Natalie Merchant and Me

We saw Natalie Merchant in concert (Natalie Merchant: Three Decades of Music) last night. I've been a fan since I stumbled upon her first album with 10,000 Maniacs, In My Tribe, in a music shop in Indiana all the way back in 1988. So I've been around for her entire music career - and she's been around for most of my life. 

It was so satisfying to see her last night, for a number of reasons. I haven't listened to her in a while, and so just getting a full blast of so many of her greatest songs was like a lullaby to my heart. And to see her dancing just like she did back when I last saw her in concert, in 1992 or 1993, shored me up a little. Some things remain, even as the world turns and you change from a 13 year old discovering music on her own to me, 42 and criticizing myself as I look in the mirror even as I continue to marvel over all that my body has endured over the decades (especially the last decade - two pregnancies, two years of nursing, and then four years of cancer related craziness). Natalie looked older, too: the long brunette locks for which she is known are a gorgeous silver these days, and she's no longer the tiny 20-something I saw on stage all those years ago. She's a little sturdier - and a lot funnier, stopping in the middle of songs to admit that she got distracted counting shirts, exclaiming over the audience's little picnics, repeating lyrics about the Rocky Mountains on purpose to make the audience whoop and applaud ("we did that - because we knew you'd do THAT!"). She seems happy. And all of this made me happy. It gave me hope, and permission to feel joy, somehow. Maybe because when I think about my political awakening, I think of the lyrics to so many of her songs; she's fought for social justice her whole adult life, calling out and naming the inequalities she sees, giving beautiful voice to the voiceless.  So if she can manage to still be happy amidst all the political dysfunction here in America and the global crises of climate change, war, poverty, and all the rest...then I can get there, too. Can't I? I can be a happy warrior.  In the words of one of my favorite songs, "Life Is Sweet":

"They told you life is hard, it’s misery from the start; it’s dull and slow and painful but I tell you life is sweet, in spite of the misery there’s so much more, be grateful. Who do you believe? Who will you listen to, who will it be? Because it’s high time you decide, it’s time you make up your own sweet little mind.They told you life is long, be thankful when it’s done, don’t ask for more, you should be grateful. But I tell you life is short, be thankful because before you know it will be over. Life is sweet and life is also very short. Your life is sweet."

It's been a bit of a trying summer. My clinical trial continues, and I had scans last week that showed, again, no changes, which is fantastic! But I'm already worrying about the next scan. Also, the infusions are not without substantial side effects, especially a bottomless kind of fatigue, so I've been sleeping much more than usual. This leaves me feeling guilty for spending so much "alone" time (is it alone time when you're not even alert?), so I've been hopping out of bed as soon as I awake and rushing downstairs, heedless of my own needs (showering, meditating, tidying my room, taking my meds) in case I've been missing something "important." The net effect of this approach, though, is that the rest of the day is spent in chaos, with me grabbing a minute here and there to read the news, to brush my teeth, to make appointments, and so on - and so my kids haven't benefited from this approach at all. Neither have I - I feel depleted, inadequate, short-tempered, lonely, and (ironically?) in need of solitude. It took last night's concert - and a long, intimate conversation with my husband as we waited for the concert to begin - for me to even begin to figure all of this out. This morning, I feel like one does after a long, cleansing, unexpected rain: a little washed out, but clear. Ready to grow again.

So, if you're listening, Natalie, thank you. Thank you for reminding me of my beautiful idealistic, cheerful young self. Thank you for making music that soothes even the most savage of beasts: uncertainty, grief, cynicism, sadness. Thank you for awakening me to injustice and activism all those many years ago. And thank you for touring this summer and handing me a pretty astounding date night with my amazing, extraordinary, "Kind and Generous" husband, Nick: 

"You’ve been so kind and generous; I don’t know how you keep on giving. For your kindness I’m in debt to you. For your selflessness, my admiration and for everything you’ve done you know I’m bound, I’m bound to thank you for it.

"You’ve been so kind and generous; I don’t know how you keep on giving. For your kindness I’m in debt to you. And I never could have come this far without you. So for everything you’ve done you know I’m bound, I’m bound to thank you for it.

"I want to thank you for so many gifts you gave with love and tenderness; I want to thank you. I want to thank you for your generosity, the love and the honesty that you gave me. I want to thank you, show my gratitude, my love and my respect for you. I want to thank you."