Tag Archives: life

“Come Get Everything You Came For ” and “Howl to the Moon “

I am surprised to watch myself type this but this was the musing I was most inspired to write. By the way, it’s “SpaghettII” on Cowboy Carter—three listens back to back to back. The first time I listened I could not stop shouting back “Come Get Everything You Came For” at the song. I think I was shouting it at my life. I am certain every time we try for something, be it a failure or a success, we are coming for it. Every time we love as hard as we can with all of the fullness, we are coming for it. When I step behind a podium and read my work, I am coming for it. When I board the plane for my next trip, I am coming for it. When I show up for the people who matter. When I say no to preserve my peace, I am coming for it. And it keeps me wanting more, doomed or destined to become the explorer I was meant to be in this life.

I could not stop singing “Howl to the Moon” on my walk today. Something about Shaboozey’s voice made me want to heed his command, be out in the open air with my friends, my own riders. It also transported me to the top floor, La Terraza, and La Fonda Hotel in Santa Fe, New Mexico in December 2022. I have written about it here. After a dancing hands meditation, led by Jane Sibbett, where I weeped uncontrollably and she saw my ancestors behind me, I was drawn to the moon. I wanted to free myself from my bra and walk outdoors on the terrace and bathe in the moonlight, my own howling at the moon. I stayed indoors to circle up with my fellow participants and listen respectfully to their experience but my eye would drift to the doors.

I guess it hasn’t completely left me, over a year ago and thousands of miles away.

The last thing I will say here is that the voice of Linda Martell was a wakeup call disguised as an intro: “But in practice, well, some may feel confined.” She was referring to the concept of genre. We are all guilty of being placed in a box or climbing inside ourselves and fastening the lid, scared to come out or even loosen it to peek at what’s on the outside. We should all feel free to bust out of the box and climb back in as we please and not solely for others.

We should all feel free to come get everything we came for, howl at the moon and defy our genre.

Am I?

I scrolled on Tiktok and a creator referenced the notion that our art used to reflect the times. Many artists have mused that it should always reflect the times. I felt my pulse quicken (that also could have been the coffee but I digress).

I had to ask myself if my art is reflective of the time. The answer lately is if the time is about me and personal struggles, then it’s yes. But more than anything, the time we are living in as a global community has sapped so much from my being, tested my courage, my willingness to change, that creating art has felt like a long-lost love I am slowly finding my way back to. I want to shout at him and exclaim “I’m on my way…the train was just running late…but I am coming!”

I never really left you.

I told my husband, my therapist and a friend if I could turn into some kind of time-bending, immortal superhero with infinite resources who could protect the people of Haiti, Sudan, Congo, Palestine and hungry, near frozen people making concrete their bed tonight not ten minutes away from me, I would.

But I am a lone soul.

As often as I can fool myself into feeling completely helpless, the truth is I am not. You are not and although we will never be the fantastical superhero I described, we are not helpless.

Let me repeat.I am not helpless. We are not helpless.

I am at the very least capable of putting my drop in the bucket.

For me, it is writing here about the people I hope are freed and the peace I am so desperate for it aches. It is taking a small portion of our household budget monthly to donate to 3-4 trustworthy causes. Automate it and forget about it.

It will cost me less than I have ever spent on sandwiches and the mediocre cups of coffee I tend to sip.

So no, I am not helpless. I just can’t do it all. None of us can. Not on my own.

We never have.

That type of individual thinking is a delusion.

Grieving

It occurs to me that I haven’t written here in months. But I didn’t realize why until I am watching a glimmer in my therapist’s eye as she is telling me to grieve. Yes, I know I lost a grandfather, an organ, the possibility of being able to grow a child in my uterus and a friend in 2023 but I’ve been dealing with all of that. But she pointed out something else I have been grieving.

The rights to my first book of poetry and prose “She Lives Here” were reverted back to me last year. There are loose ends to tie up that I am responsible for that I have been distracting myself from for months. But why?

My therapist had the nerve, the unmitigated gall to point out the truth. I am also grieving everything that went with writing, promoting, pushing, doing readings for “She Lives Here.” This is not to say it is over but it’s been a couple of years, almost three and it is no longer a new work that I am excited about birthing into the world. It’s been here. It is still my baby that I am proud of and will always carry with me but the truth remains. As I pointed out above, I have become a reluctant expert in grief. But have I learned to move through it? Is there really a coming out on the other side or will there always be moments when I retreat back into the darkness of the cave, unwilling to peek my head back out?

I believe these questions will stay with me as waves of grief hit me in the months and years to come. I think the sadness is natural. I think there is beauty in letting it be what it is. I think there are smaller things to grieve like the closure of the freshness and newness of She Lives Here and the tsunami sadness waves like losing my grandfather. And it is all real. It is all valid. And all of it is worthy of recognition and attention.