I saw Lizzy McAlpine play in Austin on Monday night. I hadn’t been to a concert since before the pandemic, which means I haven’t seen live music since before I became a mom, which is to say I hadn’t attended a show since I was living an entirely different life as an entirely different person. Lol, casual.
I bought the tickets probably three months ago, but I almost didn’t buy them for a lot of real but also very overcome-able reasons. They were too expensive. I needed a babysitter. I don’t live in Austin. I’d have to book a hotel. Blah, blah, blah. Despite it all, I paid the dollars and got the tickets! I don’t know why It’s so hard as a mom to give ourselves permission to do the things we love. I love live music! I love Lizzy McAlpine. I love the guitar, and harmonies, and I will listen to lyrics with an eery intensity because lyrics are words AND I LOVE WORDS! Anyway, if you need permission to go do something you love just because you love it, even if there are real but overcome-able barriers which are just resistance because you are out of practice with doing things for fun, then here you go! Permission! Granted.
So, I got two tickets not knowing who I’d go with, but hoping I’d discover I had a friend who has been crying and dancing to Lizzy McAlpine in the car as much as I have. I did not discover that friend, so I went with Jared. And I was happy I did, even though he spent most of the night staring at me perplexed while I sang and danced and sat there completely absorbed amidst a sea of mostly teenage girls.
Somehow I managed to make it through the whole show with just little bouts of watery eyes, but no actual tears, until our walk back to the hotel when we saw a mom yelling out of her minivan window “hurry, get in, honey!” to her hipster teenage daughter who slid open the minivan door and jumped into the car wearing her newly purchased Lizzy McAlpine merch right before the stoplight turned green. “That could be me picking up our girls one day,” I said, choking the words out through tears and then laughter because sometimes crying is funny. Jared laughed loudly at me and held my hand.
When we walked into the hotel it was very dark, just dimly lit by a few table lamps. A man and woman with conference lanyards around their necks sat side by side on a low-to-the-ground couch, their faces illuminated by computer light as they tapped on keyboards and sipped the last sips of their hotel bar cocktails. Jared and I were talking about our grandparents…retirement…would we like retirement? Jared said I would because I’m a hobbiest. I said “it’s just that everything I’m good at is considered a hobby.”
In the weeks leading up to the show I had not been doing well. I have been slow to share the emotional landscape of my life lately because I have been mostly feeling sad and listless and rageful, but that’s also too one dimensional to capture the whole of it. I had another miscarriage in February which was followed by a tidal wave of grief and fear and intense health anxiety, but also gratitude and presence and love. But, honestly the latter - the gratitude and presence and love - have been in short supply recently, subsumed by a racing feeling in my chest, like I need to scream into a pillow until the rage reveals itself to not be rage but a big dormant sadness, like ashes in a fire.
When I was a teenager I’d lie to my parents about where I was and go see shows in downtown Houston with my two best friends, sweaty and smoking and screaming our favorite songs. We’d shimmy our way to the front, even though two of us were very tall and absolutely blocking everyone else’s view.
My daughter, who is only three, does this things where she stares, like a soul-piercing stare, when she’s taking in something new. She’s done it since she was a baby, always observing before participating. The potency of her gaze is familiar to me. It’s me eavesdropping at a restaurant. It’s me daydreaming the circumstances that inspired a song I love. It’s me imagining what I’d say in an invented scenario. It’s me writing the story in my mind of the woman in the salmon colored T-shirt, driving a Kona Ice Truck down the highway on our way home from Austin, snow cone syrups in pop-top bottles bouncing in the back.
There was a rainbow on the drive home too and I asked Jared about the science of rainbows then immediately felt embarrassed for asking. He said “ I love that question!” and answered about prisms and light waves and reflections. And I realized I knew that but didn’t actually understand the mechanics of it which has always been a problem for me: trying to know something I don’t understand. Just like with Riley who asks “why?” all day long, every answer elicits more questions, no answer satisfies the depth of her whys. She’s bottomless curiosity. Why is it called a chrysalis? Why is syrup sweet? Why do we go to sleep at nighttime? Why are you a girl? Why? Why? Why? Why? Even when at first I have answers we eventually land at “I don’t know.” If you ask why enough times, you always arrive at mystery.
Olivia Barton was the opener for Lizzy McAlpine and she closed her set with an unreleased lullaby she wrote for herself that repeated the refrain “I love you for trying” and holy shit.
I love you for trying,
Stephanie
P.S. I hope you enjoyed this less formal piece. Let me know if you prefer these diary entry ones or the more formal cultural analysis/essay stuff. If you like my writing please share, comment, and/or like the post. You are even encouraged to text it to a friend! I really love to hear your comments. It makes my day.
to the women who likes lists and is short of them as of late:
1. Lizzy McAlpine sits in my spotify faves (FYI) :)
2. I am glad that not only do you love words, BUT you share those words.
3. I want to share my modest supply of gratitude, presence and love with you. Let's unpack it together when ever you are ready.
4. A word will not suffice to contain the sentiment I want to share as I learn about your loss.
5. Thank you
You capture moments and thoughts so beautifully well! Thank for sharing it all.