Tag: taylor swift

May These Memories Break Our Fall

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years, sometimes you gotta say ‘What the fuck,’ make your move.” ~Risky Business

On the 2nd of January, I said “What the fuck, make your move” and clicked Purchase on two resale seats for an Amsterdam date on Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour. Buying resale concert tickets can be risky business, indeed, but missing this record-breaking concert event would be something I would regret, I told myself. I have grown to loathe feeling regret and avoid it when possible. So, I sold my soul to the demon I despise and paid StubHub a ludicrous sum, rationalizing I had no other choice. It was a personal imperative. For the past few years, Taylor Swift had been propping me up as I dealt with a lot of real life shit. The Tortured Poets Department became the final rung on my climb to catharsis. This concert was going to be a full-circle moment in part of my life’s journey, the launching pad for the next phase of my life.

In the months leading up to our tour date, we told our dirty little secret only to a select few because you never know if you’re actually getting inside a concert with a second-hand ticket. As I stood at our kitchen island making friendship bracelets and changing my mind umpteen times about which era I would choose for my concert attire, in the back of my mind the nagging thought we might not gain entrance at all swirled. I made my peace with the notion of listening to what we could hear from outside Johan Cruijff Arena and being grateful to be part of the tour in whatever small way we could, all while quietly reassuring myself seeing this concert live was a destiny that would be fulfilled.

At 5:30 pm on July 5th, wearing a black skirt, a “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me” sequined t-shirt, and rhinestone sneakers, I crossed my fingers, scanned my ticket, and pushed through the turnstiles of Ajax Arena. Steve and I seeped into a throng of Swifties inside. I breathed a deep sigh of relief and looked around. It was perhaps the most gentle and respectful crowd that arena has yet seen, fans politely inching past each other towards their designated spots. I’d chosen seats in the lower part of the upper deck close to the midpoint of Taylor’s massive stage. On one side of us were the New York City Gen Z’s from whom I’d bought our tickets and on the other side was a Belgian couple in their forties with their two teenage daughters. We exchanged some bracelets and easy conversation. Paramore, the opening act for the European leg of the tour, did their best to work the stage and warm us up for Taylor, but not a being in the place needed warming for Taylor. We were ready for it.

The clock appeared on the massive screen that ran the length of the stage. When it hit 13, the crowd began counting down aloud. I got goosebumps. The dancers appeared with their pastel parachutes undulating like flower petals in a breeze until they eventually settled into their spots, bent down, and allowed the fabric to carpet the floor. When the dancers stood again and revealed Taylor among them like Venus in the shell in Botticelli’s famous painting, the crowd roared. I teared up. I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but I was really there. This was really happening. I took a minute to survey the arena. Fifty-five thousand Swifties in all their Eras glory, singing along to “Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince.” I was enchanted. “Here we go,” I told myself as I settled in for the three-plus story hours of love, heartbreak, drama, revenge, and redemption. I reveled in every minute of the show, taking care to be present by limiting my desire to record the moments on my phone. When the crowd began jumping to “You Belong With Me,” you bet your ass I jumped too. Well rehearsed, I shouted along during the fan participation parts, yelling “one, two, three, let’s go, bitch” during a break in the intro to “Delicate” and inserting my triple claps in “Shake It Off.” When Taylor got to the acoustic set, I allowed myself a moment to record the crowd. I said, “Remember this moment” in the back of my mind. And when she’d reached her last song and the band played the first notes of “Karma,” I gave up and let the emotion roll over me. The night had been timeless, but it caught up and it was time to grab our souvenir merch and head to the exit. So I closed the chapter on this era and stepped outside and into my next era.

Eras Tour Stage
Lover
Make the friendship bracelets
You Weren't Mine To Lose
Smallest Man Who Ever Lived
I can do it with a broken heart
The kingdom lights shined
Karma

It’s been 27 days since our Amsterdam concert, and I’ve been struggling for all 27 of those days trying to decide what to write about it in this post. The Eras tour has a film. When it wraps, it will have been seen in person by a staggering 10 million people, give or take. It has been reviewed innumerable times and myriad ways by Swifties, celebrities, bloggers, and publications. YouTube has countless videos of the show. Taylor Swift made the cover of Time with her ragdoll cat, Benjamin Button because of this tour. There is little I can say about it to add to what already exists in the world. There is no way to encapsulate the experience of standing among tens of thousands of fellow fans, belting out every word to every song, and vibing with strangers you’ll never meet whom you know somehow understand a part of you even some of your closest friends don’t get. It was worth every penny we spent, and I’d spend them all again. Taylor’s Eras Tour story will end in Vancouver on December 8th, and I will forever be grateful that as a middle aged, relatively new Swiftie I decided to ignore the haters and give myself the opportunity to be part of it. Life’s short, people. So, as Taylor says, “Make the friendship bracelets. Take the moment and taste it. You’ve got no reason to be afraid.” After all, taking a risk is only risky business until it pays off.

“Hold on to spinning around, confetti falls to the ground, may these memories break our fall.” ~Taylor Swift

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Taylor Swift’s Positive Lesson In Negative Experiences

I’ve spent the past two and a half weeks absorbing Taylor Swift’s latest album, The Tortured Poets Department: The Anthology. With 31 tracks, it’s been a full-time job. One song, in particular, I cannot stop thinking about because of how true it feels for my life as well. thanK you aIMee is about a person (or persons) in Swift’s past whose cruel behavior pushed her to her breaking point and ultimately served as a catalyst for her extraordinary success.

All that time you were throwin’ punches, I was building somethin’, and I couldn’t wait to show you it was real…I pushed each boulder up the hill, your words are still ringin’ in my head…I wrote a thousand songs that you find uncool, I built a legacy that you can’t undo, but when I count the scars there’s a moment of truth, that there wouldn’t be this if there hadn’t been you. ~Taylor Swift, thanK you aIMee

People have spent a lot of time surmising whom the song is about. The identity of the bully/bullies makes no difference to me as a listener. I simply appreciate the emotional intelligence Taylor exhibits in knowing that sometimes the people who were the worst to you and caused you the most heartbreak and stress were actually the ones who offered you the opportunity for the most auspicious growth. I suspect everyone, at one point or another, had someone whose negativity, crappy behavior, or downright bullying abuse became the catalyst for growth. In those moments of anguish, did you fold or did you find a way forward? Do you have someone who you, perhaps somewhat regrettably, owe at least a mental debt of gratitude for the pain they caused you?

I’m 15 days away from the ten year anniversary of the day I woke up and saw my life clearly for the first time. That day changed me irrevocably for the better. Yes. For a while I was reeling, spinning through anger, pain, frustration, and confusion. Then I realized I couldn’t live where I had been, so I needed to find my way forward to a new reality. I’ve been in weekly therapy since. I’m still slaying my dragons, but every single day I wake up grateful I’m no longer living unconsciously. This doesn’t mean I behave well all the time. I don’t. It’s hard to break old, deeply worn patterns. That said, I’m awake now and that is only because of one huge argument on my front porch right after our youngest’s 11th birthday party. Every single day, however, I am grateful to that person for helping me see what I had never seen before. It shook me in the best way possible. I would not go back and undo that hurtful moment for all the money in the world. No matter how much pain and work have gone into the last ten years, I’m a healthier me now for the struggles I’ve endured. Not quite out of the woods yet, but definitely better armed and more at peace.

‘Cause I’m a real tough kid, I can handle my shit, they said “Babe, you gotta fake it ’til you make it” and I did. ~Taylor Swift, I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

(PS…I also have to shout out Taylor Swift for writing songs with a huge range and depth of human emotions. She’s teaching this old dog all the feels I never knew how to feel.)

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What Happens When You Don’t Buy The Damn Shoes

Almost two years ago, I wrote here about a pair of Betsey Johnson, ruby-red heels I tried on in a DSW store. I thought they were amazing and was publicly debating the practicality of purchasing shoes I might only wear a couple times, if that. The proposition seemed, at best, frivolous and, at worst, appalling given the number of people in this world who have no place warm to sleep tonight. In the end, my logical brain (with its finely honed “who do you think you are/get over yourself, old woman” mantra) decided against those lovely red shoes. I’ve kicked myself a little over that decision every day since then. Not because I’ve had a plethora of occasions when what I needed to complete my grocery-store-trek ensemble was a pair of bedazzled, high-heeled ruby shoes, but because in not buying them I reinforced the message to myself that I don’t deserve to follow my heart or whims or treat myself like I merit being shiny and extra sometimes.

The other day, I did this thing though, which I think provides proof of growth. I hit the purchase-now button and had these rhinestone-encrusted cowboy booties, another Betsey Johnson creation, sent to me. My entire life, I’ve been a fairly conservative dresser. I’ve been big on neutrals and classic, preppy silhouettes in clothing. Mainly because I’m practical and lazy and I know neutrals interchange beautifully, but also because those items allowed me to go unnoticed in most situations. So, you have to know I bought these booties with a specific occasion in mind.

As soon as they arrived at my house, though, the doubts began to creep in. Did I really need these? Was I seriously going to wear them in public? Had I lost my freaking mind? I admired them, tried them on, and told myself quietly, “I’ve just wasted our money.” I took them off, returned the paper wad to the toe and the foam form to the boot shaft, placed them back in their protective sleeves, and positioned them neatly in the box with a firm plan to send them back. Then a curious thing happened. I told myself to think about it and sit with them for a while. So, I left them on my son’s bed in my temporary office, for days. I would walk by them, take one of out of the box, smile at it, then put it right back where I found it. Yesterday morning, though, I did something different. Instead of putting them back, I put them on right over my Smartwool socks. I decided I was going to walk around in them for a bit and see how I felt wearing them around the house. Well, I felt pretty damn good. Never mind that I was wearing fleece-lined leggings and my Buffalo Bills sweatshirt with them. Even with that, I felt rather sassy. So I wore them for a few hours like that and became one with them. And in one last act of utter defiance against my practical mind, I put on Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” and danced in them. Yes. I. Did.

The boots are mine now. I gave them an honored space inside the closet. I’m not sure when I will be wearing them, but I will be wearing them, even if it’s just to dance around in my house. You gotta start somewhere. And, lest you think this subtle act of wardrobe rebellion is a one-off, I should probably let you know I also purchased a sequined jacket yesterday. That’s right. I think I’m entering my Extra Shiny Era. It appears I am finished being a wallflower. You’d best get out of my way. Next time this Colorado gal needs to kick someone who is throwing shade her shiny-ass way, she’s gonna be doing it with bejeweled, pointy-toed hardware, and that’ll leave a mark.

“You’ve always had the power, my dear. You just had to learn it for yourself.” ~Glinda, the Good Witch, The Wizard of Oz

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Feminism, Friendship Bracelets, and Fearlessness

I have a confession. I saw the Taylor Swift Eras Tour film Friday night. And then I went back yesterday to see it again on a bigger screen. Ten years ago, if you had asked me to see or listen to anything having to do with Taylor Swift, I probably would have asked how much you were willing to pay me for it. But, if you’re doing life right, you need to be open to reassessing your previous beliefs and opinions. Or at least that is what I have been telling myself regarding my recent about face on Ms. Swift and her music.

My antipathy towards Taylor Swift began early in her career, around 2009, when she was a 20 year old pop country upstart and I was a 41 year old stay-at-home mom. I heard her hit “You Belong with Me” and realized I was well beyond the point in my life when I had the time or energy to relate to songs about teenage-relationship drama. My sons didn’t help change my mind about her, as they referred to her mockingly as Tay Tay Swifters. All the tabloid drama surrounding her dating life got old quickly, and I summarily dismissed her as not worth my time and went back to listening to my indie bands. Fast forward 10 years of emotional growth for both of us, in the summer of 2019 I stumbled upon her music video for “You Need to Calm Down” and had to admit I genuinely loved it. My respect for her, however, made a seismic shift with her pandemic albums, Folklore and Evermore, which were littered with influence by the indie music world I loved. Finally. We were running in the same circles, and her popularity began to make sense to me. Her penchant for storytelling in her music, her heartfelt, almost confessional-like lyrics, and the often dramatic melancholia in her songs reminded me of some of my favorite bands, The Smiths and The National, in particular. When I hit the depression I wasn’t aware I was in, her songs became regulars in my playlist rotation. Just when I had reached my lowest point and was existing in a constant state of numbness, her music made me feel again. I was able to wallow in and process my sadness and then find a way to climb out of it. It was catharsis.

“Hung my head as I lost the war and the sky turned black like a perfect storm. Rain came pouring down when I was drowning, that’s when I could finally breathe. And, by morning, gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean.”

“‘Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned, everything you lose is a step you take. So make the friendship bracelets, take the moment and taste it, you’ve got no reason to be afraid. You’re on your own kid. Yeah, you can face this.”

“It’s like I got this music in my mind, saying it’s gonna be all right.”

Maybe it’s the fourteen years of life and growth I’ve experienced since I first heard “You Belong with Me” or maybe it’s that sitting in the theater watching her on the screen, owning the stage in sold out SoFi Stadium like a boss, but I get it now. Taylor Swift is extraordinary because she has navigated a successful career in the music industry while growing up under a global magnifying glass. She’s lived half her life under constant judgment, speculation, and ridicule, but she took everything the world threw at her and somehow turned it to her advantage. Despite her fame and wealth, she still manages to seem human and relatable, referring to herself on stage as a 30 year old who sits at home covered in cat hair watching 700 hours of television. She’s a marketing genius with a creative mind and relentless devotion to her fan base and, as a result, everything about the Eras Tour has been monumental. The run on tickets, the sold out stadium shows, the extravagant stage production, the ubiquitous friendship bracelets, the three and half hours she played each night on tour, the donations to food banks in every city to which she traveled, and now the Eras Tour film (a gift to the fans who weren’t able to see her show live), these all highlight the magnificence and power of a woman seizing upon her childhood dream. As I sat in the theater yesterday, watching young girls alternately dance and stand together beneath the screen while Taylor looked as if she was singing directly to them, I saw a future filled with young women who understand they too are a limitless forces with the agency to never settle for less than what they believe they are capable of. That is priceless.

Say what you want about her as I did. Dislike her music if it doesn’t suit you. Joke about her dating life or the way her appearance in a box at Arrowhead Stadium drove up NFL viewership, but don’t do what I did. Don’t ever dismiss Taylor Swift as another pop princess. The Eras Tour film grossed over 95M this weekend. Taylor Swift may be a lot of things, including a cup of tea you would purposely knock over, but seventeen years, 12 grammys, and a reported 740M later, she is consequential. By all appearances, she has no intention of going anywhere, except up. And I’m definitely here for it, head first and fearless.

“Ask me what I learned from all those years
Ask me what I earned from all those tears
Ask me why so many fade, but I’m still here“

~”Karma” by Taylor Swift

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Taylor Swift, Socrates, And My Brain Walk Into A Bar At 3 A.M.

“The unexamined life is not worth living.” ~Socrates

Ruby asks me again if I’ve seen her keys

It’s 3:31 a.m. All the male creatures in our house are asleep. I am wide awake once again, sitting on the sofa in our living room. Beneath my feet, our fourteen year old border collie has settled temporarily, taking a break from her mid-night wanderings. In a minute, she will jump up and trot off quickly as if she just remembered she is late for an important meeting. She will get halfway across the room, stop, then look left and right, confused about where the hell she was headed. Ruby and I are simpatico lately. We’re either both deep thinkers with too much on our minds or we’re both losing our shit. Maybe these things are not mutually exclusive or untrue.

Aside from desperately needing the sleep, I don’t mind being awake in the middle of the night. I appreciate the peace. I find solace in the hum of the heater kicking on, the faint crash of ocean waves coming from the ambient noise app on my phone in the other room, the click of Ruby’s nails on the hardwoods as she trots around looking for the car keys she can’t find. I try to focus on my surroundings and stay rooted in the present because this is good practice. Mindfulness is the antidote for the poison of overwhelm. But the truth of these late-night, sleepless hours is there is something, perhaps many things, out of kilter in my life. In these moments, I become innately aware I am adrift. I’m on a flimsy, inflatable raft in the midst of a vast ocean, mere inches above multitudinous unknowns lurking just beneath the surface. I’m fine for the time being, but my situation is precarious. I’m one rogue wave away from drowning. My sleeplessness is a sign. It’s time to gather my shit in.

I attempt to pull disparate thoughts from my spinning mind to categorize and file them away so I can get back to sleep, but I might as well be trying to pluck tree branches and airborne chihuahuas from a churning, F4 tornado. The desire to right all the wrongs in my messy life at 4 a.m. is admirable, though ill-advised. In the back of my head, Taylor Swift sings my story:

“I should not be left to my own devices, they come with prices and vices. I end up in crisis, tale as old as time…It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem it’s me. At tea time, everybody agrees. I’ll stare directly in the sun but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.”

I have good days. Most of the time, I feel I am on the right path. Sometimes, though, while I’m sleeping, everything that has been running in background mode in my head pops up at once and overloads the system and I end up here. Deconstructing old trauma, adapting to life in an empty nest, managing a household, navigating health issues, raising a puppy, dealing with the manifestations of aging, trying to figure out who I am now and who I might like to be if there is a later, and accepting the incontrovertible truth that I have not been bringing my best self to the table for myself or the people I care about for years now, well, that’s quite a quagmire to wade through during the most opportune moments. It’s a bit much for the middle of the night. And it’s still going to be too much to face on three hours of sleep once the sun rises and I have to make an early morning trip to the grocery store ahead of hosting Thanksgiving at our house. Sigh.

While I can’t address my issues now and losing sleep isn’t going to make things one iota better, at least I can come here and let you know you are not alone. Most people are hurtling through life feeling frenzied and lost and imposter-ish. And the majority of the people you know who seem to have it all together? Well, they pull off that feat by living unconsciously, which, believe it or not, is worse than being painfully aware. Us up-all-night-with-our-thoughts folks may be sleep deprived, but it’s only because we’re honest and paying attention. So, I am here now to remind you and me to take heart. Today is another day in which we might still not figure anything out, but we’re alive and awake and that means we have lives worth living.

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