"I Still Got You All Over Me": between now and 17

me and Bek in 2012

it’s 11:08 pm.

It’s 11:08pm and I don’t know if that is significant, but if it was a Taylor Swift song, it would be. 

I’m listening to “You All Over Me” for the first time and I’m trying to remember where I was in 2008 when Fearless was released. I was 17 and so bright and so unsure. I felt the weight of obligation and I sacrificed so many dreams in the name of future guarantees. I felt so unworthy of love and belonging and achieving the dreams I was too afraid to say—but I quietly hoped for it all.

I remember being 17.

I remember being 17 and waiting for a ride because I didn’t have a car, listening to music on my teal iPad mini and watching the boy across from me on the bench. There’s a Taylor Swift song for every boy I’ve hoped over and his was “Teardrops on My Guitar,” only solidified when he gave me two of his guitar pics. I wore them on a chain around my neck until I found out he was as in love with another girl as a boy can be at 17.

I remember a summer night in Indiana.

I remember a summer night in Indiana; it was before Fearless came out, maybe in 2005. I was wearing a bright pink t-shirt and we were out late. It began raining and instead of hiding from the storm, we laughed and ran through it. I don’t remember their names and we don’t keep in touch, but when I think about how Fearless feels, it feels like that memory.

I remember a 2012 Chicago night.

I remember a 2012 Chicago night and running through a downtown park and laughing—for someone who doesn’t like to run, apparently I do it often when I’m happy. I wore a blue and green flannel I bought for $3 and I jumped on my best friend’s back. I don’t remember who took the photo, but I remember how happy we felt.

I remember being 17.

At 17, I thought I’d shortly meet a boy who would buy me a ring and I always thought by 29 I’d have my own family. It’s been a decade and now I buy myself rings and I’ve learned both when to leave and when not to let go. Sometimes you have to do both, but what you learn to always hold onto is your own becoming.

“I lived, and I learned, and found out what it was to turn around and see that we were never really meant to be.”

I don’t talk to that boy or the folks from that rainy night and I’ve left almost every dream I had at 17, but sometimes I still talk to my best friend from college. Yet it all feels lost and distant and maybe it’s just because I’ve changed. I wish I could tell that girl at 17 that she can feel it all and it’s okay to cry over boys, but you’ll remember the dancing in the rain and the laugher in the park even more. I wish I could tell her that all the belonging she needs is within herself and that the right people will find her at the right time. Yes, it sounds cliche, but she’s always loved poetry and happy endings. Her happiness will come, just not in the ways she expected. 

Tonight happiness found her on a black barstool in an apartment she’s paying for herself with her 2nd mug of chamomile tea and a plant she’s managed to keep alive. She’s listening to a song (on repeat for 63 minutes and counting) that was written when she was 17 and she’s absorbing the feelings she had then and the ways she’s left and lost and become in the in-between. She’s melancholy, but she’s also happy. She’s learned that both of those feelings can exist at the same time. She’s learned that loss is sometimes necessary for becoming and so is letting go. So she is letting go.

“I lived, and I learned, and found out what it was to turn around
And see that we were never really meant to be
So I lied, and I cried, and I watched a part of myself die
‘Cause no amount of freedom gets you clean

I still got you all over me.”

This time the “you all over me” is the feeling of being 17 and the memory of who I used to be. I’m still dancing and crying to the same songs in new cities and becoming the woman I’ll look back on at 40 as who I used to be. 

Billie Eilish : Chicago

After hearing colleagues talk about this new artist named Billie Eilish for months, I finally booked a gig photographing her first tour in Chicago. The venue’s capacity was 165 people. After the show, Billie’s mom asked me if I wanted a photo with her. I turned her down, since I was working and felt weird about mixing work with fun fan behavior. (Do I regret that now? Absolutely.) But at the time, I had no idea that within 2 years she’d become one of the biggest artists on the planet, fully sweeping the Grammy’s, alongside her brother Finneas. Despite missing that photo opportunity, we all still ended up meeting the next morning in a serendipitous twist of fate—but again, I don’t have any photos of that encounter. It’s one of those stories that will stay a story, and in an over-chronicled world, I kind of like that.

As soon as the show ended, I messaged my colleagues. I don’t remember my exact words, but they were along the lines of, “Holy crap! Wow, You were right! Billie is amazing. I can’t wait to see what she’s going to do next.” Three and a half years later, I’m still proud of the images I created on that chilly Chicago night and three and a half years later, we haven’t stopped saying those words: “Holy crap. Wow. Billie is amazing. I can’t wait to see what she’s going to do next.”

Also, I love how much y’all have loved these images! If you share them, please tag me (@estorie on Instagram, @estorieco on Twitter, @estoriethegirl on Tik Tok—eventually my handle will be the same on everything) and link back to this post.

Fun fact: the first time I ever went to this venue (in about 2010), I stumbled across what is now my favourite place to get tacos in the entire world, so that was also a monumental day.

Were you at this show? Comment and let me know!

The very first Billie Eilish set list ever: if you snagged it after her set, let me know! I’m so curious!

Do I also regret not buying a hoodie or tee at the very first Billie Eilish tour? The answer is yes.

Harry's Boa Dupes for under $100

It’s been a week since the Grammy’s, but I cannot stop thinking about Harry Styles’ leather suit and green boa and based on what I’ve seen on Tik Tok, I know I’m not the only one. If the past week of percolating on his fashion choices have led you to the decision that you also need a boa, I’m here to help.

Last Sunday, as soon as Harry Styles finished his sultry leather-clad performance, I immediately headed to a combination of Google, Etsy, Depop, Poshmark, Ebay, and Asos to find a similar scarf or boa. While I’ve seen a lot of Tik Toks and even an article on The Cut about where to find a similar piece, most of them were not the same texture or length—or they were over $100, which is more than my non-existent scarf budget.

So I’m here to help you out. First, I’m going to walk you through how I found the right type of scarf. My hope is this will assist you in finding your own Gucci look-alikes in the future. Then I’ll show you the best options I found. If you’re not curious about my process, just keep scrolling to see the boas I found!

Before we jump in, here’s a photo of the original boa. I cannot find the source of the image (if you know who the photographer is, please comment so I can credit them!), but I do know that Harry’s stylist is also named Harry and he is incredible. I’m pretty sure the background floral, just like the outfit, is a Gucci original.

I am not trying to remake this outfit, so matching the exact colour is not important to me. I don’t want to be Harry Styles. I want to incorporate parts of his look into my own style. Therefore, I didn’t search specifically for a green boa.

There’s two other things (besides the colour) that I immediately noticed about the boa: the texture and the length.

The texture is not feathered. I also realized pretty quickly that it’s not knitted or crocheted. It’s definitely sewn fabric of some sort and more of a furry texture, so I began my search with searching terms like “furry scarf,” “furry boa,” “fuzzy scarf,” and “fuzzy boa” on sites on Depop, Poshmark, and Etsy, trying to find a match. When that did not bring up the type of boas I was looking for, I began figuring out what kind of fur the scarf was made of. It really reminded me of Almost Famous’ iconic Penny Lane coat. (Once again, this is a random internet photo; I obviously did not take this.)

Clearly, this coat is a 70’s piece, but I know similar styles were revived in the 90’s and 2000’s. This style also reminds me of “sherpa” texture and “shearling” texture. I wasn’t sure if those were quite the right terms, but I began searching under combinations of those keywords: the decades and the textures. This got me a little closer, but I still wasn’t finding exactly what I wanted.

Somewhere along this search trajectory, I found the key: Mongolian lamb fur. This texture was pretty darn close and I took those key words back to those same sites and to Google. Knowing what tidbits I do about Harry Styles and Gucci, I guessed that the actual scarf was faux fur. However, I could not find any quality faux Mongolian lamb fur options in my budget. If you find any faux or vegan-friendly and budget-friendly options, please send them my way, so I can add them to my list (I’ll credit you)!

At this point I did begin to find several new and vintage options that were similar to the Gucci piece. I closed those tabs of the ones that were well over $100—not in my “artist survives a pandemic” budget—and added in my final search criteria: boa length

I’m nowhere near the guy on Tik Tok who uses random photos of people’s houses and fridges and furniture to estimate their heights, but I’ll do my best with some simpler math here. If we estimate Harry to be 6 feet tall and the boa to be double his length, minus about a foot on either end, his is at least 10 feet long. I’m only just over 5 feet tall, that means I’m looking for a boa that’s about 8 feet long. I double checked the length of a traditional woman’s boa and it’s 7 to 10 feet, so that checks out. Most of the scarves were in inches or centimeters, so I quickly calculated how many inches I’d be looking for in a boa: at least 84”. Only one of the options I found looked to be nearly that long, so that’s the option I chose. I wish it was vintage because that’s more sustainable and I’m a sucker for a unique item, but the vintage pieces I found were much shorter. However, what you wear is up to you! Maybe the length won’t be a deal-breaker for you, so I’ll include some of those shorter vintage options, as well.

Without further ado, my favourite boas:

1. Jayley’s Mongolian Fur Long Scarf for $51.46

Yes, I’d style it differently, but the texture of this scarf from Jayley is almost a match for Harry’s Gucci boa. The only question mark I had was the length. It’s not listed anywhere on the site, and I didn’t want to risk missing out by waiting for an email back from their customer service on sizing. I knew I wanted a minimally-7-foot-long piece, so googled what a 7-foot scarf looked like and the image from L.L.Bean that appeared looked to be a similar length to this piece. Overall, this seemed like the option that was the closest to the Gucci piece in both length and texture and it was less than $100. I ordered it in orange; stay tuned to see if it is long enough and looks good in person. After ordering, I imagined an orange fluffy boa paired with a leather suit and how I’ll probably look like a spokesperson for Halloween and I guess that’s just who I am now.

2. 100% real Mogolian lamb fur scarf from Ebay for $36

This scarf is 170cm, which is about 5.5 feet—the longest of the other scarves and boas I found. It’s also cheaper, which gives it extra points in my book. The main different between this boa and Harry’s—besides length—is the fluffiness. This one is a little fuller. But the colour is “watermelon red!” Is it fate? Do you need this?

3. Sky Blue Mongolia Lamb Fur Boa from Ebay for $54.30

First off, I love the color of this boa. If I could have a boa of any colour, this would be it, hands down. Harry can keep his Oscar-the-Grouch-green—give me all the Cookie-Monster-adjacent blue. However, if you scroll down to the description, it’s only 51” inches: barely over 4 feet. The photo shows the length well, too. It’s definitely shorter than I wanted, which is what caused me to pass on this one.

4. Boa from Tibetan lamb skin from Etsy for $86

While this scarf is only 5 feet long, I love the colour palette so much that I almost didn’t want to share it. But someone deserves to own it, and I hope that person is you!

5. Fur Scarf from Etsy for $96

Pros of this scarf: the texture is perfect. By buying on Etsy, you are also supporting a small business. It comes in basically any colour you could possibly want. The main con is the longest length is only 60.” However, since it’s sold by a maker and not a corporation, you could possibly inquire about a custom piece.

6. Mongolian Lamb Boa Scarf White Tibetan Fur from Ebay for $99.95

This boa is very similar to the blue one. Obviously the color is different, and it’s 60” long instead of 51,” making it about 5 feet instead of 4. It’s also more expensive, so that ranked it lower on my list.

7. Real Tibetan / Mongolian lamb fur Scarf from Etsy for $89

This Etsy shop has some good classic colours like black and red. They are what seems to be the Etsy average furry scarf length of 55.”

7. Real Tibetan / Mongolian lamb fur scarf from Etsy for $95

This Etsy store also has a lavender scarf that is to die for. Both the lavender and fuchsia are 55”, so under 5 feet, which is why they’re ranked lower. But image either of them paired with this Lisa Says Gah dress—I cannot handle it.

In conclusion…

If you’re a fan of Harry’s recent Gucci vibe, I hope one of these scarves or boas finds a home in your closet. If not, I am impressed that you have read all the way to the bottom of an article about affordable boas! Kudos! You can’t see it, but I’m raising my glass of bedtime-flavored tea (whatever that means) to you. Be sure to check out online retailers like Asos, resale sites like Depop and Poshmark, and vintage hotspots like Etsy and Ebay as this trend takes off! Link me to your favourite pieces! Do you want a follow-up post about how to style my boa when it arrives? Comment below and let me know!

Last but not least, how do you feel about this trend? Would you rock a furry boa this spring or fall?

Harry Styles' Leather Suit--but make it vintage!

Everyone was talking about Harry Style’s Grammy look—a Gucci leather suit—and I just so happened to have a leather suit in my own closet. So obviously this had to happen today.

The Loss of Collective Experiences (And What I'm Doing About It)

One of my colleagues recently reminded me of a piece I wrote in 2017 about LANY. The piece wasn’t really about a song. The piece wasn’t really about a band. The piece wasn’t even really about music at all. The piece was about a feeling and that feeling was togetherness. It was a feeling of being a little less alone and a little more found. The music was the conduit, but at the end of the day, the words are about the people, the feeling is about the people, the story is about the people.

I’ve spent the last few weeks pondering that story and those words. I write my best words when I feel a lot and right now, I feel very little—a rarity for me. My soul has been slugged into unfeeling by the year and I do my best to go about my days, but those deep feelings of excitement, joy, and pride are rarely found in the monotony. How to I write now? What do I write about? How do I find myself in the words when the only place I find myself is alone?

---

Recently I watched the livestream of the AMA’s and saw BTS put on a beautiful performance—to an empty stadium. And while they were flawless, it still felt like there was something missing. The darkened seats sparkled as fireworks ricocheted into the night, echoing in their emptiness. I recognized the absence.

It was the people. It was the fans. It was the friends who find each other through the songs. It was the friends who become chosen family. It was the people you wait beside in line until you exchange twitter handles and call each other friends at the end of the night. It was the friends you meet on Twitter and travel to a new city just to dance beside to your favourite songs. Some of my best words have been written about these relationships and it’s only because these feelings are some of the strongest and purest I know. They’re both vulnerability and togetherness, tied together with a song or a scene or a new city.

That’s what I miss the most in this pandemic:
the togetherness.

I miss the feeling of a collective experience. When you see something funny and catch the eye of the stranger to your left end he smirks knowingly, too. When you show up to a concert alone, but small talk with the girl next to you between bands and during the encore, you put your arms around each other’s shoulders, shouting the words and feeling home. It’s seeing a part of yourself reflected in a stranger’s stare, songs, story.

That’s what I miss most about concerts, too. Yes, it’s cool to see your favourite artists live, to experience their presence and their stage displays and their lighting and everything that goes with it, but at the end of the day, it’s about the feeling, isn’t it? It’s about the people. Don’t get me wrong, as soon as I have access to a vehicle concert, I’ll go even if I’m sitting in that car alone, but nothing replaces standing shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers, all feeling a little less alone together.

---

When I saw David Cook a decade ago, I remember going with my friend Kristen and wearing a gray H&M vest I got at the Mall of America (I felt so cool) and taking a photo together with a cardboard cutout on the sidewalk outside the venue. When I saw Owl City about 8 years ago, I remember sitting outside on a Chicago sidewalk in a blue dress with Amber and Bekah and Sam, giggling and dreaming. When I saw Paramore in a suburban arena, I remember driving with Darbi and wandering backstage with Tyler and laughing when those kids thought I was Hayley from afar. When I saw twenty one pilots in Minneapolis, I remember sitting on the cement ground in back of the arena with Kenzie and tipping our heads back as the sound tornado-ed around the room in a perfect spiral and thousands of phones sparkled overhead. I couldn’t even see the band or tell you what song was playing, but I could see my friend and I could feel this wave of sound and emotion and that’s what I remember. When I saw LANY in New York, I remember dancing in the back of the room with Marleen. I’d slept about 4 hours the night before—I’d flown from Chicago to NYC, after photographing Billie’s first Chicago show—and we could barely see the band from behind the sound booth, but we screamed the words and I’ll never forget that feeling. When I saw Julia Michaels, I remember the college girls behind me who offered me vodka when they found out I was alone and hugged me when I was sad. It’s collectively holding your breath then screaming as the pre-show playlist stops and the lights dim. It’s the kids huddled outside to keep warm, randomly singing chorus’s from their favourite songs. It’s the faces of the misfits, having found somewhere to belong—and I say this as one.

The music is why we’re there, but the people are why we stay.

The people are why we keep coming back. Call them fans, call them family, call it a mirage. It’s beautiful: you’re seeing the person on stage’s dream come true, but you’re also seeing 1500 little dreams come true beside you and that’s equally overwhelming in the best way. You’re sharing an experience with the artist, but you’re also sharing an experience with the boy next to you and the person over there and you may never know their names, but you’ll all carry that shared experience forever. Each traveling your own courses, you’ve all somehow ended up in the same place; you’ve inextricably intersected for a night and in those serendipitous 45 minutes, you feel seen: by the artist, by the crowd, by the words, by the feelings. It’s not just the music: it’s the people, it’s the emotion, it’s my own becoming in the middle of all of the becoming of everyone else. It’s camaraderie, it togetherness, it’s belonging. And it keeps me coming back. That’s why livestream and vehicle shows aren’t quite the same: we lose a bit of this togetherness, when we are separated by distance. But we do our best, still creating, still seeking connection, with the life we’ve been given this year.

Now there’s a new question I begin to ask myself:

how do we find this togetherness now?

---

Where am I going with all of this besides in a sad circle of reminiscence over what we’ve lost? I’m not a scientist. I can’t make a vaccine and I can’t solve most—or really, any—of the most pressing problems of the year. I can’t singlehandedly bring concerts back (I wish). But my hope and my dream and my plan is that, even in a small way, I can help create that feeling again: that feeling of being less alone; that feeling of being seen; that feeling of excitement; that feeling of togetherness; that feeling of belonging. 

I've seen numerous takes on "what are the artists doing in quarantine," but I've yet to see one that asks "what are the fans doing?"

That’s what I’d like to see, to know, to create.

Here is my idea: I want to photograph you like I would photograph your favourite artist.

I want to document your year at home and your relationship to music this year: what you’ve felt, lost, gained, and who you’ve become.

I’m open to photographing men, women, non-binary humans, young, old, and in-between… I’m not limiting this to a particular “type” of person. Most musicians aren’t models and I truly think they still look beautiful in our photos (and in person) and I think the same thing about you. My goal is for you to have fun and feel valued and to walk away with some beautiful images. My goal for myself is to create some beautiful art and to create even a small dose of that feeling of being less alone for both of us.

I’d like to photograph you in your favourite band’s merch or in the concert outfit you didn’t get to wear in 2020 (please someone who has made the Harry Styles/J.W. Anderson cardigan—reach out!) and in your own space/home or in front of your favourite music venue. Maybe there’s a song you always listened to on your walks this summer or a spot in the middle of nowhere you drove just to be alone. Maybe there’s a parking lot you’ve danced in. I want to see how you’ve been engaging with or enjoying music this year. If you’re not sure what to wear, I can help you (via zoom or FaceTime) source the outfit from your own closet or find select individual pieces (preferably secondhand because it’s a pandemic and we are on a budget and also want to be sustainable). 

I’ll photograph you with the same effort and intentionality that I would with that artist you love. If you love the aforementioned Harry Styles, I’d plan a shoot with the same care as if I’m photographing him. You’re worth it, even if you don’t have a British accent and a history with 1D. I don't belief in half-ass-ing the quality of my work simply because someone isn’t “famous.”

I’d wear a mask and ask that you do during the times we aren’t shooting—or we can plan a zoom/Facetime shoot. Remember, part of the goal is that you feel valued and if I’m breathing germs all over your face (or vice versa), that’s not helping our goal.

The last part of this idea is this: I’d like to talk to you about that artist and how their music has affected your life.

I’d love to hear about what drew you to the artist, how and if you’ve found community or friends in the fandom, what social media interactions are like, how the artist or the music has affected your life (for better or for worse), and what your favourite music-related memory is. Has an artist been the soundtrack of falling in love or of a breakup? What is the song you shout in the car with your best friends? What are the memories you associate with the melodies? (I will forever associate Future Nostalgia with the miles I walked alone this year during quarantine.) Maybe you have a favourite concert or a friend you met on Twitter because of your favourite band. Maybe you didn’t fit in in your hometown, but you found belonging in a song. I want to hear about those feelings: the belonging, the excitement, and even the loss you’re feeling this year, as pieces of those connections are taken away. Or maybe you’ve found them in other ways (can we say the Tik Tok music community?). What has 2020 looked like for you as a person and as a music fan? Your story can be serious, goofy, sassy, sweet, fun—I just ask that it be honest. And you’re always allowed to say you aren’t comfortable with a particular question. The thing I love about music communities is that they often feel like a safe space and I want to give that to you, if only for an hour.

I’ll write up a story about our time shooting together and our conversation and I’ll feature it on my blog, alongside your photos. You’ll get the images to keep and use on social media. Even if you don’t want to be a part of my project, please share it so it can find folks who will feel beautiful, valued, and less alone through it. We’re in this together and I hope in this—in this project—we can feel a bit of the togetherness we’ve lost this year. Your story matters, your songs matter, your feelings matter, and being a little more alone this year doesn’t make your life or your feelings any less extraordinary or worthy of being documented or remembered.

I need a catchy title for this project, so if you have any name ideas, let me know!

*The goal of this project isn’t to make a bunch of money. Yes, I have bills to pay, but so does everyone else and we are all struggle bussing this year. The shoots themselves will be 100% complimentary and you’ll get to pick a free photo to post, share, etc. Then you can purchase rights to additional images for a small amount per image (you can spend some of that money you’ve been saving by staying home from concerts this year!). The cost of the additional images covers my time and gear costs. The shoot can potentially be free, if you don’t purchase any extra images, so even if you’re broke, you don’t have to miss out. I want this to be fun, life-giving, and exciting—not stressful or financially taxing.

Email me at estorie@outlook.com if you’re interested or message/email me with any questions.

Dermot Kennedy

Dermot Kennedy performed on September 10, 2017 at Subterranean in Chicago’s Wicker Park.

1:24am

I am afraid of dying.
I am afraid of killing my mother with a careless cough or careless word,
And I am trying so hard not to be careless that I plan out my route through the grocery store so I won’t have to breathe in the building, on the building, any longer than I have to.
I  am afraid of accidentally ruining everything—
And I think part of that is the weight of former evangelical guilt
And part of it is the weight of being human;
And, God, I am trying so hard to live a life worthy of being loved even though I know I cannot earn love.
You see, I know every exegetical or theological or theoretical version of the afterlife and yet:
I am still afraid of dying—
And I feel ashamed about that.
If heaven is so good, why am I not at peace?
But, God, I want to live :
I want to finish writing my book and fall in love and see the rest of the continents and laugh with people I haven’t met yet and get allergy tested so maybe i can adopt a tiny cat someday.
God, I just want to adopt a tiny cat and somehow that’s the reason I give you for why I’m afraid of dying as if seeing you and seeing the cat are synonymous.
But if you are life and you’ve given us life and I’m breathing life, then shouldn’t I fight for every last damn breath in honor of who you are in my lungs?
I don’t know how you are both beyond death and the oxygen that keeps me alive, but perhaps I need a little more time to let that truth sink in and maybe when it does I’ll be as I afraid of death as I am of breathing.

The Dive Motel on Film

While I’d been hoping to visit Nashville for about 4 years, my recent trip was planned in only 2 weeks, and my plans shifted pretty dramatically less than 24 hours prior to departure.

When I’m traveling, I tend to chase newness and emotion and change and adventure and I’ll probably write more on that later, but all you need to know now is that I usually choose to drive. This trip was no exception, which I realized was risky in February. However, it was also cheaper, and when you choose to drive, you also choose to pull over for sunsets and antique stores in old gas stations and the world’s biggest paintings and eggs. The intersection of slowness and spontaneity changes me in a way that flying doesn’t quite reach.

But in a twist of fate, as plots tend to do, the day before I was to leave, a storm warning was released—with ice—directly along my route. I will drive through many less-than-ideal conditions (I’m Midwestern, after all), but icy roads tend to be where I draw the line. I don’t need to spend the night in an ditch somewhere in Missouri.

Originally, I was supposed to begin driving home on Friday evening to get a few hours under my belt and lessen the load of Saturday’s drive. But now that I was flying, I could leave on Saturday instead. However, I didn’t have a hotel for Friday night and most of the places that had bed-bug-free reviews were booked or expensive. And most of the good (read: clean and safe) and affordable Airbnb’s were booked.

So I was feeling at a loss for options. Maybe it was my destiny to stay at an overpriced Tennessee Holiday Inn or Best Western. At least it would have free breakfast.

Somehow in the midst of my desperate googling for options, I recalled Urban Cowboy B&B, which was far beyond my budget, but in their Instagram bio was a link to a different place: the Dive Motel. I clicked on it, curious, and was swept away by the bright colors and 70’s themes—and the disco balls in every room. It was definitely too cool to fit into my price range, right? WRONG. And Expedia had an even better deal.

So on Friday night, I found myself at the Dive Motel. Being that it was one day it snowed in Tennessee, it was too chilly to enjoy the pool, but the bar had tea, so I cozied up in a booth for a bit, drinking Earl Gray and reading. And, yes, my room had a disco ball and different music stations. And, yes, I definitely danced in my room. You don’t have to wait to have a date or have a reason or have a big budget to fully savor the world and step into new places. You don’t need a plan free of mess to have an adventure full of magic. You don’t need a reason to dance. You are here, the disco ball is on: for tonight, that’s enough.

2019: Plants and when All of my Plans fell Apart

Grace

Every year for the past 3 years, I’ve chosen a word for the year and at the end of the year, I’ve spent time reflecting on what that word has meant to me over the past 3 months. Maybe it’s like a prayer, that by speaking that word over my year, it is conjured up in my life. Or maybe by speaking that word over my year, I simply begin seeing it more all around me.

This year, I picked the word “grace,” and I thought it primarily be evidenced as something I would learn how to offer, but instead I learned I mostly needed it myself. I needed grace for my mistakes, grace for my failures, grace for not being where I thought I’d be, and mostly grace in the changing: grace to become someone different than I thought I’d be.

An Introduction

“At this point next year, when you look back, what will you be jacked about, that you got done?”

As I’m sitting and writing this, the three 30-and-40-something men at the table next to me are talking about their upcoming year’s goals—things like getting engaged or buying houses or opening new branches. They’re very white collar, with literal popped sweater collars and clean-cut haircuts. In my head, they’re the opposite of everything I’ve become: they’re clean, successful, confident—and it’s easy for feelings of insufficiency to creep in like a squirrel in the attic (that’s another story from 2019).

But I’m also sitting at a bar that didn’t exist last year, and I’m reminded how much can change in 12 months. I don’t have to be accomplished, or at least accomplished by anyone else’s standards. I don’t have to have a list of things I’ve done or bought or ways I’ve grown up. That’s okay.

What I do have a story of how I’ve changed.

Often change starts with learning and ends with growing and so my story begins with learning a little more about who I am.

One thing I’ve learned this year is that I like plants. For years, a series of dead African violets drove me to believe I was a bad plant mom. I told myself that was my identity. I believed it. I was simply destined to be a plant killer.

Then one day a coworker passed my desk, saw my air plants (which I have painstakingly kept alive for two years) and spoke the words: “you’re a good plant mom.” No one had ever told me that—let alone meant it.  I wanted her words to be true. And so I began to believe them. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t kill any more plants this year, but I also now own about 13 plants and most of them are happy. I’ve learned how to care for them well (thanks, Art Terrarium) and it’s become something more beautiful and peaceful than stressful.

One things I’ve learned from being a plant mom is that plants need pruning. Maybe this is obvious for an experienced plant caretaker, but it’s taken me a while to get used to it. I feel harsh when I cut pieces off my plants, especially if they’re not dead, just overgrown. I feel like I’m killing a part of the plant—because I am.

That’s what I’ve learned this year: plants need pruning and so do I. Sometimes I want to hang onto those dead leaves or overgrown places and sometimes the dead spots must be trimmed by someone else when I cannot do it for myself. Sometimes the overgrown places must be pried out of my white-knuckled hands so that I can grow.

Part 1: Things I’ve lost this year

In every regard, this year went exactly the opposite of how I’d hoped and planned and dreamed. I thought the year would end with a ring and a new adventure. I clenched tightly to that dream, to the point where I was suffocated with anxiety and forced, by tear-filled weeks and last resorts, to let go. Once I let go of that dream and that direction, I had no idea where I was going. I felt lost, directionless, broken, sad—completely unanchored.

I lost my best friend, my dreams, an entire friend group, my small group. Everything was torn apart in a day, when my life was deeply pruned. It’s not what I would’ve chosen and I would be lying if I said it wasn’t extremely painful, like a leaf being torn off a plant, like everything I’d built for years crumbling beneath me.

What a time to rebuild.

The thing about rebuilding is it first requires demolition. Things must be torn down before they can be rebuilt. I’m not who I thought I was a year ago, and that is largely because of what was torn down and what was rebuilt in its stead.

One of my new 2019 tattoos says “rebuild” and another is of open hands. It’s a reminder to hold my hands open and not clench what I cannot control. (That’s the pruning.) But this week I read an Instagram post (I can’t recall whose—so sorry!) about holding your hands open to possibilities. I’d never thought about my open hands that way. I’d always thought about holding my hands open to loosen my grip on what isn’t meant for me. I’d always thought of open hands in terms of losing and trusting. I’d always thought of open hands as a scary or painful thing. I’d never thought of being able to hold my hands open so that I can accept rather than let go.

The same hands that dreams fell out of: they are now opened to newness and wholeness and dreaming again.

There are also things I’ve gained:

I tried to write this section as paragraphs that flowed beautifully, but after 4 re-writes, it still worked best as bullet points. Upon retrospection, I think it’s because I learned and changed so much. Usually I have one big overarching lesson for the year, but this year I have over half a dozen. In a year where I’ve cried more than any other year in my life (like deep ugly sobbing), that’s a freaking victory.

If you hate reading lists, the gist is: I’m happy and healthy now. If you’d like the details, keep reading.

1. My mental health
While my life was stripped to the core last spring, the rebuilding started long before then. I found my therapist in early winter and she’s been my weekly and now bi-weekly companion for the past 11 months. I would not have survived this past year without her support. 

2. my physical health and my relationship with my body
About the same time, I began dancing again, once a week, at my now-friend Mari’s hip-hop classes. I’d been previously told that my emotions were too much, that they were a burden, unwanted, unwelcome—or welcome only in small doses. But then I found this thing—dancing—where emotions are like a superpower. If you can emotionally connect with a song, then your movement is only all the more powerful. It was a healthy outlet, a life-saver. It helped me find myself again. But when those classes ended, I was again adrift, hating most workouts, but knowing that moving my body is good for my heart.

So I began looking. Through Looking for Lovely (thanks, Kassie!), I learned about Zumba classes and through some googling and a coworker’s recommendation, I found both a gym and a studio. Between the two, I’ve been dancing four times a week most weeks. I want to learn more next year, and maybe find an adult hip-hop class again. Through dancing, my body and emotions have become allies instead of enemies and that is one of my greatest victories of the year.

3. healthy relationships 
I’ve also found new friends and reclaimed old friends that I didn’t lose after all. My friend and roommate Sara saw me at my worst and stayed—and not just because she lives with me. She walked with me through the worst days of my life. I can guarantee you I wasn’t a fun friend or even a good friend for months, but she chose to see me not as my pain but as my personhood—so she stayed. I’m insanely grateful; some days her words and hugs kept me afloat when everything else was caving in. Through the past 6 months, my other 4 roommates have become my friends, too, and my home has become a safe and beautiful place. 

Because I lost so many relationships, I’ve been able to start over with choosing my friends, and that’s brought freedom and clarity. For most of my life, I’ve simply landed in friendships without much intentionality in choosing them or in setting boundaries; but I don’t want comfortable haphazard relationships. I want life-giving ones, ones that challenge me on a creative level and on a human level. I intentionally made new friends and reconnected with old ones and I’ve learned it’s okay if my circle is small. It is small right now. I’ve learned that people have to earn your trust and the right to be in your story and hear your story. That’s not mean—it’s wise.

4. my home
A few months ago I decided to shift my perspective. I’d always viewed my home as a temporary landing place and my life right now as a temporary stage until I move into some grand career and beautiful relationship and more permanent home. But that didn’t happen at all. And through that disappointment, I realized that if I don’t appreciate what’s in front of me now, I’ll spend literally my entire life discontent and looking at the greener grass and at other hills and longing for things in a different tense—when all I have is this present tense in my open hands. So I chose new words for the past few months: lean in—savor.

I bought new bedding and I’m working on making my home feel like a home. As I mentioned, I’ve been working to become better friends with my roommates and I’m viewing this season of living with several amazing women as a gift, as something temporary in a beautiful way. I know now that if I miss this because I’m longing for something else, I’ll never get it back.

5. my job
I took a 9-to-5 (well, 10-to-6) and I’m happy about it. It’s provided me income stability, it’s allowed me to afford therapy and the dentist. I love my coworkers. It’s not where I thought I’d be in any imagining, but if I release myself from the expectations of my former self, I genuinely enjoy the life I’m living.

I learned I like old fashioned’s and I drank whiskey in Memphis—on a work trip. Sometimes you learn that stability is beautiful, but you’re also given adventure because God knows it’s good and necessary for your wandering soul. I’ve seen both gifts through my job this year.

6. my words
One of the biggest things I regained in 2019 was my voice and my words. My anxiety had so numbed my ability to feel or write and it wasn’t until loss capsized me that I found my voice again in the waves.

I wrote poems and prayers and stories, for myself, to God, to process my pain and growth. And I wrote the bravest letter and chased the biggest dreams and perhaps I’ll never get a reply, but I’m learning to live without regrets or perhaps. I found my words and I found my strength and I found my bravery—all within my pen.

7. REST and hobbies
For the first time in years, I took a proper rest—it was only 2.5 days, but it’s more than I’ve gotten in ages. I sat in the woods and drank coffee and drank wine and wrote and read and fought the feeling that I should be DOING something. Sometimes it’s okay just to be.

Having a more traditional job and consistent income has afforded me the privilege of rest and hobbies and aspects of my life that have been neglected for the past decade. I’ve begun drawing and painting and knitting again and you probably won’t see much of those online, and that’s okay. Perhaps it’s even good, to release my creativity from the need to perform or to be seen or to drum up income. Perhaps just being is enough. Perhaps my just being, in the woods, in my home, in my life—perhaps it’s enough.

Through the past year, I’ve learned I desperately need nature and I need silence and I freaking need rest and I need to build a life that’s not all hustle. I need both breaks and breakthroughs. Breakthroughs come through pain and breaks come through intentional rest and I’m learning to handle both with grace. There’s grace for peaceful slowing down and grace for messy growing up and perhaps I did learn my word of the year after all (just never in the way I thought).

Things I’ve learned this year: 

I’m constantly learning and unlearning and growing and changing and collecting good versions of my past self to continue on the journey with me and pruning dead versions of lost selves to let go of and leave behind. I’m learning I am strong and I am brave, two words that were left with me on the hardest day. 

I’ve learned I’m stronger than I thought I could ever be. I lived through a season of anxiety and tears and while my life isn’t perfect or fully free of those things, I am most definitely more happy than sad, and in that, I am thriving. My life is incredibly different than I imagined last January, but it’s so good. Sometimes pruning is necessary. It always hurts. It always provides opportunities for growth. 

I’ve learned growth is a choice. It’s often the harder and more painful choice, but on the other side, I can tell you it’s worth it. I can tell you that it gets better.

There’s a Dawes song playing now, over the voices of the three men discussing their years. The song goes: 

“And now the only piece of advice that continues to help is anyone that’s making anything new only breaks something else. When my time comes, oh oh oh. When my time comes…”

When my time comes, I hope I will welcome it with open hands and a grateful heart—ready for both letting go and being filled, the pruning and the rebuilding. 

Things I’m leaning into for 2020: an epilogue

As I mentioned 2000 words ago, I usually pick a word for the new year. Oftentimes I buy a Giving Key to go along with it and wear that word on that key as a reminder of who I want to grow into. I begin the year with a long post about my hopes and dreams and end with an even longer one about how I have seen them conjured up in my life.

Honestly? That’s a lot of pressure.

I feel like I have to learn and grow in a certain way and sometimes that’s not how life works. Sometimes the branch we think is going to flower is the one that becomes pruned and sometimes what we thought we were gaining is what we have to lose. Growth is difficult to predict because it often comes through unexpected problems and heartache—and how are you to predict that?

So the words that have come to me for this next season are only these two: this matters.

Whatever it looks like. Whatever it feels like. However I grow or change—or don’t—at whatever speed I do it at. It matters. Not in a way that is full of heaviness and legalism: like, this matters so you better pick the right path and never mess up and always be perfect. No. It means the opposite. It’s more like: this matters, so it’s okay if all you did today was laundry and rest. This matters, even when you feel small or insignificant. This matters, even when its not epic. This matters, even when it doesn’t look cool on social media. Small things matter. Small moments matter. Small people matter. You matter. I matter. Even in our smallness of days and moments. I’m not wasting my life even when my life is full of small things. They matter. I matter. This matters.

All I want to do is remember my value and your value and each day’s value and each word’s value, as I walk across the days that will become 2020. All those small moments, I want to embrace them with risk and beauty and intention, even if they are small and quiet and unexpected. They matter. This matters. I will walk on those words.

If you need those words, they’re yours, too. Let’s lean in and savor this new decade: this matters.