First page of the everybody archive.

Ingrid, live.

Posted by jessica on Mar 10, 2010 with 14 Comments
in Performance, Thoughts and Feelings
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So, Ingrid Michaelson.

I have to say she was worth everything it took to go see her. Not that it was a lot on my part, per se. Especially when compared to the times you hear about people doing some street side vigils to get tickets. Or staying on the phone for hours. Or paying a lot more than $27.

But still, it was worth getting bumped into over and over again by the guy to my right who might have been five feet on a good day. Not that I hold anyone’s height (or lack thereof) against them. I mean, my own dear momma is not that tall, let’s face it. But she doesn’t spend all night long making loud announcements and then laughing hysterically at herself before she’s even finished the sentence. And this, in addition to all the hapless bumping into me.

And oh, here’s a tip: if you are the only one laughing at what you just said then there is a very strong possibility that you are just. not. funny.

Or that you are high.

Which was why I was not so sad when me and this continual jokester-complete-with-his-own-laugh-track ended up not standing next to each other by the time Ingrid Michaelson came out on stage. I can only say that I hope whoever eventually did stand next to him appreciated his jokes as much as I had.

But back to Ingrid, because she was great.

And really funny.

And didn’t bump into me once.

Proving that those two things can be done, small man who was maybe definitely high, I hope you’re listening.

And it’s a rare treat when you get to hear an artist who sounds better live than she does on her recordings. And it’s not like she sounds shabby on the recordings, either.

But she has a special place in my heart. I started listening to her while I was in Japan. A dear friend, Mindy, introduced me to her one day while we were both laying on the dressing room floor, wishing that we didn’t have another show to do in just an hour. She asked me if I wanted to hear the beautiful song she was listening to and I’m pretty sure I’m never gonna say no to a question like that.

So she gave me one half of her headphones and we lay there together, listening to Ingrid sing The Chain, which became one of my favorite songs ever.

And I’ve about worn that song out since. I will say that Japan was when I started noticing that my life as I knew it was unraveling. And by noticing, I mean desperately trying to get the attention of someone you love and feeling like you suddenly just have a crush on the man who married you and he doesn’t even remember your name. And as somebody on the other side of the world kept pulling and pulling at the thread, ripping it out until there was barely any fabric to cover us at all anymore, I would write pitiful love songs on my guitar or listen to Ingrid Michaelson sing about how everybody, everybody wants to love, everybody everybody wants to be loved and I would silently agree cause yeah, that’s all I wanted. Is that such a terrible thing, anyway?

And then I came home and that thread was even shorter. Shorter than I ever knew it could be. And there we were, our relationship exposed and uglier than I ever knew it could be, either; cause that poor thread had been pulled and pulled until the fabric was gone entirely, having been used to make a different blanket for a different person. And there I was, feeling naked and ashamed and less than while not knowing what to do about it except write and listen to music. Oh, and pretend to the world that everything was good enough.

Which is when I wrote this.

It was a time when he was upset with me and had left abruptly. Again. And I didn’t know the half of it. And I couldn’t compete with a person I didn’t even know had taken my place. All I knew to be was myself and suddenly that wasn’t good enough.

But I’d once again find some small comfort in listening to the song, The Chain. And it’s one of those songs that makes me really happy and really sad at once; really happy that it was written at all and really sad that it wasn’t me who had written it in the first place.

And even though Ingrid didn’t sing The Chain tonight, I still absolutely loved getting to hear her live. She was inspiring. Plus, she plays a very small guitar. Something that I do too, so it gave me a little more courage in that direction. A little less reason to feel very defensive when people ask me about it. Over and over again.

But yes, listening to her was pretty darn great. Like I said, worth every bit of the $27 and all that jazz.

it’s not all good, but some of it is even better than good

Posted by jessica on Jan 12, 2010 with 6 Comments
in I Lift My Eyes Up, Thoughts and Feelings
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I guess that’s what blogs are really about anyway, huh?

Stories, I mean.

Sharing yours, specifically.

And I would go so far as to say that everybody wants to be known in some way. And no, I don’t mean being famous. I mean everybody wants to have someone else glimpse into their soul and be told that we’re not lacking.

But we are.

I mean, it’s true that we need God. I know this intimately, feel it in the slow and steady reacquainting with life that I do every morning lately. I open my eyes, and though I don’t recognize much, I do see that this is Life. Just like my first performance was. Just like letting my grandaddy squeeze my hand till it hurt but not wanting to say a word because I knew he found some comfort in it; knew that he liked to look at me and see a reminder of the wife he had loved. Just like my wedding day and the photos that remind me still that it happened.

And just like all the parts I don’t remember so well; the parties and polite conversations and the times I decided to roll over and fall asleep when, really, I could have made some sort of effort that produced more than simply another full 8 hours of rest.

It’s all life and it all matters and when we tell people about it that helps too.

So when I found myself at a story sharing with a new friend tonight, it made sense. Of course there are people brave enough to walk up to that bare stage, grab a mic, and talk.

About themselves.

In front of so many strangers.

With the only caveat being that the story is true, the details real.

And though I insisted to my friend that I could never do that, that the very idea was somewhat terrifying, isn’t that the way we live our lives? No, there aren’t usually microphones involved and yes, we’re generally given more than five minutes at any given time to open up, but don’t the things we choose to do, the conversations we cobble together with each other, and the dreams we cradle and wake up to in the dead of night–isn’t all of that the story that we are telling?

And don’t we all want someone to tell us that it’s a good story?

And as we’re weaving this tapestry sometimes it feels like we’ve been stuck on that same darn color for a very long time. We wonder what exactly God had in mind. What kind of artist uses so very much orange or blue or red or however it is you paint your pain anyway?

And it’s not till later–till we see the burning sun so bright and warm and smack in the center of it all, a light that you didn’t know possible, that you couldn’t have even dreamt had you known how to try–that you finally see the reason for all that yellow.

Or all that orange.

Or all that whatever it is that hurts so much right now.

And God, it’s a good reason. And no it doesn’t make sense because when does a mystery ever do that, but you cannot help but see the brilliance, be warmed by the glow that is all around you, and then be taken by surprise as you start do something so simple.

Because it’s then you finally say thank you, and though you’ve said it so many times before, this time it’s like your heart and your head and your mouth have all finally attended the same parties and church and schools and they totally agree on the issue that life is good.

Because it is.