art heals
on the power of creativity to shine a little light in the darkness, to create community, etc.
Monday night, I was drifting off to sleep when my daughter entered my room crying. Her middle-grade book, We Dream of Space, was so sad, she said. The main character just watched the Challenger explode in real time, but that’s not what she was so upset about. It was the internal struggles one of the characters was facing. She didn’t feel like she belonged anywhere, even in her own family.
I held my youngest and told her she could stay in my bed as long as she wanted. Wow, I said. It is awe-inspiring that this author, whom you’ve never even met, created something that touched your heart so deeply.
Last night I took my daughter to see Megan Moroney. Did I know even one of her songs before plunking down a stupid amount of money for tickets? No. Was it a school night? Yes. Did I even like this artist? Not particularly.
That’s not to say she isn’t talented—I’m just not a country fan. (Lately I’ve been listening to the slutty songs for hoes and sad 90’s girl soundtrack Spotify playlists.)
And yet. The only song I knew all the words to was Moroney’s cover of Desperado, but I was on my feet the whole night.
Even though I wore a sweater, wide-leg jeans, and comfy shoes instead of the standard uniform of the evening (a tiny gauzy sundress and cowboy boots), I felt part of something beautiful as my daughter and all the young women around us scream-sang along to every song.
And when Moroney told the crowd she was almost too terrified to move to Nashville to pursue her dream—and that we should go after our big, scary dreams, too, rather than stay safe and die with regrets—I got teary.
I had a blast, not because Moroney’s singing or songwriting blew me away, but because of the bold, joyful way in which she shared her art and the shared experience she set into motion, whereby thousands of strangers connected for just a couple of hours.
I host a bimonthly comedy open mic at a local coffee shop/ velospa (yes it is so Boulder and so very perfect for me). I started it because I can always find a reason not to go to an open mic—yet I know that to get more comfortable on stage and improve my craft, I have to keep showing up. And you can’t blow off a mic when you’re in charge of it.
I don’t usually get a lot of laughs when I do my five-minute set at this mic, yet the event tends to be the highlight of my week. I’m developing my skills, including learning to stay relaxed even when it feels like your audience would rather be at the dentist and forging relationships with my fellow comics. And I love creating a space for people to experiment with their art and for the community to enjoy it.
Sundown tonight marks the start of Yom Kippur, or The Day of Atonement, the holiest day of the year for Jews. It comes just ten days after Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. The ten days separating these two holidays are known as the Days of Awe, a time when Jews are commanded to inventory and repent for our sins and wrongdoings of the past year.
Among my many missteps this year was my inclination to focus on the negative. I’ve spent my precious energy comparing myself—my professional life, my nascent comedy career, my body, my social media presence—to others, and often find myself falling short. I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit doomscrolling, trying to find the sweet spot between staying informed and working myself into a frenzy, yet often failing, erring on the side of panic.
But what always reminds me there is, in fact, much to be grateful for, that people do not generally suck, that many of my fellow humans are, in fact, really freaking cool and smart and and generous, that I am just a messy, lovable, loving person doing the best I can, that each of has within us a divine spark—is creativity.
Whether it’s experimenting with my own creative impulses through writing and performing comedy, the occasional drawing, publishing this newsletter, or bearing witness to someone else’s creation—reading a book, going to a concert, or attending a comedy show, my heart opens and I experience a presence that’s hard to come by otherwise.
And when I’m really present—grounded in my body and focused on my sensory experience of the present moment—I find it’s impossible to worry about what might happen next or who I could be if only xyz.
So in the coming year, I am re-committing to creativity, to celebrating the small wins, and to deleting Instagram when everything feels too heavy.
Here’s to a sweet, healthy, and creativity-infused new year.
xo,
