Monday Night Ramblings

She put her book down and drained the bath. Slowly rising to her feet, she let the salts and herbs fall off her skin and into the lukewarm water below. She toweled off, brushed her hair and stepped into her slippers. Leaving the bath house, the air felt fresh and cool on her skin. She could smell the salty ocean even from here, surrounded by the shade of Evergreens. She opened the door to her tiny house. It was warm and inviting, waiting for creativity to spark one of those perfect fires; the kind that smell of cedar and crackle almost in rhythm. She boiled some water, closed all but one of the white linen blinds, and lit a candle. Soft instrumental jazz played in the background. She made herself a cup of honey lavender “Stress Relief” tea, and sat down to write.

WHO AM I? This is for real. This is exactly what transpired in the moments leading up to me opening my laptop and writing these words. It is 7:00pm and I’m pretty much ready for bed. It’s a Monday, which means I am fasting, something new I’m trying in my never ending search for digestive freedom. I’m hungry and a bit melancholy. Perhaps because it’s Monday. Perhaps because I haven’t hung out with anyone close to my own age other than my sister and brother in law in two and a half months. Perhaps because of the state of the world. Of America. Trump. It’s probably because of Trump. Or maybe it’s this soft instrumental jazz…
Sitting here, I can’t help but think that I manifested this exact moment. When I was a kid, I used to pretend our unfinished basement/storage area was my small apartment, and I was a struggling writer. I would put on CBC radio, listen to jazz, and type on my mom’s old type writer while pretending to compulsively drink coffee and smoke cigarettes. While I am not participating in the latter, I do feel as though I am wearing the hat of “struggling artist living in tiny space” right now. Is this it? Is this what I put my childhood energy into dreaming up? Have I arrived?

It is lovely, I must admit. I find living in small spaces very comforting. I lived in a 400 square foot apartment in the west end of Vancouver for four and a half years, and LOVED it. I lived in my van on and off for three years, and LOVED it! Honestly, I sleep like a baby in small spaces. Like a baby that sleeps. And I am all about the ambiance. The candles. The incense. The jazz. I’m worth it. But, as we are entering the 13th week of COVID-19 life, I can’t help but feel restless in this seemingly ideal space. Don’t get me wrong, I am incredibly grateful. There are far worse places than a tiny house in the woods, near the beach, on the Sunshine Coast of BC, Canada to be hiding out in. BUT I am getting tired of this shit. Of the not knowing. I am LONELY. Man, what a time to be single - like, very single. I want to socialize. I want to see music. I want to perform. I want to flirt! I have been spending this time absorbing my family. Taking in my own thoughts, perceptions and self talk. Evaluating and re-evaluating it all. I have been reading, riding my mom’s bike, trying to keep up with my yoga practice. I have been journaling, writing some songs, playing guitar, and even swimming in the ocean. Sounds pretty good eh? Yet, in the wake of what is turning out to be an incredible, nation wide (and beyond) movement against racism and police brutality, I am feeling like I’m not really doing anything of importance over here.

The other day, my mom found an old newsletter I wrote for the household when I was about twelve (what up Microsoft Publisher). Headlines read things like “Youngest Misses Older Sister” and “Response from Holly”, a friend I had asked to come up to our cabin that summer. It was pretty hilarious actually. There was a section entitled “Gibberish”, stating “studies have shown that baldness is a sign of potential” (that one was for you dad). There was a picture of a bald eagle in the corner… All my life I remember wanting to create. I always wanted to sing and write. When it came time for me to think about college, I toyed with idea of applying to the School of Journalism at Carleton University in Ottawa. Instead I chose to study music. That is one of those moments in my life I think back on and wonder “what if?”. Not in a nostalgic, regretful way. Just with curiosity. For some reason, when I decided to dedicate myself to my music, I let a lot of my other creative outlets fall by the wayside. I even quit soccer and volleyball in my senior year to “focus on my music”. I really just ended up focusing on my boyfriend. When I decided I didn’t want to take out student loans and continue at Berklee, my mom registered my at a local school called Capilano University. I had no idea what I would do, but the rule in our house was “in school or pay rent”, so I decided to go along with it. I remember feeling upset about leaving Boston, about coming back to Canada after spending the year in a cool American city. But I don’t remember having much emotion around the idea of walking away from music. I’m not sure I had tied the two together in my mind. I do remember being open to other possibilities. That summer, I took a trip to Europe with some friends, and while drunkenly singing at an open mic in Nice, France I was approached by an older gentlemen. He asked to come out busking with him. I said I’d think about it. A few nights later we ran into each other again, and after some persistence, I agreed. I ended up staying for months, busking across the South of France and Italy. My mom pointed out at the time, how just as I had taken a step away from music, the world had placed it at my feet again.

I have noticed this trend in my life. I have always felt extremely in flow when I have been working on my music. Like the world is working with me. However, that momentum is being tested right now. While I still feel supported, the truth is my already incredibly difficult industry has taken a huge hit. I make a living performing live, and have for the past 5 years. Although pre-COVID I was having thoughts around leaving the cover gig world, now the rug has been ripped out from underneath me, and for once, I don’t have a game plan.
All this to say, I am lacking some vision for my future right now. I have always been very goal oriented. I wanted to go to Berklee College of Music - I went. I wanted to start a band - I did. I wanted to do music full time - it happened. I wanted to buy a camper van and tour the states - fuck yes. Then the plan was, move to Nashville - done. Make a living being a full time musician in Music City - success. I’d say success as of a year and a half ago. I am not sure I have had a vision for myself since then. It was to build a team - get a manager, a booking agent. Now I’m not sure touring the world with my music is in my future.

This time away from the stage has allowed me nurture some of the creative outlets I left behind long ago, like writing. COVID life has also reinstilled in me the desire to have a family, someday. To live by the ocean, somewhere. To be relatively close to my family, somehow. The shift that started with a literal tornado, morphed into time standing still and isolation during the lock downs, and is now unfolding as incredible unity and change, transpiring out of broken systems and heartbreak. No wonder my feet don’t know where to land. Does life always move this chaotically? Are you with me on this? Are you re-calculating the steps you have taken? How you will move forward? Or am I having a solo melt down over here?

The author Sue Monk Kidd says, to get closer to our spirit, we should listen to our longings. It is in our deepest longings where the path to true self lies. Something like that... I long to connect with you all again, and I am trying to find out how. For now, random ramblings and blog posts will have to do.