision. I just knew I wanted to travel and act—so I did. Could I have moved to New York or LA? Sure. Could I have gotten an agent? Yup. Gone to acting school? Totally. Why didn’t I? I don’t know. Maybe I was afraid to fail. Maybe I didn’t want what I thought I wanted. All I know is the things that happen for me happen because I want them and I take the steps.
You have to want it.
And you have to take the steps.
When I was finished with the tours and the summer stock theater, I called the university where I’d done my undergrad degree, Virginia Commonwealth.
“Hi! It’s Jenny Block,” I said into the receiver. “I want to come back. I want to give grad school a shot.” A favorite receptionist in the small department answered, and I could hear as she put her hand over the mouthpiece and yelled out, presumably to the department chair, “It’s Jenny Block. She wants to come back.” I couldn’t hear the reply. But then the receptionist got back on the phone.
“Dr. Fine says, ‘Sounds good!’ He’ll get you set up with an application, and there’s one teaching fellowship open. He said it’s all yours if you want it!” I think I screamed right into the phone. “Yes! Thank you! Yes!” I cheered. “I figured that’s what that hollering meant. See you next week!” she said.
I went back to graduate school. I taught for more than ten years. And then I began writing and speaking, and here I am five books and innumerable articles, speaking engagements, stand-up shows, and emcee gigs later! It’s a road I never planned to take. I followed its curves, I made the efforts, and I continue to make them every day, because every day I get a little closer to that imaginary, “I made it!” that lives in my head.
Sometimes, the place you want to be is somewhere you don’t even know about yet. I sure didn’t know this is where I would land! That is why being open to the road less traveled is the best way to be. Don’t block what the universe has in store for you. Find the path that makes it easier for it to find you…
You are a badass.
You are always open to the road less traveled.
Deep breath. Say it with intention.
I am a badass.
I am always open to the road less traveled.
You are, my friend. You really, really are.
ManifestingMoments
“To me, manifesting means to open your mind and your heart so that beautiful things can be brought into being. It means calling on your higher self to combine forces with the universe, allowing your life to be filled with the abundance you surely deserve. Manifesting is requesting access to the infinite power that you possess as a being in this solar system, and only when requested in complete humility can this power be obtained.”
—Jessie Jensen, Certified Doula (DTI)
“Manifesting to me means visualizing an outcome and then achieving it. I have manifested my upcoming TV show by saying, ‘I want to write and star in my own comedy TV show’ for years until it finally happened.”
—Tim Murray, comedian, writer, and actor
“In 2016, I meditated on the words Patience and Faith around finding my romantic partner and my first big Broadway job. I wrote down the goals every day, visualized them, saw them, felt them, made space in my life for them, and by December, Tim and I had gone on our first date and I booked the Aladdin and my first national tour. It really does work!”
—Michael Bullard, actor
“I was literally just talking about this to one of my team members this week as she asked me how I got my job, and I told her I always get what I want. It just doesn’t always come when you want it or how you want it, but I truly believe whatever you want to happen will happen if you show it’s meant to be.
In my mind, manifesting starts with knowing what you want or want to achieve. It’s not as easy as it sounds. One of the greatest things about really wanting something and truly believing it will happen is it forces you to focus on what it is you want. I truly believe I manifested my husband and my current role at work.”
—Julie Estrada, public relations director, North America, Merlin Entertainments
“I believe the term ‘manifest’ is one of the terms most overused by some people who have dreams but don’t put any action into creating a plan that ‘manifests’ what they desire into a reality for themselves. A lot of people spend more time planning their vacation then they do in planning the manifestation of their success.”
—Hayden Walker, writer and founder, Austin Food Magazine
Note: The information provided in this story is for educational and informational purposes only. It should not be considered as advice. Readers should consult with a professional advisor before making any decisions. All opinions expressed in this blog post are solely those of the author and do not reflect the opinions of any affiliated organizations. Readers are encouraged to conduct their own research and due diligence.
