Life rafts

Gratitude for the music that keeps us alive

Hi friends. Thanks for being patient with me this month. It’s been kind of a doozy, getting this book launch all put together! I continue to be so proud of this little book that could, and am so excited for it to come into the world in just three (!!!) days.

In between rehearsing my performance, preparing my home before friends fly in, getting orders ready to ship out, teaching a workshop on metaphor, and celebrating my 35th birthday (Nov. 27, on the full moon!), I’ve been trying to squeeze in time to write, and thinking about what I want to write after this book is released. I of course want to keep writing poetry, and also, I’d love to lean more into prose, essay, and memoir. So I’ve been brainstorming, and I’m really looking forward to sharing some of what I’m cooking up with you in the coming year.

Today, though, I’d like to share a #ShittyFirstDraft from a couple weeks ago. It was written in Writing Workshop Kansas City, and the prompt was “What or who are you attempting to rescue?” Here’s what came out.

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I am trying and failing to get you to hear me. There is only so much I can do from here.

You’ve pulled up the “Life Rafts” playlist I made you again and that is how I know you are suffering. I labored over it for days, trying to summon every song that ever helped us see the light at the end of the tunnel. That Tom Petty album was the only thing that kept us going, at one point. And the days went by, like paper in the wind. Everything changed, then changed again. It’s hard to find a friend. It’s hard to find a friend.

I know from experience that navigating depression is like trudging through waist-deep snow at night. You can see the smoke from the cabin off in the distance, know the warm fire is waiting for you, but somehow you never get closer to it. Every step forward feels like it’s moving you backwards at the same time. The effort exhausts you and you tell yourself you’re going to lie down, just for a minute. Just for a minute, you say. And then, hours or days later, you wake in a daze, feeling closer to death than you ever thought possible. How do you stand up now? What will bring you back from this frigid edge?

I defy space and time to reach out from the past and place headphones over your icicle ears. It’s playing the White Denim song, the one that helped us climb out of the well only a handful of years ago. You know, it’s hard when you’re warm, it’s hard when you’re cold, it’s hard, James sings. It’s fine if you know, it’s alright if you don’t, nothing’s wrong. I watch the warmth return to your pinkening cheeks, but still you aren’t standing up. I try again with some Paul McCartney, hoping it will soothe you. Everybody’s got a handful of fear, but tomorrow it may only be a souvenir of the way it was before it went away. You’re crying now, and this is a good sign. Let it flow, sweet one. And as Paul’s crooning dies down, I pick the only ABBA track on the playlist. Chiquitita, you and I know how the heartaches come and they go, and the scars they’re leaving, they belt out. You’ll be dancing once again, and the pain will end. You will have no time for grieving. Just as I’d hoped, the upbeat tempo does the trick, and now you are singing along, even as tears still stream down your face. And then, the greatest miracle of all: you roll to all fours, you press into your clammy hands, and you stand. back. up.

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Winter is here, and it’s always been hard season for me – especially come January, after the festivities have ended and people have taken down their holiday lights. If you, too, struggle with this time of year, I’d like to offer you my Life Rafts playlist. I hope it helps you as much as it’s helped me. And I encourage you to build one of your own, a patchwork quilt of the songs that have kept you afloat. It’s a gift I’m forever grateful I gave to myself.

Sending you big love, dear ones. Thank you, as always, for being here, and for reading. It means the world to me.