AuDHD Dreams and Impulsive Schemes

When I opened my app to check my site’s stats for the day, this little prompt popped up:

Describe the most ambitious DIY project you’ve ever taken on.

I’ll be honest, this is a hard question for me, and not because I’m like, the queen of all things DIY. I’m not even a baroness of all things DIY. The world of DIY is a mystical land with which I am simultaneously very familiar and also very much a stranger.

The truth is, I often cycle through creative interests, sometimes very rapidly! I can recall flipping through like, five different artistic outlets in one summer before finally realizing I sucked at all of them. I have music and writing already — maybe it’s what I get for being greedy with the fine arts. But one of my best friends is also a musician and writer, and they also have time to make bead art, crochet, sew shit, put together enormous puzzles, and 3D print whatever the hell they can’t make doing everything else.

My problem, as always, is my brain wiring. I’ve got the fun combination of ADHD and autism, and they love to fight sometimes.

One of autism’s defining traits is the presence of “special interests,” or things were just really fascinated by and want to learn everything about. As a child, it was 8-track tapes and parakeets. In adulthood, it’s been lost architecture and cults (I dare you to let me tell you about multilevel marketing cults for hour). Not every autistic person gets special interests like this, but it’s incredibly common and definitely marked my experience growing up autistic.

That’s just one of the ingredients in my particular brand of brain soup.

It’s actually alphabet soup but all of the letters are “ADHD.”

ADHD comes with impulsivity. It’s one of the main symptoms, in fact. I technically have inattentive type ADHD according to my psychiatrist, but I’m shocked I didn’t qualify for the hyperactive-impulsive type instead. The hallmarks of my ADHD have always been the impulsive and hyperactive behaviors. And when I get an impulse to try out a new hobby, I gotta dive right in, headfirst, without checking the depth of the water beforehand.

It was pretty detrimental for a while because I was blowing all my money on these hobbies I’d be into for only a week or so before giving up. There’s the thing — if I wasn’t immediately good at the hobby, I quit. I also didn’t have the patience to get good at anything.

I realize I haven’t actually answered the prompt at hand yet (which is another very ADHD thing of me to do), so allow me to list the top five lofty DIY projects my neurodivergent ass stupidly took on:

5. Boating

I’m not quite sure this counts as a DIY project because I didn’t really make anything, but it was lofty nonetheless. Do you know what all you need to safely operate a boat? A lot of shit, that’s what. Yet I ordered a whistle and high-powered flashlight and lifejackets, all for the little inflatable boat I bought while we were living on the lake. How many times did I actually use the boat? Exactly once. It was a magical time, don’t get me wrong, and I wrote a song about the experience, but that song basically costed me $600. (And this is why I have credit card debt.)

4. Perfumery

I don’t know how many of you remember my witchy phase, but I definitely dabbled in the mystical realm for a while. Still do, to a lesser extent, but at the height, I was really into making my own “potions” out of herbs and essential oils. This inevitably led to me making potions not for magical properties, but because they smelled really nice, and giving them to my friends and family. I also made a lot of spell jars around this time, containing stuff that reminded me of the folks I made them for. It was kind of a cool hobby actually. I still have a lot of spell jars from that era.

3. Sewing

This was the shortest-lived of all the hobbies listed here. I went to JoAnn’s (RIP) for a small sewing kit because I wanted to alter my Chappell Roan costume to make it a little sluttier. Like, I wanted to show kneecaps. And the nice very gay man helping me suggested I also try a pillowcase. Not wanting to disappoint a fellow gay, I happily bought material to sew my own pillowcase as well. When I got home, I immediately got too overwhelmed and threw the sewing stuff behind the TV to hide my shame. It remains there to this day, and the Chappell costume remains unslutty.

2. Painting

Of all these hobbies, this one has been the most successful, if only because I’m not a stranger to visual art. I do digital art and coloring pretty regularly with my iPad, but traditional painting is a whole different beast. My college guitar professor was an incredibly skilled oil painter and I always really admired him, so I figured I’d try my hand at it as well. And I got some pretty okay results!

This painting of my girlfriend’s girlfriend turned out better than I anticipated, although she didn’t want to keep it (to be fair, what would you do with a painting of yourself??). I think I’d feel better about this hobby if I had some success selling my art, because for now it’s just kind of languishing in my apartment. I still have the equipment for oil painting, so I could easily revisit this one if I wanted.

1. Crocheting

Ah yes, the most tragic one. The one I had such high hopes for. I always imagined myself knowing how to crochet someday, probably as a little old lady sitting on a porch swing with a glass of sun tea. It was just part of how I envisioned being a grandma, and now that I’m officially an age where I can be a grandma (like, I just saw a report about a 32-year-old grandmother), learning to crochet seemed like the next logical step. So I ordered a beginner’s kit from the Woobles and well, here is the expectation:

…and result:

You can almost hear it crying to be put out of its misery. This ~~cat~~ potato was eventually given to my girlfriend as a Valentine’s Day gift, and I think her car ate it. My one and only crochet attempt, lost forever.

Although maybe that’s for the best.

Almost Icarus: What I learned “Writing” an Album With AI Software

This might be my most controversial blog post yet, moreso than any of my posts on religion or politics. Like, I could lose my Artist™ card over this transgression.

You see, I have sinned. I wrote an album using AI software.

Not a song.

Not even an EP.

A whole ass album.

I realize that sounds bad, and it kind of is. Bear with me.

“First you use AI, now you’re saying you have a bear with you. Can we even believe you Jessa??”

I’ve discussed AI in depth on here before, and to be honest I was a skeptic before I met a good friend who introduced me to the software. It was simple enough — you input a prompt (or a full set of lyrics if you’re really fancy), and out pops a song. And the songs it spat out were not robotic or mechanical at all. They sounded extremely realistic, all with breath sounds and guitar string scrapes and lifelike vocals. There was no uncanny valley — that valley had been crossed.

The friend was using the software because they don’t play an instrument, but wanted to write songs, which I mean, I definitely get that. I can’t shame someone for wanting to bring the music in their head to life. That’s what I’ve spent my entire life trying to do myself through songwriting.

But one night, I was bored at work. They say that idle hands are the devil’s playthings, and the little red man was feeling especially feisty I guess. So I downloaded the software myself and plugged in some of my unused lyrics along with prompts that reflected the kind of music I wanted to make. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to generate some ideas to glean. And holy shit was my mind blown. Suddenly I had one, two, five songs that were literally already complete, and according to the licensing policy of the particular software I was using, I could do whatever the hell I wanted with these songs. I could post them, remix them…

Pull it to the side and get all up in them.

I could re-record all of the songs I’d beep-booped and release them myself. It was genius! This was going to streamline songwriting in ways I’d never imagined. Suddenly, I was writing lyrics to see what the software would spit out. It was almost addictive.

But it didn’t come without a cost. I felt a twinge of guilt whenever my girlfriend would mention an anti-AI post. I knew what I was doing was technically cheating, but the dopamine hit from hitting “create” was too strong. My imposter syndrome was getting worse because of it. I’ve been writing music since I was 14 — how the fuck was a computer writing better songs than me? It was almost disheartening. Nothing I tried to come up with on my own compared to the full songs this software came up with in ten seconds.

Not to mention the fact that my taste in music was now borked. I now had all these songs I’d created and curated specifically for my own taste in music, and nothing else compared. I wasn’t getting “hyperfixation” songs like I used to because all I wanted to listen to were my creations on repeat. I needed to squeeze all of the joy I possibly could out of them because nothing else was satisfying.

The songs after I sucked the life out of them.

So here we are now, with me stuck with 12 songs I only half wrote and don’t know what to do with. The conundrum I find myself in is that these are not only good songs, but personal songs. I used some deeply personal lyrics I couldn’t find a melody worthy of in order to make some of these songs. There’s a song about recovering from my rape, there’s a song about how I probably won’t ever get to have a kid, there’s even a song about how I’m willing to go to war to defend my girlfriend from Nazis. I tried rewriting them but nothing sticks like the fucking AI songs. At this point they’re more than songs. They’re demons I need to exorcise.

And the only way I can exorcise them is by re-recording them and releasing them into the world.

I wanted to write this blog post before I post anything from this album just because I don’t feel ethically sound releasing something made with AI without disclosing that detail. I came to love these songs and I hope you do too, despite their origin. They’re still very much my work lyrically, and I’ll do my best to make it musically own as well. It’s unsettling how close some them already sound to songs that came directly from my noggin. “Fire” is a sexy rocker to “Sweet Honey,” and “WTF” could be considered the sequel of “Chrysanthemums.” I’ve been trying to think of some way to frame the release of these songs as a social experiment — will the music I created with AI be more successful than music created entirely by humans — but truthfully, I just want to get these songs out there in some fashion.

This blog post comes with a warning — if you’re a creative type at all, use caution when utilizing AI software, because it will erode your actual skills if you’re not careful. That’s not to say it won’t have any legitimate uses. I can see it being used in music therapy settings with a lot of success, and I’ve heard of nerdy types using it to make songs specific to their D&D campaigns. Hell, I can see it being used to get ideas during a bad writer’s block, so long as you don’t lose your own voice. But therein lies the problem. AI is like fire — it is a tool, but you have to remember, it’s still fucking fire. It’s almost eerily fitting that the software I used contains the word “sun” and one of the songs I made with it was one named “Icarus.” At first I wanted to believe I was Bernie Taupin and the AI was my Elton John, but if I’m honest, I was Icarus and the AI was my sun.

It’s not flying, it’s falling with style.

I don’t harbor any ill will toward the friend that showed me the software or even the software itself. I’m glad the songs I beep-booped into existence exist now, even if I wish the circumstances behind their existence were different. I don’t know if I’ll ever write anything with AI again after this project is properly exorcised. My next project is a concept album that’s almost finished lyric-wise, and I’m so tempted at times to pump them into the software and see what it comes up with, but I’m restraining myself as best as I can. I want to see what I can come up with this time.

I kind of miss the process of creating, and im tempted to make my next project entirely analog for this reason. I miss that hands-on feeling. When I was at my girlfriend’s apartment this weekend, I toyed with her synthesizer and recorded a handful of catchy riffs with my phone. They’re not full songs, but they’re starts. And most importantly, they’re mine.

Autism and 8-Track Tapes: How I Made My Inner Child Happy

Here’s a fun fact about my childhood. When I was around 8 years old, I was obsessed with 8-track cassette tapes.

The bane of everyone’s existence in the 70s, apparently.

I distinctly remember how fascinated I was by them, ever since my mom gave me her old tapes as a kid. I recall riding around in my grandma’s old Oldsmobile listening to her Beach Boys album on 8-track. At one point, I went to the library asking for books on them, and the librarian on site was absolutely dumbfounded that this tiny girl was so preoccupied with these ugly bulky-ass tapes. I wanted to collect more and more, even though collecting vintage media wouldn’t be “cool” for another decade or so.

There’s the issue. None of this was cool, especially not to my peers. I’d already cycled through obsessions with Bon Jovi and parakeets. I didn’t need something else making me even weirder to my classmates. So I made the decision to hide my excitement about 8-track tapes and quietly let my obsession fade.

In other words, I masked.

“I may look normal, but I’m thinking about 8-track tapes.”

I’ve talked a little about masking in past blog posts, but it bears repeating. Many autistic folks feel the need to hide parts of themselves to fit in with the rest of society, and if I’m honest, it’s exhausting. It’s especially prevalent among autistic women, who often experience burnout from having to mask so much. For me, it was meticulously studying the way other people interacted with each other and mimicking that to the best of my ability.

So imagine how secretly tickled I was when, during my last audio engineering class, the entire lecture was about magnetic tape. In other words, the technology behind 8-track tapes! This was the exact information I was seeking when I went to the library all those years ago!

People ask me all the time, “Hey Jessa, how do you heal your inner child?” Okay, I lied, no one has ever asked me that. But if they did, I’d tell them to explore the interests they had as a kid. Remember your dinosaur phase? Get to the library and get a fuckin’ book on velociraptors! Did you want to be a mermaid? Study mermaid mythology and invest in some nautical decor! Were you a horse girl? It’s high time you get some ridin’ lessons! Throw yourself into the thing you loved most as a kid. That’s the purest joy you can achieve — making the part of you that never grew up happy.

I think there’s a reason why so many people my age collect Funko Pops and play video games or watch cartoons for fun. We’re constantly trying to make our inner child happy in some way or another. I’m learning how to care for mine the same way I would care for the child version of me if I met her. Little-Jessa had to hide her fascination with vintage audio equipment to be accepted, but Adult-Jessa is picking up where she left off. It feels like I’m coming home to a hobby I long left abandoned. It feels good, man.

Famous in Kalamazoo: The Art of Finding Happiness Wherever You Are

This blog post begins with a song. Meet one of my most recent creations, “Kalamazoo.”

When I was just a kid

I always wanted to be

Just like pretty rockstars

I saw on MTV

I’d tease up all my hair

Wear my mama’s clothes

Grab the nearest hairbrush

And put on a show

Now that I’m older

I’ve got my own band

I sing my own songs

Guitar in hand

I’m still not a rock star

But I gotta admit

That celebrity kind of life

Just isn’t it

My biggest stage is the local bar

I might still drive a beat-up car

But I’m happy where I are

I don’t wanna be a star

But I’ll keep dreaming like I do

I just wanna be famous in Kalamazoo

I wrote this song a few nights back about my thoughts on fame and whether I even want anything resembling it at this point. You see, as a child, I desperately wanted to be a rock star. I was obsessed! I loved watching documentaries about my favorite musicians and how they rose to the top, and I’d always imagine my own story someday. I felt I was destined for the biggest stages on the planet.

Obviously, it’s 2025, I’m almost 32, and I still have not “made it” in music in any significant way. My closest brushes with fame were touring with a pop-punk band and getting to the third round in American Idol (which wasn’t televised, so it doesn’t even count). I’m not noteworthy by any stretch of the imagination — I don’t even have my own Wikipedia article (yet). I should be disappointed, and maybe I am a little bit.

But a part of me is almost relieved.

My girl Chappell was incredibly vocal about her struggles with fame after her meteoric rise to pop stardom this past year. Here she is, saying how she really feels:

Those are some harsh words, but there’s a truth to it. Fame can be crushing and scary if you’re not prepared. People can be cruel to celebrities online. Unhinged creeps are a real problem. Eminem’s “Stan” may seem like an exaggeration of obsessive fandom, but truth is scarier than fiction. The Bjork stalker sticks out in my mind as one of the most horrifying incidents in music history, and who can forget what happened to poor Selena Quintanilla?

I still want to make music, and to be honest, I still want to be “famous,” just on a much smaller scale. I want to be locally famous. I want to be a prominent figure in the community and music scene. I don’t want the Grammys or the Versace gowns. I just want a city where everyone knows my name, and that’s what my new song is about.

I posted a snippet of the song to social media, and one listener described it as the feeling of being content no matter where life takes you, and I really like that. “Kalamazoo” is kind of my new philosophy toward success. It’s finding happiness and fulfillment wherever you are.

Even if that’s in a little Midwest college town with a silly name.

So I’ll keep dreaming like I do — I just wanna be famous in Kalamazoo.

We Need Each Other

I’m starting to really appreciate the concept of community.

You see, I realized something recently — up until last year, my wife Crass and didn’t really have a community of our own. We had a few friends, even a few ride-or-dies, but no village, so to speak. And every night was the same — we’d get home from work, sit on the couch, and veg out until we inevitably got tired enough to sleep. It was a life, but it didn’t feel like living. It felt like we were just wasting time until the sweet release of death.

“I heard you were desperate for friends.”

I think things started to change for us when I met my girlfriend (we’re polyamorous, to clarify). We actually met at a Valentine’s Day event that I was hesitant to even go to because I wouldn’t know anyone there. But I met Olivia, and she had this contagious energy about her. As I found out, she loved going to things like art shows and open mics and festivals, and I found myself following her to those types of events. Suddenly, I was doing more than just working. I was living.

But karaoke was the catalyst that led to the life I know now. When we first went to Fort Wayne for my ill-fated internship, Crass suggested checking out the local gay bar the first week. Which was very uncharacteristic of her, an introvert, but I think she was feeling what I was feeling at the time. Restless.

It was at the gay bar that we met the first karaoke crew. There was Kyli, feisty and charismatic, and Theo, her calmer (albeit very silly) best friend, and their pal Zariel, a big lovable goofball who could sing “Poison” by Bell Biv DeVoe like no one’s business. They were so quick to welcome us into their world. We started going on all kinds of adventures around town, and despite the internship falling through, I don’t regret a thing because of the people I met there.

As I’ve started to say, the real music therapy degree was *the friends we made along the way.*

I’ll admit it sucked moving away from them (which was the only part that sucked about leaving Indiana, where no one should be). We’d finally found a tribe to call our own, only to lose them almost immediately. But we had to do what we had to do, and that involved moving to Kalamazoo, where the universe had been leading us for years. I started to worry if we’d find our people in this town. It was a college town after all, and we skewed a little older than college age. Were we doomed to be lonely again?

Then Crass threw out the same suggestion that seemed to work in Fort Wayne — let’s check out the local karaoke scene.

That first night, we met so many fantastic people (and one awful person), and we were hooked. From then on, every Friday, we’d gather at Old Dog Tavern downtown and sing our hearts out. There was Steve and Luke and David, the three most wholesome white cis dudes you’ll meet this side of Mister Rogers (but with a lot more marijuana). There was Mary Emma, a beautiful and confident slightly older queer woman who quickly became someone I could look up to. There was Clara, a kind statuesque blonde bartender who could quite possibly out-belt Aretha herself. There was Kim, who admittedly sucked, but they can’t all be winners I guess. The karaoke scene had so many colorful characters, and I loved getting to build relationships with all of them (except Kim, cause fuck Kim).

They say no man is an island, and it takes a village to raise a child. I’m sure those proverbs extend to women and nonbinary folk as well. I don’t often quote from the Bible on here anymore because I know spirituality can be a touchy subject, especially with our current political climate, and I don’t want to alienate any of my readers. Still, there’s a few verses from my favorite emo song — ahem, Biblical book — Ecclesiastes, that describes this phenomenon perfectly.

Two are better than one,
    because they have a good return for their labor:
If either of them falls down,
    one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
    and has no one to help them up.
Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
    But how can one keep warm alone?
Though one may be overpowered,
    two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

-Ecclesiastes 4:9-12

I’ll leave y’all with this, and I promise it’ll all come together. When I married my ex-husband, it was a shotgun affair because of his faith, so I didn’t know a lot about him, like the fact that dancing is prohibited in his aforementioned faith. No one told me that until the reception. I was pissed. All I wanted since I was a kid was a fun session I could dance at with all my friends and family! I honestly should have been more of a bitch about it than I was.

I shoulda gave *Bridezillas* a run for their money.

Anyways, that marriage obviously failed, and when I remarried my current spouse, we had a small, intimate (also shotgun) ceremony that lasted all of ten minutes. So I never got my wedding dances.

As I mentioned in a different post, Olivia and I are engaged-ish. We can’t legally marry, but we can have one hell of a commitment ceremony to make up for it. And when one of my new friends found out about the disaster that was my first wedding, he offered to rally the karaoke crew together to raise funds for a ceremony for me and Olivia, one we could really dance at. It was enough to almost make me tear up. Not just the idea of finally getting to dance, but the idea of all my friends coming together to help us.

I have a community now.

Things aren’t great at the moment, and it has been weighing on me quite a bit if I’m honest. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next few years. The Trump administration already removed the T from “LGBTQ,” which does not give me warm fuzzies about the future of us queer folks in this country. Will I be rounded up and imprisoned or worse for loving another woman? I don’t know yet, and it’s scary. But I’m not going into battle alone. I’ve got so many good people in my corner now, and I have no doubt in my mind every single one of them would fight for me if it came down to it.

Community is going to be what saves this country. More than ever, we need each other.

Back to School Blues

Tomorrow is my first day of school. Well, back to school. I say “back to school” as if I haven’t tried and failed to do the school thing again three times since I initially graduated with my music and journalism degrees in 2015.

But I’m nothing if not persistent.

I’m trying to stay optimistic in the face of everything that is happening and will happen — financial hardship, music therapy falling through, the new administration taking over and probably borking the country, and probably a million other things I’m not actively worrying about but are still looming in the horizon. I’ve always been an optimist, maybe to a fault. I want to believe the best in everything and in everyone, but I’m learning that I’m a lot less optimistic when it comes to believing in myself. And why should I be? I’ve let myself down so many times, part of me is wondering how long this endeavor will last before I inevitably fuck it up.

That’s not to say I don’t like Jessa Joyce — I’m quite a huge fan of hers. But I feel like she’s just an image of that perfect, badass version of myself I put out there. I love who she represents to me, an ideal self in a way. Yet underneath Jessa Joyce’s glitter and confidence lives a different me, one that’s not really sure she knows what she’s doing. I wrote a song about it recently, actually:

I used to know exactly what I wanted to be

But now I really don’t know what I want anymore

Who am I supposed to be

When all my flaws catch up to me?

I was the brightest star in the whole damn sky

Right until I flew too high

When I wrote those words, I was reflecting on that version of myself, the one that stands on shaky ground as she realizes she’s at a crossroads. Do I go all-in on pursuing rock stardom and all of its trappings? Do I start a music academy? A recording studio? Both? Do I take up the art of luthiery and build guitars? Do I continue my education and become a music professor? Do I work as a sound guy for a church I’m probably too gay to attend? All of the above? None of the above? What if I can’t choose, or worse, choose the wrong thing, like I did with music therapy? I can’t afford to waste another 12 years studying something that I don’t even follow through with. Starting school again will be a good first step, but I can’t ignore the nagging feeling that I’m going to screw this up again somehow.

In short, I really don’t have it all together.

Earlier today, I was talking to my bandmates about an acquaintance of mine who just seems really excited to know me. Which is flattering, I have to admit, but I wonder how well that person really knows me. Because if he did know me, he would know I’m not anything to look up to. If anything, I’m a dumpster fire masquerading as a sexy rocker chick who knows what she wants and knows exactly how to get it. But at the end of the day, I’m still the same old dumpster fire.

Believe it or not, I’m not writing this from a state of depression. I’m actually having experiencing hypomania, the bipolar state where you feel REALLY GOOD but not so good that you drop $500 you don’t have on a boat (thanks, mania). I’ve been in a surprisingly good mood actually. It’s just I’ve done the “back to school” song and dance enough times to understandably be a bit wary. Is this really the path for me? Can I forge my own way and start a career I can be proud of? Will I be able to make enough money to support my partners and our future family? One thing’s for sure — I’m going to work my ass off to make this thing happen. If I keep grinding, eventually it’ll pay off, right? Right?

I hope so. I want to believe in me again.

New Year, New Jessa (Hopefully)

So, it’s New Years Eve.

I’m writing this from a Starbucks during the period of time between my teaching gig and my trivia hosting job tonight. But this time last year, I was expecting to be a music therapist, working my big girl job and making bank. Obviously that did not happen, and to be honest, a lot of goals I had set for myself last New Years remain unaccomplished. But I’m not sad — the failures from this past year led me to where I am now, and I actually think I like where I am now better than where I would have been had I earned my MT-BC.

Still, there’s something powerful about setting new goals for a new year. I love a good intention-setting ritual. It feels almost witchy in a way, banishing the negative energy of the past year and manifesting a bright future ahead. So let me put on my witch hat and brew up some fresh goals for 2025!

1. Release a Full-Length Album

Would you believe I have an entire album’s worth of material I’m just sitting on? If I’m honest, I probably have several albums’ worth of material I’m just sitting on. And what good is music if no one’s there to hear it? I’d love to get at least one real album out into the world this year. I’d love to actually give it some proper promotion and go all-in on making it in music, now that I’m not bothering with music therapy anymore. I’ll be learning new recording and production techniques when I start classes as well, which will come in handy as I typically record everything myself. Speaking of which…

2. Finish My Coursework With an A or B

Like I mentioned, I’m going back to school for audio engineering. I have some friends in the program, including my dear bandmate, who I’ve observed many times become absolutely panicked over a particular class project. So I’m not going to hold myself to an impossible standard. I typically shoot for straight As, as ever since I was a child (I falsely believed) my parents demanded it from me. (They actually didn’t care that much — I put the expectations on myself because of freaking course I did.) But if I get a B in my classes for this program, I’ll be content.

3. Start a New Band

I love wakeupjamie, but it’s difficult to commute back and forth to practice when practice is literally two hours away. I have Syrin now too, but our frontperson writes all the music. So I want to start a another band that’s based here in Kalamazoo and plays the songs I write. I have a few potential leads as far as players, and I want to start playing shows by the end of next year. I’m still toying with band names, so if you got any good ones, leave ‘em in the comments!

4. Get Back Down to 140

I started drinking heavily in my mid-late 20s, which led to me absolutely ballooning to over 200 pounds. I’m not one to fat shame, especially not myself, but my fat was because of what was turning into a serious health problem, and it was causing even more health problems for me. I couldn’t get up the stairs to my own apartment without getting winded. Now that I’ve stopped drinking, I’m back down to 160, but I want to get back to the weight my old personal trainer said was optimal for my particular body, which is around 140. I’ve already cut back on calories quite a bit (thanks to ADHD meds murdering my appetite), but I want to keep walking regularly and incorporate more physical activity into my routine this year.

5. Start a Side Hustle

I’ve been trying to figure out new creative ways to make a little extra money for a while, but nothing seems to stick for long. So this year, I want to find something I love that I wouldn’t mind monetizing. I need the cash more than ever now that I’m starting classes again and don’t have access to any more student loans. I’m thinking of starting streaming again, but I’ll need to figure out a set schedule for that, because ADHD. I want to experiment with new ways to get my music out there though, and streaming might be a lucrative endeavor if I promote it right.

6. Write a Story (OF ANY LENGTH)

Sometimes I forget that along with music, writing was also one of my first loves. I finally finished and published the first story arc of Venona on here, but nothing really came of it. I do want to keep dabbling in fiction, though, as I truly enjoy making up stories and telling them to anyone who will listen. Maybe I’ll write more Venona, or maybe I’ll finally let it die. All I know is I can’t keep trying to force myself to write lengthy novels when I clearly don’t have the attention span for that, so I’m going to set this goal accordingly. Any length story will do. It just needs to get published, either on here or maybe even by someone else. I’ll have to research how to do all that, but I’d love to see my writing in print again.

…and those are my objectives for this year. I intentionally set reasonable, accomplishable goals for myself, because as every self-help book I’ve ever read emphasizes that your goals need to be SMART (specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, and time-bound). So, human who is reading this, what are your goals for 2025? Feel free to drop those in the comments along with the best band names you can think of.

I’m cautiously optimistic about 2025, but optimistic nonetheless.

Serving Glimmers: How Art and Performance Can Save Lives

I had a realization a while back — one of the reasons I pursued music therapy was because it looked “good.” It seemed like a noble profession, using music to improve people’s lives in a meaningful, measurable way. I’d tell people I was studying music therapy and it was an instant “Ah yes, I can trust her, as she is clearly a good person.” All my boyfriends’ moms loved me for it, and strangers would tell me what I’m doing is so beautiful, so kind. It may just be playing guitar for some kid in a hospital, but to that kid, you’re a hero! And who doesn’t want to be a hero, you know?

I think I have a hero complex, and I think that’s what’s prevented me from jumping headfirst into performance instead. I always wanted to be a hero. I wanted to help people. And if I became a rock star, who would I be helping except my own selfish desires?

The typical perception of pretty much everybody is that performing and the arts are just little “extras.” They’re nothing but fun little distractions, right? No one needs a movie or a comic book or music to live.

QUICK! GET HIM THE LATEST TAYLOR SWIFT ALBUM!

What I’m slowly realizing is that, while we don’t need the arts to live, we absolutely need the arts to really live.

When I moved to Kalamazoo, I searched frantically for work. I would have taken damn near anything, but I wanted to try finding a job involving music. And lo and behold, a trivia company was looking for a music bingo host in my area. And I mean, getting to essentially be part-DJ, part-game show host every night?

I love what I do. It’s a great gig. But for a while, I was feeling like what I did didn’t really matter in the long run. People come into the bar, play music bingo, and leave, going on to live their own lives. I imagine there are probably nurses and firefighters in the audience, and what I do must seem so inconsequential compared to what they deal with every day. And I think those thoughts were starting to wear on me, because I got complaints from one of the bars I work at that I wasn’t “engaging enough.” At first I was angry, because what do you mean I’m not good enough?! But then I realized maybe I’m not giving it my all, and maybe that was because I felt like my job wasn’t important.

So I determined that this show would be my best show yet. I dressed just short of a full drag queen getup, picked some banger categories, and drank enough caffeine to kill a horse. I promised myself I’d socialize the whole time, even if I wanted to sit down. I even moved the chair so I wouldn’t be tempted to just sit down. I was going to give this show my all.

Then, something amazing happened. Sometimes, when you put good vibes out into the universe, the stars align and give you exactly what you need in that moment. What I needed was a glimmer.

Everyone knows what triggers are, but I recently saw that someone coined a term for the opposite phenomenon — glimmers. These are the tiny moments that make life worth living. I experience a glimmer every time I laugh with my wife, or hug my girlfriend, or hear my parents say they’re proud of me. They’re what being alive is all about. They’re little moments of pure joy, which was exactly what I needed.

I walked into the bar to an array of balloons. It was an older couple’s 55th anniversary, and I was going to be hosting music bingo smack dab in the middle of it. Thankfully, the couple was cool about me coming to blast disco at them and even joined in the game, along with many of the other folks in attendance. The older woman who was celebrating her anniversary came up to me and told me that her and her husband’s song was “You’re Still the One” by Shania Twain. And anyone who knows me knows I never miss an opportunity to play Shania Twain.

Tangentially related fact: I was so obsessed with her as a small child, I’d draw pictures of her and not my mom. (Yes, my mom was a little jealous.)

When intermission came, the bar dimmed the lights, leaving only the hanging Christmas lights to illuminate the room. I cued up the song and introduced the couple to the entire bar. Then, everyone gathered around the couple with their phone flashlights. Seeing all of their friends and family surround them in a sea of twinkling lights actually made me tear up a little. The family would remember this moment for the rest of their lives.

A moment I helped make happen.

It’s easy to dismiss entertainment as an opium of the masses, even more so than religion, as Marx famously said. But I’d argue that entertainment is as important as the STEM fields, just in a completely different way. Sure, a particular song may be insignificant to you, but that song could have been the one thing that stopped someone from taking their own life. There’s a reason for this album’s existence. I know people who stay alive because they want to see what happens next in their favorite video game franchise. The arts and media provide those small glimmers that keep people going.

So maybe I will go all-in on being an entertainer and creator. Because someone somewhere needs my music. Someone somewhere needs a fun game night at the local bar. Someone somewhere is reading my writings about mental health and my own personal journey and feels less alone because of it. Artists, writers, musicians, video game developers, game show hosts — they’re all heroes in a unique but important way. Entertainment and art communicate ideas, and more than that, hope.

That’s why I do what I do.

Reflecting on the Year That Almost Broke Me

As of writing, we are halfway through December, which means the new year is lurking. As everyone prepares to sing “Auld Lang Syne” and kiss a stranger, now is the optimal time to look back at the previous year and reflect on how things went.

And damn, did they go awry this year.

2024 was a trash-fire year for me, rivalling 2015 for the title of Worst Year of Jessa’s Life. 2015, of course, was the year I simultaneously got my heart broken by my crush of four years, graduated and realized I wasn’t going to find a job in my field and would probably never find success, and also dealt with some familial and health issues. But this year was honestly worse in every way. Like, this has literally been the worst one.

To think of how optimistic I was at the start of the year too. I was getting ready to begin the internship I’d been working toward for over a decade. I had just moved to Fort Wayne and was expecting an adventure. And what I got was a soul-crushing internship experience that I had to leave for the sake of my own mental health. I was going to drive my car into the fucking river if I cried one more time at that godforsaken clinic. I couldn’t handle the pressure. I failed.

Tail between our legs, we retreated to Niles, MI, where I could at least be close to my girlfriend. But we had trouble finding paid work in the area, our savings were dwindling, and we couldn’t afford to keep living out of AirBNBs. So my wife decided we should check out Kalamazoo instead, as we’d previously talked about it and decided it was a good central location between our family in Detroit, our new friends in Fort Wayne, and my girlfriend in South Bend.

Moving to Kalamazoo was the best decision we could have made, as the only good things to happen this year happened because of the move. My wife and I got involved in the local karaoke scene and made a lot of friends, which is new for us. We’d been shut-ins for most of our marriage. I decided that since music therapy was off the table, I’d pursue a different dream, one of becoming a producer and audio engineer. So I applied to the local university and actually made it into the competitive multimedia arts technology program. And I got back into doing what I love for a living — teaching music.

I realize I started this blog post very doom-and-gloom, but the more I write, the more I realize this year wasn’t so heck. Sure, we’re still broke and I still wasted so much time and money on a career that will never happen. Then there’s all the political unrest and the fact that the jabronis who won the election want to make my marriage illegal. But if there’s anything I’ve learned this year about myself, it’s that I’m resilient as fuck. When shit hits the fan, I’ll figure something else out. That’s what I do best.

Looking back at 2024, I don’t know how I could have survived without the people I’ve met this year in Fort Wayne and Kalamazoo. I never realized how empty my life was without my own little “tribe” of sorts. We’re social creatures by nature and we need each other. Maybe I’ll never be a music therapist. Maybe I’ll be broke for the rest of my life. But when I’m surrounded by the amazing folks I’ve met this year, well, you can’t buy that feeling. My Little Pony had it right — friendship is magic.

The real music therapy degree was the friends we made along the way.

I don’t know what awaits me in 2025, but I’m confident I can face anything now. This year absolutely took the wind out of my sails, but I’m going to keep persisting. I’m ready.

How I Invented Myself (As a Thirteen-Year-Old Girl With a Sketchbook)

First of all, this blog post needs a visual:

This post isn’t just an excuse to share a picture of me looking like an absolute baddie. You see, I made this very weird, very cool realization when I scrolled through recent pics to find this particular one.

That woman in the picture? I invented her.

When I was a kid, I had a lot of original characters. They were kind of my only friends when I didn’t have any to speak of. It’s easy to forget that I was ever uncool, but I very much was for most of my early life. I’ve talked about how I had to eat lunch in the library to avoid being pelted with ranch dressing packets, but that was really the tip of the iceberg. It got a lot worse than that at times. I scarcely remember a day in middle school where I didn’t come home from school crying. So I made up these imaginary people, usually rock stars, who’d be my friends, and on occasion, I’d make one whom I wanted to be.

That was Anne…I can’t remember her last name. It was Greek. She was Greek, as I had a brief Greek mythology phase (every teenage girl has one, I swear) and I’m pretty sure I made her to be the modern incarnation of Aphrodite. But I distinctly remember almost everything else about her. She had long dark hair, wore sort of gothy clothes, including fishnet stockings and gloves, and impossibly high black boots. She was the lead singer and guitarist of a rock band called Valentÿne (the umlaut is v important), and she had a teenaged little sister named Sophie of whom she’d become caregiver. She was an amalgamation of women I looked up to at the time — the Wilson sisters of Heart, other rocker chicks I admired, my own older sister, even. She was very much a wish-fulfillment OC, as I wanted nothing more to be a bad bitch with a soft side who wore cool-ass clothes and had confidence.

And I think I’m finally there. I’m not a rock star by any means, but I have people who follow my music career and love what I do, and that’s enough. I’ve got the looks now — dyeing my hair dark for my 30s was a good move. And in a way, I do feel like I’m the caregiver of a smaller, more innocent me. Sophie was always sort of my “inner child” in a way. I’ve become this character I invented as a little girl, and it’s so cool to see realized.

I keep drawing the Queen of Wands when I ask my tarot decks questions about myself, and I think that’s telling. I’m not superstitious, but I’m a little “-stitious,” so to speak, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence I keep getting this card.

The Queen of Wands represents a fiery, sexy, confident, vivacious woman who knows what she wants and knows how to get it. She is everything I created Anne to be, and I feel like I’m finally seeing those things in myself too.

It took me long enough, but I’m happy with who I am today. In fact, I think that might be a small reason why I’ve had trouble coming up with characters and stories as of late — I’m actually content with who I am and who’s in my life. That’s never happened to me before. It makes me want to hide inside my imagination less. Which is honestly not a good thing for a creative, so I should probably address that sooner rather than later. But in the meantime, I’ll enjoy this contentment.

It’s hard to believe I manifested this version of myself as a lonely 13-year-old girl with a sketchpad and big dreams, but stranger things have happened, ya know? I remember a time when I hated being me, so I feel like I’ve earned this feeling. I hope I continue to evolve into even greater versions of myself as I continue through life, and I’m excited to share that journey with you here.