It just is, because it is.
The thing I keep writing in my journal, over and over, is that this space doesn’t need to be sacred to be sacred. It just is, because it is. That’s to say it is, because it exists. It’s mine (and yours too). And I can pick it up when I need it (which is usually).
Last night I had the privilege to sit in the Ryman, the mother church, and watch an Ethel Cain show. If you’re unfamiliar with Ethel Cain, in the words of the drunk girls beside us at the show last night, “GET TO KNOW THIS BITCH”.
I found Ethel Cain at a drag show, by way of one of my favorite queens— the incomparable Louisiana Purchase. Miss Purchase did a performance at a Halloween Drag Pageant at a bar in Austin, TX where she was dressed as Pearl from the A24 Ti West movie trilogy. As she spun in circles, dripping in blood to the bridge of Ethel Cain’s House in Nebraska, the audience shed real tears. The song was lodged in my brain for the week after and through it I found Ethel Cain’s Preachers Daughter.
Sometime a few months ago I saw that she was opening for someone else at The Ryman, and mentally thought that I should go, then forgot.
A couple weekends ago I was sitting at a very different show, Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour, and American Teenager, an Ethel Cain bop, was on Taylor Swift’s house playlist. I remembered the show was happening, made a mental note to look it up, and never did because I was at That Taylor Swift Show™— the one that was delayed for 4 and a half hours, and lasted until 2 AM.
Yesterday, a friend of a friend, had strep and needed a good home for a pair of tickets to the aforementioned show that I kept losing track of. They were letting them go for half the price they were online. Simultaneously a game time reminder it was happening, also magically landed me in a seat so close that Ethel Cain pointed at me while she sang Crush.
The experience itself was fantastic, preceded by a wonderful dinner with a brilliant friend, and end-capped by a drive home listening music from the concert. More than anything, though, it was a reminder that good things keep happening. That’s all for this week, I hope good things keep happening to you wherever you are.
Recent Reads:
Enchantment by Katherine May
You Could Make This Place Beautiful by Maggie Smith
Ejaculate Responsibly by Gabrielle Stanley Blair
What Else I’m Thinking About:
The process of creation in general. I’ve been making things as a practice for a couple of months now, learning to make new things with abandon, and it’s made me feel really in touch with all versions of myself. Every new hobby, every new medium of creation, encourages me to connect with a different version of me— the 13 year old me who desperately wanted to learn to sew to make her grandma proud, the 29 year old me who took up beading to make mask chains during the pandemic, the 10 year old me who wanted to take a ceramics class at the art gallery, but couldn’t because she was on a cheerleading squad and the practices were always at the same times as the classes. I am my most me self when I am making things.
Keeping up with what I’ve been reading. I haven’t been logging what I’m reading anywhere for the past few months and I’m finding it hard to keep up with what I’ve actually read. I need to go back to goodreads, or keep everything tidied away in a notion board.
House projects. Now that the garden is mostly planted and ready for the season (though always in progress), I’ve been thinking about what home projects I want to turn my attention to. No decisions yet, I’ll keep you posted.
Making mistakes and letting those be okay. Last night at dinner I was talking to my friend, Anna, about the ways in which we grew up and how that has affected us adults. My core wound lies around how good of a child I was. I didn’t want to stir any pots, I didn’t want to cause anyone any grief, and I desperately needed to be the good child. As an adult it’s lead to a genuine fear of being perceived as bad when asserting any boundary. One of the things that’s helped with this is being willing to try new things, and mess them up. Ceramics class has been vital, and recently I gave myself a haircut. It turned out well, and I don’t think I’ll ever do it again. I did, however, just bleach my own hair to honor the part of me that’s learning to be okay with making mistakes— will keep you posted on how that turns out (so far, so good!).
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