Surrender
The undeniable currents of Pisces season
Dear Friends,
Like last year, the weeks from January have not inaugurated some new and clear reality, but instead extended our 2025 out beyond where it belongs. What I mean is that things haven’t felt better. Or even different. This is both disappointing and expected, and I think has to do with the fact that the zodiacal calendar doesn’t reset until March. That’s when things usually feel new, finally, unfrozen.
This year, Pisces season is wrapped up in all kinds of otherworldly shit that’s beyond my capacity to talk about. The astrologers are truly breathless about what’s headed our way, and as I’ve said before, I welcome whatever it is already. This time last year I was living in Missouri and sort of breaking under the strain of stretching across two cities. I can’t believe how much has changed since then, and how much hasn’t.
There’s at least one fish I know in the tarot. It can traditionally be seen flopping out of a cup in the Page card of that suit, a delightful surprise for our buddy. The cups concern emotions and inner worlds. The Pages are often messenger figures who represent our inner children, a bit impulsive and deeply naive—but because of that sharing great insight too often lost to time. The Page of Cups in particular invites you to nurture that buried, creative, visionary child within you. The fish represents the serendipitous joys that pop up when we can pull our minds free from tasks and labor, there and waiting to be noticed.
People ask me how I like Boston and I invariably say that I can’t tell. It’s too early, I tell them, but what I mean is I’ve been too occupied. I knew this job would demand a level of involvement that would preclude most other things, at least for a while. And while that’s true, it’s also true that my nervous system takes a long time to adjust to a new environment. My head is still 1,000 miles west of where my body wakes up. These days, I’m less bummed out about that fact than I am observant and curious.
Gratitude and Attention
It’s been ferociously cold, even for Boston. (I kind of figured this was par for the course, but everyone keeps telling me it’s not usually like this.) Which is to say that this past week, when the afternoons have remained above 30 for long stretches and the wind hasn’t blown its ass off, I’ve been truly grateful for my long and comfortable walks. Some of those days I dove headfirst as if a snow pile, walking from campus to my neighborhood, the entire slow and convoluted route taking more than an hour and doing wonders for clarity.
If I’ve thrown myself quite rigorously into work, at least a few other things are starting to move as well, and the most important one first: I found a great therapist. Bless these miracle workers who are not responsible for or capable of simply fixing everything, but who can reframe perspective just enough to make what’s not yet changed nevertheless feel lighter, easier to lift.
I am hugely glad for the time that this early year has afforded for thinking about and then trying some new approaches to writing. I’m in Raechel’s glorious workshop at the moment, and it’s helping me get more comfortable with risks, even the kind that have most recently not worked out so well. Writing matters, to me and to the world, so it’s sometimes hard to remember an equal and corollary truth: nothing matters, rejection least of all. Life’s too short not to throw your whole weight into it.
Oh my pals. Finding ways and times in the cracks of our evenings. The group chats, the extended diatribes, the chaotic voice notes. I learn more from you every day, and that is both fun and important.
Finally, there’s stuff on the horizon, and while none of it’s happened yet, I am grateful for the opportunity to be present with so many people I care about. First and foremost is Hannah, who’s opening a major show at the St. Louis Art Museum during a week when I can actually be there to celebrate her brilliance. Before that, I’ll have been in DC for IASPM, and immediately after St. Louis I’ll catch a horrific flight to Pop Con. I can’t wait to feel in community with (as I recently put it in an email to my chair) all the pop girlies. But that being said: this has to be my last pop con for a while. Please, do not let me go to LA for a third consecutive year.
Plans
Coming up you can expect posts on:
Approaches to writing about music
At least two more interviews on the pod
Crush material
Extra good music recs
Something that you recommend? Eh?
Conference summaries (certo, come sempre)
cry(ing) [hard] (lo stesso)
xoxo