In which Jenny Lewis leads to greater self-awareness.

"You Are What You Love" - Jenny Lewis

With the Watson Twins

This song popped into my head this morning, after a few years of almost forgetting it existed. It's one of those songs that reminds me of a specific time, place, or feeling. A certain Neko Case song is reminiscent a difficult goodbye. Most Liz Phair songs remind me of what it was like to be in a sexually and emotionally confusing relationship. Play me the right Belle & Sebastian song, and I am transported to a dimly lit room in a moment so exhilarating and exciting that I forget about the coffin in the corner.

With this song, I remember, clear as a bell, being 19 years old and heartbroken for an entire summer. I had experienced two romantic flops in less than 2 months' time. These duds followed startingly identical trajectories: Meet guy. Slowly flirt and bat eyelashes. Make out. Flirt more. Fool around. CELL PHONE SILENCE. For someone as young and inexperienced as I, this double-feature of lameness devastated me. I would hole myself up in my room and listen to the same songs over and over again, this one being featured heavily. After spending many nights smoking Marlboro Lights and sneaking malt beverages on my back patio, I became convinced that I was experiencing the worst heartbreak and that I was destined for a lifetime of unrequited loves. I took the pain and ran with it, catastrophizing everything.


Years later, I don't take it so personally when flirtations fizzle out. I know now that it's very common and typically for the better. I know that not all romantic entanglements have to be novels; most are short stories and some are just blurbs. And, hello? It's totally his loss. The point is, when this kind of thing has happened to me recently, I brush it off and move on. I can say, "No big swig" to something that would have caused me indescribable pain only five years ago. That right there, is proof of lifetime progress. I have learned how to survive pain and disappointment. Better than that, I am much better at seeing things for what they are. It could have just been the product of more life experience, but it's also possible that at some point I made the conscious decision that feeling like a victim is simply not an option, especially such a trivial issue as boys. I grew up, forged on, and survived the perils of my hormones. 


So when I thought of that song, I could remember feeling such a painful association with this it, but I could not, for the life of me, recall why I had identified so strongly with it at that time. I've had similar crummy situations since then, as recently as this summer, and I just can't see myself responding with such pain. When something like that happens now, I brush it off and walk away. I take a moment to acknowledge the disappointment and move on. There are much greater heartaches to endure, much higher mountains to climb.


This disparity of response is reassuring to me. It's reassuring to know that the pain, frustration, and confusion I currently feel towards my personal life is completely tolerable. In five years, it might even seem trivial and laughable. It sucks right now, but I have to fight through it. I was obviously able to do it in college, as I stopped caring about those two lame boys by the end of that summer. I moved on. I forged on despite my heavy heart when I was 19, and the light at the end of that tunnel was the absolute brightest I had ever seen. It can happen again. I will find a new light at the end of this tunnel, too. I just have to keep fighting, keep surviving. The reward that is waiting for me will be...unimaginably wonderful.

Oh! how I forgot what it's like

Spring has sprung in Chicago, my friends. It's 53 degrees, there are buds on the trees, and all signs of a blizzard have been completely erased.

Every year, there is that pivotal first day of Spring weather that makes me feel different. I am reminded of my favorite spring. It is Spring 2006. I am a 19-year-old freshman at Elmhurst College, a small, liberal arts school nestled in the safety of Chicago suburbia. Elmhurst, IL is so beautiful in the spring, with its endless trees and beautiful flowers, all blossoming at the same time. That first year, the campus came alive again for me in the spring.

It is April. I am riding in a white truck with a senior. He is an actor, he is a popular frat boy, he has great taste in music and film, he is adorable...and he is driving me around, talking to me. Awkward, not yet grown into my face, and completely inexperienced ME. We are listening to Neko Case's "Star Witness" (which he has recently fallen in love with, causing my internal swooning to escalate to Bieber Fever levels). The sun's warmth casts a loving, protective glow over everything that passes out my open window. I am sipping delicious raspberry lemonade as the heavenly spring wind gently caresses my hair. I remove myself from the conversation and take a breath. This is life. This is adulthood. This is happiness.

Oh! how I forgot what it's like...

Neko's words cross my mind every spring. I get so caught up in the sadness of winter, the weight of it all, that I forget what comes next. I forget what it feels like to come out of the darkness and feel the warm embrace of spring's possibilities.

Spring's possibilities. I am filled with this idea every year. That first day when I remember that there are so many little things in life that are astoundingly great. Birds chirping. A quiet drive through your neighborhood. The condensation of a cold drink. Everything is magical and makes me feel young and alive. My brain races with thoughts, ideas, and plans. Nothing is out of my reach. At 19, the world was laid in front of me, waiting for me to overtake it with my brains, my wit, my pizazz, my energy. And every year, I am reminded that possibility isn't just for the 19-year-olds, for the college set. It is for all of us. The coming of spring gives each and every one of us that renewed sense of "watch out, world, here I come."

We have to embrace it and hold onto it. While I love that yearly reminder of what this moment feels like, I don't want it to be a feeling that fades and requires a reminder. I want to feel this feeling year-round, and I think I'm finally on the right path, the path that will give me springtime motivation year-round.

Oh! how I forgot what it's like.

Oh, how I forgot! And oh, how it feels to be ready.

If I'm Born This Way, then I must Express Myself.

Something happened to me last night when Lady Gaga took the stage at the 53rd Anual Grammy Awards last night. Gaga was not new to me, "Born This Way" was not new to me, and her theatrical stage elements were certainly not new to me. But when Lady Gaga emerged from her alien pod and I saw her face and heard her voice singing those words, I was riveted. By the time she waltzed up to her Haunted Mansion organ, there was a bizarre surge of emotions and I could honestly feel myself growing misty. If my mom hadn't been sitting next me, I probably would have cried a little from the uplifting and encouraging vibes that emanated from my television. After a shitty, shitty weekend, I was ready to give into the misery and give up. I was ready to give up on school, on Forensics, on trying to be a prodtucive member of society. As ridiculous as it sounds, Lady Gaga was my angel last night. An angel that said, "You're on the right track, baby."

And you know what? I just might be on the right track, thanks to Mother Monster. After that perforamce,  I was a born-again Little Monster. I perked up, went back to work, and got some things accomplished. The coming week suddenly seemed less daunting.

HOWEVER! (dum dum DUUUUUUM!)

Someone had to rain on my parade. Or remind me that I left my cake out in the rain. Take your pick.

As could have been predicted by a howler monkey, the Internet has been in an uproar (or something like that), saying that "Born This Way" is a rip-off of the classic Madonna track, "Express Yourself." Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. I don't care. Similar chords and/or song structures be damned. To me, they are two different messages from two different women without whom I would be nothing.

"Express Yourself," to me, is a song that tells girls we have choices in our romantic entanglements. Madonna teaches us that second-best is not even close to good enough in a relationship and that we are strong enough to make that kind of informed and empowered decision about our sex lives. She warns of the traps of the lavish gifter. Just because he gets you the diamond rings or the "fancy cars that go very fast," does not mean he's bought your heart. No one buys my heart. When I was a child, Madonna's words taught me that I had the right to express my thoughts, my opinions, and my desires. She taught me that (and this was a concept I wouldn't fully grasp until only a few years ago) second-best is NEVER EVER enough. I would have done far better as a free bitch. In fact, I am a free bitch, baby, thanks to growing up with Madonna.

And speaking of being a free bitch, baby...

While Madonna told me to express myself as a girl, Gaga tells me to embrace myself as a woman. A white woman. A sexual woman. A stubborn woman. An autistic woman. A quirky woman. A jealous woman. A broken woman. A lost woman. These aren't all positive qualities. But baby, I was born this way. However we were created, it could not have possibly been a mistake, so why should I hide these things about me that others find not-so-great as if they were mistakes? I can never truly love myself if I am overly concerned with how others perceive me. You are the only person who has the right to say who you truly are. Lady Gaga's message in this song doesn't apply to just women; everyone can be on the right track to loving themselves by realizing that being born this way is the greatest gift of all.

You can say what you want. Lady Gaga doesn't care if you think her song is unoriginal and if it the situation were flipped, Madge would totally not give a shit. And you know what? When the snow starts to thaw and I'm driving home from school or work with my windows down having a little dance party in my car, It just will not matter.

I should take a cue from Gaga. The only way I can survive is to accept and embrace who I am and make it all work for me. Instead of hiding in reget, I'm gonna learn to love myself and I'll be set.

I WILL NOT BE A DRAG, I WILL BE A QUEEN!

(Or a drag queen, but that's a whole other post coming soon this week!)