It all begins with an idea.

On Beginnings
by Jennylynn Jankesh

In countless moments, we begin again and again. Sometimes by choice or inspiration, other times by force or necessity. Sometimes with courage. Sometimes with doubt. But every beginning asks the same thing of us: presence, and to show up for ourselves.

This blog won’t just be about performance. It’s about process. About progress. About life lived in real time. Unfiltered. Don’t say I didn’t warn you! I want a space to document the rituals, reflections, and resistances that shape me, shape us—in body and beyond. But I want humor, testimonials to embarrassing moments that would make you redder than the flags that came with my exes. I want raw, relatable and real. I am an emotional and sensitive person, and so the content I share will also be. I want the tales told from the trenches, the mess before the magic. The behind-the-scenes bruises and scars no-one talks about, and the lessons carved from pure chaos. After all, I am a hurricane in stilettos, or athleisure, depending on the day. Red lipstick throughout it all; the kiss of my signature.

This entry marks the start of a journey I’ve held in my heart for a very, very long time. And for just as long, I struggled with the feeling of not being “enough” to pursue my passion’s work. Back then, I was teaching a lot—mostly yoga, spin and fitness—but when I imagined opening my own studio in the early 2000s, imposter syndrome crept through every fault line in my confidence. Add to that the lack of capital & resources, I began to chase other paths, hoping they'd help me become the “more”—or at least, more equipped to build my dream.

That search led me into the medical arts. I started with pre-med 101 and ultimately became a registered diagnostic medical sonographer, specializing in breast cancer and women’s health. Along the way, I kept earning certifications including prenatal yoga, amongst other fitness certs, and another in holistic nutrition—anything that could help me serve with greater authority and authenticity. Then, just as I had returned to school to complete my pre-med journey, I was recruited off the hospital floor by a commercial medical company. I became the clinical liaison between their technology and its sales force, and eventually, I was promoted to sell what the industry calls “heavy iron.”

I’ll admit—I was genuinely compelled and captivated by the medical reps who floated in and out of the hospitals wearing stylish suits, designer heels, and not covered in ultrasound gel from the day. As a fashion hound, the idea of trading in my baggy scrubs for something more svelte was energizing to me. From my interviews and research talking with reps, they also seemed to make damn good money. This, I thought, could be my way to reinvent the wheel without accruing more student loan debt. Besides, school was never going anywhere, and I could always return. So, I stepped off the clinical path and onto the corporate one, eager to see if I could thrive in this new terrain.

And I did—until COVID hit.

That was another beginning. Or more honestly, the beginning of an unraveling.

It felt like a hundred thousand pounds of dynamite detonated in every direction. So, what I list here is not exactly in chronological order as multiple events were happening simultaneously, and not everything I will include to spare you time, but here we go!

My almost decade-long tenure at my first medical company? BOOM—dissolved in a mass layoff. It also didn’t help that towards the end, I was outspoken, hyper-critical of new leadership that moved in and had no healthcare experience and challenged the Kool aide they pushed in front of us. I watched many talented and amazing colleagues get kicked to the curb, some left before it happened, and my inevitable end was for sure coming in right behind them. From there, multiple stints with clinical start-ups promising the good life followed. Not one of them viable, ALL of them A-W-F-U-L. I had already moved back cross country to my beloved NYC from LA and of course my fancy-pants-self gets an expensive apartment, because the job that moved me back to NYC allowed me to afford it. That was until I got laid off again within 10days of my start date in my new territory with 30 some-odd other people! It was unbelievable, and stressful but I did eventually land the next “goat rodeo”, and then the next. Then, I watched my once thriving bank account begin to dwindle beyond what I was comfortable with and having panic attacks. My five-year relationship? KABLAM—gone, but I must reference, it was of my doing as I felt the creeping DOOM and my inner-light dimming daily. I was so unhappy. I harbored these emotions for a good 2yrs before I planned my exit. I lost my second dog in the shuffle of getting out of LA and setting back up in NYC to my narcissist ex and he will not give her back to me. Another story for another day, but it still wounds me deeply and I miss my little girl deeply. It’s a hole in my heart that won’t heal, but I am grateful for my OG, my Linus who has been through so much with me and is my true soul-mate. There was a string of tragic deaths in my circle that was utterly heart & soul-crushing from 2020 to current day. And then came along peri, peri, peri, fucking perimenopause! THUNDERCLAP! Mood swings, brain fog, insomnia, changes in my skin and body—and a thinning ponytail? WTF Mother Uni?! (Another topic for the Core Chronicles).

For the pile on, my landlords announced they were selling the apartment I adored after 2.5 years of making it my sanctuary, forcing an unwanted move. I loved my apartment. I tried to see if I could buy it, but alas, not in my deck of cards. With the impending debt surmounting, as each of those awful start-ups with a product that wouldn’t sell and another lay-off, dipping further into savings and wondering how much closer I was getting to financial wipeout, I realized I needed to start again. Mother Uni was BURNING IT DOOOOOOOOOWN. And I had ZERO CONTROL of it. The more I tried to control it, the further it and myself, spun out of control. That sent me reeling. In Patanjali’s Eight Limbs of Yoga, we learn that Avidyā is ignorance is the foundation for the other afflictions. It is the root cause of all suffering because it leads to attachment, aversion, egoism, and fear of death in the physical, mental, emotional, psychological and what is also in physical matter. I was suffering because I was white knuckling my definition of success from a very ego-centric place, from comparison. I knew I needed to realign myself fast or fear of being lost & misguided further.

So now what?!

With the realization of my income back to the modest salary of a Pilates and yoga instructor, I could no longer afford to singularly sign another lease in NYC. And while I’ve always loved the city—still do—it had become a backdrop of a lot of heartbreak. I cried every day, asking, “What does this mean? Why is this happening like a disastrous tsunami after emotional and financial tsunami?” I don’t think I can take much more…

I remember a scene from Schitt’s Creek—a COVID-era comfort binge for me and rewatched it recently during the brutal winter—where David says to Moira, “It’s just a long string of very bad luck, and I don’t know what kind of carnage I inflicted in a past life to deserve it. I must have been Dracula—or a spin instructor.” I laughed. I cried. I related, especially as a spin instructor myself.

EVERYTHING was upside down. I felt like Alice in Insaneland; everything that is, isn’t. And everything that could, absolutely refused! I’m paraphrasing in my own voice of existential chaos never mind crisis, as I know this is not the actual verse, but Lewis Carroll didn’t have to pay rent or answer emails. The Looking Glass for me was a place where logic took a sabbatical, and reality had been replaced with Murphys law.

Through books, spiritual readings, yoga texts, and too many self-help titles to name, I began to absorb one core truth: Life has no inherent meaning—until we give it meaning. Ultimately, we decide what’s important. From there, our value systems are sculpted by experience, choice, and intention. We ultimately are the architects of our own significance—designing, building, rebuilding and breathing life into what matters to us.

It took time to grasp and surrender, but I began to understand: It wasn’t about what society wanted of me. Or what my parents, peers, educators, friends or lovers, etc., hoped I would be. Or what the world said success should look like for me. My old constructs had been struck by lightning—again and again— reduced from rubble to ash. I struggled to find my inner phoenix, and let me tell you, it is hard to find her when you feel like your buried deep in that ash, but for me, that innate inner fire would not let me give up no matter how hard I cried and protested to the universe to leave me there like a 3yr old child having a tantrum. That’s how frustrated, angry and scared I was. I felt like life as I knew it was over for me, especially as I entered another decade in life. I wasn’t feeling enlightened or successful. Anything I was trying from the old playbook was failing me. Clearly, I was not aligned to my purpose, my truth. A good friend told me that Oprah Winfrey once said “It [universe] starts as a whisper and then a SHOUT”… Well, #HEARD. LOUD and CLEAR.

Then one night, and with no business spending money, deep in retail therapy because why not (anyone else relate the Shopaholic sagas by Sophie Kinsella?), I was coveting a new pair of heels called “SNEEX”, after seeing a friend post about her new pair in a NYC Taxi cab. It was where a comfortable sneaker meets a fashionable heel and sounded perfect for my feet & lifestyle! Not to forget to mention feeding my shoe addiction, something to rival Imelda Marcos (those who have been lucky enough to see my shoe closets know). This shoe created by Sara Blakely, who is the creator of SPANX, had done it again! But what interested me most was the back story more than the shoe itself, which I still covet and have refrained from buying, for now. Before becoming a self-made billionaire, Sara Blakely was going door-to-door selling FAX machines in Florida! Being no stranger to selling, I know how grueling this is no matter how sexy or mind-numbingly mundane the product is. Sales is a G-R-I-N-D and not for the weak of heart I have to add. However, Sara, a girl after my own “sole” trudged it out canvassing office parks daily in high heels mind you, in 100-degree sauna-esque climate, getting rejected ALL.DAY.LONG. If you’re reading this Sara, I feel you, and please let us know what mascara you wore that didn’t smudge or melt in that heat!

Sara had $5K in savings, no MBA, but an inventive & brilliant idea: One night in her bathroom she chopped off the feet of her control top pantyhose so she could wear these white pants with no seams or lines! Guess what, it worked! And this is the beginning of Sara’s story and the birth & beginnings of SPANX.

As a voracious reader of biographies, I love to read how people have survived, reinvented and succeeded through their own personal trials. It motivates me. After feeling inspired by Sara’s margins to momentum story, I had to ask myself again: What matters here? And what do I mean when I talk about meaning to myself? Where is that radical permission that only I could give myself to navigate my life on my terms? With old constructs that were crumbling beneath my feet, I knew I was being spiritually ushered elsewhere. What’s the cliché? Rejection is protection and redirection?

Well, I can say now I feel her—my inner phoenix—she’s rising folks. Strategically. Cautiously. Quietly for now, but know, she’s there. She’s even present here in this very entry as I tap away at my MAC’s illuminated keyboard in the dusk listening to bullfrogs, exotic birds, and the gurgle of the pool’s filters here on my parents’ veranda on the gulf of Florida, my temporary stopgap.

I want to say I know how hard it is to feel resilient when you’re buried beneath life’s rubble. I sat in my pity party longer than I’d like to admit. Some days I find myself back there if I’m to be completely transparent, but this is the human experience. To really feel. In asking myself what truly matters, I cursed and laughed at my own melodrama. I cried for my inner child. I then remembered something I’d read in Gilded by Keren Eldad, given to me by one of my best friends for my birthday. It still remains one of the most transformative gifts I’ve gotten because I could relate to everything Keren was saying and the many explosions, she herself went through in name of success and finding true self and purpose. One of many things she expresses, and I resonated most with is that she keeps a baby photo of herself nearby and proposes the question “would you speak that way to this little child?” No. Of course not. So why do I speak that way to the adult me? OUCH.

Now I keep a baby picture of myself close by. A reminder to retrain my mind with compassion towards myself.

Beginnings are humbling. Not comfortable. It lacks clarity most days until you arrive to it. It’s a P-R-O-C-E-S-S. And for good reason… Turns out reasons we can’t comprehend until we are in it and being put through our paces.

During one of my short morning meditations, which often feels less like a spiritual practice and more like a cage match between my willpower and my ego, I often find myself caught between seeking Zen and the inevitable intrusion of reality, always threatening to derail my intentional train of what’s to be no thoughts.

In the visionary practice of my meditation, I like to imagine each thought as a boat floating down a river. Every intruding thought is named and then applied to each boat as it passes and bid the boat adieu. But some days, it’s like an entire regatta shows up uninvited.

More boats. More thoughts. More names than I can keep up with. And suddenly, the peaceful current becomes a crowded harbor of mental chaos! The Zen marina manager says to me aloud “Oh look, there is the S.S. Insecurity,” and “Ah yes, the S.S. Should’ve Said That,” just sailed in “Okay, okay, you snarky queen” I say under my breath, but some days? It’s not a gentle stream—it’s a full-on boat parade of neuroses. More and more keep coming. I’m swamped by the S.S. Sugar Shame, the HMS Overthinking, and Captain Regret  & Skipper Hyper-Critical just docked for emotional maintenance or annoyance, or both! And then, without fail, the inner monologue goes off the rails:

“Ugh, I’m spiraling again.”
“It’s the sugar I ate yesterday, definitely.”
“Wait—what did ‘XYZ’ say to me again? I should’ve said THIS.”
“Oh shoot—I forgot to do that thing... And I still need to do that other thing...”

Cue the record scratch:
SCREEEEECH.

That’s the sound I’ve mentally adopted to interrupt the madness. The brain-breaker anytime I catch myself spiraling into obsession, regret, or rumination—screeeech—I cut the loop and try to reset.

But in this particular session I also realize that self-criticism is fear in disguise. Our egos job is to try to keep us safe, and that’s a good thing because when we sense danger, we know when to run, or if we’ve moved through something traumatic, embarrassing or detrimental, we’ll know (hopefully) to not repeat it. But in doing so, our ego can often keep us playing small. So, fear has a purpose, yes—but it can stop us from doing what we’re truly meant for. We're pioneering our own unknowns. And just like childhood monsters under the bed, once we shine the light, they disappear. Light brings clarity. It brings direction. Decisions. Meaning.

I cannot regret the journey I’m currently on because that would mean a denial of truths and lessons that were meant to be experienced. And fuck, it’s been hard on my ego, it’s been hard on my spirit—it delayed my arrival—but I’m here. I am claiming my place, and I will take up space unapologetically.

I’m not in full launch mode yet. But my boat is in the water, and I name her “Tenacious”.  I will continue to chart her course fueled by equal parts hustle, a lot of matcha tea and a dare to dream bigger.

Beginnings, synonymous with endings isn’t a one-time event. It’s happening every time I reclaim a piece of myself that I forgot I needed. Returning to breath. To form. To self. To purpose. To grace. After years of movement, instruction, multiple reinventions, and education, I’ve arrived—right where the universe says I’m meant to be.

This brings me to my new beginning: FORM SOCIETÉ was born in that space. It is the space between precision and permission. Between technique and intuition. Between discipline and surrender and the balance between it all. Beginnings in physical movement are not much different than those in our daily life. Awkward as they are graceful. Tender as they are raw. Sometimes soft and subtle, other times clumsy and rarely polished. They unfold in rhythm with the breath—in stillness or motion, wild abandon, or quiet repetition.

Here, we are not going to chase intensity for intensity’s sake. We will choose intention. We’ll give it length. Breath. Even meaning.

We don’t force.
We form.
And like clay, we form again, and again.

So, whether you’re showing up for the first time—or for the first time in a long time—you’re welcome here.

We begin here.

In form & in flow,
—Jennylynn