With All My Soul

I’ll admit I haven’t been the best Christian this Lent. I didn’t give anything up, mostly because I know I’ll just slip up a few weeks in (great attitude to have, am I right?). I haven’t been to church because I’m too lazy to find an affirming church in Fort Wayne, and I haven’t even done my 40-day devotional every single day because, well…

But I had to learn a few worship songs for a client I have next week, and it got me in weirdly spiritual mood for once. So I decided to re-download my Bible app and pick a psalm at random, just for funsies. I was born at 1:08 pm (or was it 1:11 pm — I can never remember), so I picked 108. The opening verse hit me like a ton of bricks:

My heart, O God, is steadfast;

I will sing and make music with all my soul.
Psalm 108:1

And I cried. I cry at absolutely everything, but this cry was different. I cried because I think God was trying to speak something to me through that verse.

I am exactly where I need to be.

I was a bit discouraged this week about my music therapy journey. I had my worst session ever on Tuesday (which was my birthday, to add insult to injury). My supervisor had nothing good to say about it. No redeeming qualities. Nada. If I’d spent the entire session watching grass grow with my client, it would have been more productive. And it would be different if it were a one-off problem, but I’ve had ongoing issues with me just not being able to read client or parent behavior. I don’t talk when I’m supposed to, or I talk when I’m not supposed to, or I say too much. I’m positive it’s a neurodivergence thing, but it’s not very reassuring to realize that the problem is something inherently wrong with your brain wiring. I can’t fix autism and ADHD. I’m just sucking at this because I naturally suck at this.

As of writing, I’m at the annual music therapy conference of the Great Lakes region, and it’s disheartening to see all these certified MT-BCs that started their journey with me, or even after me. It took me twelve years to get where I am, in my internship, and during that time, all my cohorts went on to get their degrees and start their careers. I’m meeting people younger than me who are already established professionals. All of this, on top of the roadblock that was my Very Bad Session and my continual failing to people correctly, and it would be so easy for me to give up. I should just be a pharmacy technician, right?

But that’s not why I was put here. And that one little verse was the reminder I needed to keep going.

I wasn’t put on this planet to pass out Wellbutrin prescriptions. I was out here to make music, and more specifically, to heal the world through music. It’s in my blood. Music is as natural to me as breathing, and I want to use it to make the world a better place. Reading Psalm 108:1 was like the part in Moana where she remembers who she is and realizes her power. “And the call isn’t out there at all, it’s inside me. It’s like the tide, always falling and rising. I will carry you here in my heart, you’ll remind me that come what may, I know the way.”

I will be a music therapist. There’s no other option. Just like Moana on her little boat, I’ve come too far to turn back now. I will sing and make music with all my soul, and nothing will get in my way.

Not even me.

Engaged and Poly: What It All Means

If you haven’t heard the news yet, I proposed to my long-term, long-distance partner Olivia last night at a house show, the two year anniversary of the show we met at.

I had it all meticulously planned out — I bought her a rose gold opal ring and played the song I wrote for her during the show and did the whole “down on one knee” thing. She cried. I cried. I think some random strangers cried. It was beautiful.

Now begins even more planning, venues and dresses and cakes and all that. We’re going to go through all the motions and do a spiritually binding ceremony of sorts. But here’s the thing — we can’t legally marry. I’m legally married to my wife, Crass. No, I’m not leaving her for Olivia. They know about each other and like each other a lot. In fact, we all plan to live together as a family.

That’s the joy — and pain — of polyamory.

It hurts that I can’t ever legally make Olivia my wife, but for all intents and purposes, she will be my wife. I plan to do everything in my power to treat her as an equal to Crass, from adding her to my will to making her legal guardian of my future kids (whom she will have a hand in making as the sperm donor). We’re fighting an uphill battle against a monogamy-centered world that doesn’t understand, but it’s worth it. She’s worth it.

As a queer woman, I’m reminded of all the LGBTQ+ couples throughout history who never got to have their love validated by the government. I’m a romantic at heart, as much as I want to deny it at times. I don’t need a formal piece of paper saying we’re a couple. The greatest love stories of all time were never “sanctioned” by the government, all the queer and otherwise forbidden romances between folks of different races or socioeconomic backgrounds during a time when those relationships weren’t allowed. The Romeos and Juliets and the Jacks and Roses.

There’s a Bon Jovi song (of course) that reminds me of these relationships.

I was afraid to listen to it as a church-going kid because it mentioned sin and sin is supposed to be bad, right? But the message of the song is so much more beautiful than my child-mind could have comprehended. It’s about not needing the government or the rest of the world to validate your love. The young couple in the song maintains that it’s not legal marriage that makes a love, but the love itself.

Or is it right to hold you
And kiss your lips goodnight
They say the promise is forever
If you sign it on the dotted line
Bon Jovi, “Living in Sin”

Listening to this song as an adult through a queer lens, and especially as someone in a “scandalous” polyamorous relationship, it takes on a new, deeper meaning. I don’t know where we fit, the three of us, but I know I belong with my partners. I belong with Crass, and I belong with Olivia, and nothing can ever take that from me.

True love is a rare, special thing, and I was lucky enough to find it not once, but twice. That’s not something to take for granted.

Back in My Body

I never thought it would happen to me, but I should have expected it. I barely know any women it hasn’t happened to in some form or another. I always assumed if it ever did happen to me, it would be easy enough to get over. The moment ended, after all; you gotta move on sometime.

But when I was raped back in 2019, it stole so much from me. I remember falling into a deep depression that eventually led to the beginning stages of alcoholism. I stopped trusting people and started assuming everyone had bad intentions. And worst of all, it directly led to me dropping out of the music therapy program.

I still remember driving back from that music therapy conference with tears in my eyes, unable to wash the feeling of my assailant from myself. The aftermath left me feeling even more detached from my own body. I tried my best to poison it, and my drinking left it bloated and unrecognizable. I was a wreck, mentally and physically.

But as of writing this, I’m two years sober. I’m in the final stages of my music therapy degree. And perhaps most importantly, I feel at home in my own body again.

I was driving back to Michigan a few days ago for a brief visit when “Back in My Body” by Maggie Rogers came on Spotify. I’d heard the song before, but it never felt relevant to me until that very moment.

I don’t think Rogers intended the song to be a sexual assault recovery anthem (it’s actually about her time overseas), but to me, that’s absolutely what it has become. “This time I know I’m fighting, this time I know I’m back in my body.” I found myself screaming those words as I drove, finally feeling free from that moment that seemingly stole my future.

It’s oddly poetic that I ended up in Fort Wayne of all places. That’s where the last music therapy conference was held, where I finally overwrote the memory of sitting in a hotel rooftop bar next to the man who’d go on to defile me in such an vile way. This time, I went up to the hotel rooftop bar with a girl I love with my whole heart, who I trust with my life. That night when we made love, it was because I wanted it. And I felt safe.

My music therapy degree will be hard-won, and it’s almost finished. I have so much love in my life, between my partners and my parents and my closest friends. The damage that was done has been mostly reversed. The memories still creep in now and then, but I know I’m stronger now. He’ll never hurt me again.

I’m back in my body, and I’ve never been happier.

How My Parents Convinced Me to NOT Become a Doctor

I’m about three weeks into my internship now. I don’t know why I’m shocked. I guess I assumed I’d spontaneously combust before I got this far, but here I am, actually doing the damn thing.

It hasn’t been an easy road, but at least I don’t have to go it alone. My wife’s been so supportive and understanding, cheering me on from the sidelines (well, from the couch in our Airbnb). Sometimes when it’s especially stressful, she puts on kids’ shows to cheer me up. Today, she put on Bluey, which is her go-to for wholesome entertainment.

The episode she chose was “Dragon,” where the titular puppy’s family draws and narrates a fairytale adventure. The rest of the family is floored when its matriarch reveals her secret talent — she can really draw. While the dad struggles to draw a simple stick-figure donkey, the mom illustrates a beautiful horse companion for her character in the story. A flashback reveals the true reason she’s so good at art — her own mother encouraged her when she was a child.

“Doesn’t that remind you of us?” my wife said. “We’re good at what we do because our parents encouraged us too.”

You see, I wasn’t always going to be a music therapist. When I first signed up for college courses as a high school senior, I had my mind made up. I was going to be a cardiologist. I liked to tell people I was doing it because my dad had a heart attack and I wanted to help other people like him, but the real reason was because my boyfriend’s best friend’s dad was a cardiologist and he was like, really rich and powerful. So I decided I was going to be a pre-med student.

But fate had other plans.

The night I went to orientation and declared my major, my parents walked in on me practicing guitar. They sat me down and lovingly told me that if I went down the med school path, I’d be wasting my talents. They told me I had a future in music, be it as a therapist, professor, or rock star. Screw the money and prestige — they encouraged me to follow my passion instead.

Which makes my parents the first in the history of human civilization to convince their child to *not* be a doctor.

So I called up the university right away and told them I’d made a mistake. And that’s how I ended up studying classical guitar instead of, I don’t know, anatomy and crap.

Music hasn’t been an easy road, and I almost gave up multiple times. There were the times I dropped out of the music therapy program. There was the time my own pastor told me I wasn’t a good enough guitarist to perform on stage. There was even a time I almost gave up on playing music entirely after my first real band broke up. But each and every time it got difficult, I went back to that conversation with my mom and dad, and I remembered why it is I was put on this planet — to make the world a brighter place through music. And I pressed on.

There will be times during this internship where I’ll want to give up. But I have so much support and so much love in my life. It’s why I’m able to do what I do. I still remember the pride in my dad’s eyes when he’d tell everyone he’d meet about how his seventh grader could write and perform her own music. That kind of stuff sticks with you. I want to make him proud.

I’m going to finish this internship and make it as a music therapist, even if it kills me.

I Just Can’t Wait to Be King

So I already fell off Bloganuary. Blame my internship. But I’m interrupting my radio silence because I have some exciting news to report to everyone!

I am going to start doing drag!

Drag Race' Legends To Host Political 'Drag Isn't Dangerous' Telethon — I can only *aspire* to this level of fabulousness, though.

My wife and I have been frequenting the gay bar down here in Fort Wayne. It’s a little blip of queerness in an otherwise very cishet state. Drag is a huge part of the culture there, and as I watched the queens and kings work the crowd, I realized I was made to do this kind of thing. Dress up obnoxiously, wear a crapton of flamboyant makeup, and lip-sync to fun songs in front of a bunch of people?! It’s like they created a job description just for me.

At first I wrestled with whether I’d be a king or queen. After all, there are AFAB queens, also called “bio-queens,” which sounds very sci-fi, like some kind of alien insect queen.

But the thought of being a king is kind of exciting. After all, I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that I’m bigender, or at least genderfluid in some capacity. As a kid, I wasn’t sure I was supposed to be a girl. I felt like my voice was too deep and my mannerisms were too boyish. I found myself identifying more with Bon Jovi than Disney Princesses. As I got older, I settled into womanhood and actually became something of a girly-girl. In fact, I’m probably girlier than most women out there — I love makeup and dresses and being pretty! I’m at home with my femaleness, but I still feel like there’s a little man living inside me. And I think drag will be a fun way for me to get to know him.

So, meet Richie Styx!

He’s an ambiguously gay British rock star from the 70s. He’s very much inspired by the likes of glam icons Freddie Mercury and Marc Bolan, with a little Richie Sambora thrown in (which is who I named him for). I had a lot of fun creating my man-sona from bits and pieces of male figures I looked up to as a kid.

I’m still just a baby king. My first performance will be an open stage night next Thursday. I feel so cool and confident as Richie though, and I can’t wait to bring him to life with my act. I think that’s the beauty of drag — you can be literally anything. You can be a Disney Princess or an alien queen, or even the old-school rocker dude you always admired as a kid.

Call me Simba, ‘cause I just can’t wait to be king.

Bloganuary #2: Playtime

We onto day two, alright? So far so good!

Do you play in your daily life? What says “playtime” to you?

I love this prompt because I’m a huge proponent of playtime, whatever that looks like to you. There’s something freeing about being silly and doing things you love in a society that pushes hustle culture and the mentality of “you have to be doing something productive every waking second of the day or else you are wasting your life.” I admit I’m prone to this thinking. For a long time, I didn’t want to play. Or rather, I wanted to, but it felt like a waste of time. What are you accomplishing by simply having fun?

Turns out, quite a bit!

According to Psychology Today, play can be a way for an adult to “reduce stress, promote optimism, and strengthen one’s ability to take on other perspectives.” It’s also a great for socializing, as anyone who’s ever been to a game night with family and friends will tell you. Play is one of my favorite ways to build relationships in my life, and I always end up feeling closer to the people I engage in it with.

Until your mom steals all your stars in Mario Party and she’s suddenly Satan.

As adults, we don’t leave a lot of playtime in our schedule. When we do have free time, it’s usually spent passively consuming media, which isn’t inherently bad, but like food that lacks nutritional value, can be detrimental in high doses. What happened to getting out a big sheet of paper and drawing stuff? Or going outside and playing a sport. Even playing a video game that requires you to use some brain cells is beneficial — research shows that gaming can have a positive effect on memory and attention.

No, I was not wasting my time as a child playing The Sims. I was, uh, working on my cognition.

In my personal life, I try to allot some time every day for play. One of my favorite ways to unwind is art. I’ll be the first to admit I’m not the greatest artist ever (see: my potato-looking oil painting from my most recent blog post), but I find it relaxing and engaging. There’s a certain amount of freedom in doing something just for you. In the past, I’ve attempted to sell my works, but I’ve realized you don’t have to monetize everything you do. It’s okay to do something for fun!

Same with swimming. Back when I lived in Michigan, I had a membership to a gym with a pool, and I’d go every morning just to splash around and doggy paddle from one end of the pool to the other until I got tired. I wasn’t doing it to train for the Olympics or even just to stay in shape. I did it because I just liked it. I liked the feel of the water, the feel of floating, the way being in the pool took me back to an innocent time when I’d splash around in my backyard pool as a child.

And of course, I play video games. I typically enjoy simulation games like Stardew Valley, The Sims, and Animal Crossing, games where I can feel a sense of control over the world and everything that happens in it. People really underestimate the power of imagination! Using our uniquely human ability to create entire worlds is the closest thing we’ll ever experience to being God, and I think in a way, it brings us closer to the Divine, however that looks for you. I love creating characters and telling stories, which has been a human phenomenon for time immemorial. The ability to engage in imaginative play is what makes us, well, us.

These are just a few examples from my life, and I hope they inspire you to find your own form of playtime. How do you “play” as an adult? Feel free to tell me in the comments!

Bloganuary #1: ADHD and the Mythical Art of Follow-Through

I guess there’s a challenge to blog once a day, every day for all of January, with these fun little prompts to guide you. I’m great at doing challenges (looking at you, 75 Hard), so I thought I’d attempt this one. Just don’t expect this to be very consistent.

What are your biggest challenges?

I think my biggest challenge is exactly why I need a challenge like this one to kick my ass — I have exactly zero follow-through. Like, none. I’m great at getting excited about things yet terrible at seeing them through. You can see it all throughout this blog. I had so many neat ideas, so many it would be pointless to link to all of them.

And maybe like two of them came to fruition.

I write a lot about my ADHD. It’s kind of a big deal for me. It’s practically my entire personality. I know there’s some controversy about saying “she is ADHD” versus “she has ADHD” but the truth is, I freakin’ am ADHD. I’m three ADHD diagnoses in a trench coat cleverly disguised as a fully functioning adult.

It’s always been a part of me, ever since I was a hyperactive child spinning around in circles in the back of the classroom or pacing back and forth during dinner as I chewed my food. As a child, most people found that stuff endearing, and I got good grades and didn’t like, go around punching other kids, so nobody cared. But as I got older, it definitely got a lot harder to cope with. Suddenly, I found myself failing my courses. My first marriage crashed and burned. All of my stories remained unwritten and unpublished. I couldn’t commit to anything because I’d get bored and move on to whatever was sparkly and interesting to me at the time. Which is not a productive trait to have as an adult.

I don’t know if all my fellow ADHDers struggle with follow-through, but I know for me, it’s one of the defining features. I can’t focus my attention on something for an extended period of time, whether it’s a job or a relationship or my education or any creative endeavor. As soon as it becomes boring to me, I start looking for something else, and that becomes my new fixation until the next shiny object comes along. It’s an ugly cycle that leads nowhere.

It has gotten better. My medication helps a lot with motivation and I’ve learned skills for making sure I stay on task, like keeping a planner on my phone. But it’s still a challenge for me to accomplish big, long-term goals. That’s why the Dear Cadence series was such a huge deal for me. It was the first series I’ve ever actually finished, and the high I got from writing those last few sentences of the final chapter was one I’ll never forget. I want to chase that high again, but it’s the little hits of dopamine I get from having a brand new idea or opportunity that distract me.

I think in 2024, I’ll work on this. Maybe I’ll actually finish the Venona series (if I don’t scrap it and rewrite it altogether). Maybe this is the year I learn more about recording music and set up my studio finally. Maybe I’ll start my music therapy practice and not back down when things inevitably get tough. Maybe I’ll take up oil painting again and not give up when my subjects look like potatoes.

I have a feeling this will be the year I finally tame this part of myself. Here goes nothing.

It’s the Final Countdown! (Doodoo Doo Doooooo)

My last post was very cynical, and perhaps rightfully so. The world is on fire, after all. Literally, if you consider the fact that it’s almost January and it has yet to truly snow in my dear old home of Michigan, a land renowned for its wintery scenery. We had a white Christmas, though!

Outside of global catastrophes like climate change, though, life’s been pretty good, if hectic. This is my final week in Michigan before my big move to Indiana, which still doesn’t feel entirely real. The wife and I have been scrambling trying to get things in order before we leave. We bought my car, for one, which feels nice. I own a car. And like, not a shitty one. It feels good, man.

I don’t know if I’m ready to live so far from everyone and everything I know. The closest I came to anything of this caliber was my failed move to Florida after my life in Michigan imploded following the implosion of my old band and my failure to procure a big girl job with my newly minted journalism degree (which is about as useful to me as an expired car wash coupon). I moved back after a miserable month of flying roaches, nonstop tropical rainstorms, and a sad existence as a Sonic carhop.

Roller skating carhop in the 1950s. | Vintage photos, Vintage ... — Which would have been worth it if I got to wear a cute lil outfit for it.

But I have a good feeling about this move. The internship at Mainstay Music Therapy will be a rewarding one I feel, and one that will likely prepare me for my work in the field. I worked my ass off to procure this internship, and I’ll be damned if I don’t make the best of it. I’ve learned most of the songs off the repertoire list, I’ve refreshed my memory on the basics of music therapy, and now all that’s left for me to do is jump in and get my feet wet in the real world.

We’ll be staying at a quaint AirBNB for the extent of the internship, an upstairs apartment inside a fanciful green historic home in downtown Fort Wayne, and I’m pretty excited to make this little place a home for the next six months.

If I’m gonna leave my comfort zone, I’m gonna do it in style.

I’ve also been scoping out the local hotspots on Instagram. There’s a coffee shop inside a conservatory, a few different local stores that look promising, and even a gay bar. That’s right — apparently Fort Wayne has a surprisingly robust lesbian scene. Will this be the arc where my wife finally finds another partner? I hope so — this polyamory thing feels very unbalanced with me having multiple partners and my wife having no one aside from me. Which is a damn shame, as she’s absolutely adorable and deserves an entire harem of cute girls by her side.

My biggest hope for this new chapter is for me to figure out what I’m doing with the rest of my life. The dream is to open my own private practice akin to Mainstay in the Detroit area. I know it’ll take a lot of work, and I’m determined to make it happen. “Determined” — that’s the word I wrote as my “word of the year” for 2024, and it feels right. I’m determined to get through this internship, pass the board examination, and get my career off the ground. Maybe I’ll go back and get my master’s degree. Maybe I’ll work in the field for a bit at a school or hospital or another practice. Maybe I’ll jump right in and start working as a free agent. There are so many possibilities, and I’m determined to make something work. As a wise man once said, “success is my only motherfuckin’ option, failure’s not.”

I’ll maintain this blog while I’m in Indiana to keep y’all updated on the goings-on of my life. I can’t promise consistency, but this corner of the internet is where you can continue to expect to see the musings and observations of Jessa Joyce, whoever it is she’s becoming. I hope she’s becoming something great, and I hope this move will be the stepping stone she needs to realize her power.

Here’s to a new year, a new state, and a new adventure.

The World is a Scary Place and I’m Kind of Over It

When I was a much younger Jessa, I thought I had a future in journalism. I envisioned myself curled up on a leather sofa in my high-rise apartment in NYC typing up a rough draft for a juicy exposé. It wasn’t exactly my dream life, but it seemed more attainable than, say, going on a world tour as a Taylor Swift-level rock star, and just as cushy. And I was good at journalism. I remember joining the university newspaper on a whim and absolutely wowing the editors with my writing skills. It seemed perfect.

But despite earning my journalism degree, I never pursued news writing any further. Because frankly, it’s depressing as hell.

And I’ve heard Hell is pretty depressing.

I don’t like to read the news. I keep up on it, sure, but I don’t enjoy it. I feel like these days, it’s all bad news, and lately I’ve been feeling overwhelmed by the weight of it all. So many awful things are happening and I feel powerless to change it.

Literally last night, my wife watched this video on how the right is boycotting damn near anything and everything remotely queer. Imagine someone hating you so much, they protest your very existence. And the sad thing is, it’s working. As the YouTuber in the video mentioned, Bud Light’s stock fell drastically after partnering with transgender influencer Dylan Mulvaney. There are enough people out there who hate me and my loved ones to cripple an entire corporation. It’s scary.

And this shit happening in the Middle East is upsetting as hell. The whole Israel vs. Palestine thing? I don’t even know what side I’m on anymore because the more I research it, the more I’m not sure there even are good guys, save for the innocent civilians caught in the crosshairs. Like, I support Jewish folks having a safe place to live away from oppression, especially after everything they’ve been through throughout history, but does it have to be like, right the fuck there? Where people were already living? It’s a messed up situation all around, and I wish there was an easy answer.

And then there’s the mundane dystopian shit happening here in the US. There’s a whole fucking subreddit dedicated to inspiring stories of medical debt and the perils of capitalism. A teenager sacrificed her college fund to avoid homelessness. People have to ration their fucking medications. There are plenty more stories out there of horrible situations rebranded as inspiring that highlight just how messed up our society has become. Like, I’d call our healthcare system a joke, but it stopped being funny a long time ago. It’s damn near predatory. I shouldn’t be one happy accident away from ending up on the streets. No one should. And yet…

I hate it here. “Here,” as in Earth. “Here,” as in “being a part of humanity.” I want to believe people are generally good, but the greed and the prejudice and the violence is leading me to feel otherwise. I’d like to believe it’s not human beings, but power that’s the problem. None of these atrocities would happen if not for the people in power. Everyday folks like you and me, we’re not the problem, but we still sit idly by and let these people do rotten, despicable things to us and our fellow man. And it’s fucked up because what can you do? I feel helpless.

I guess that’s part of the reason I write this blog, to feel some semblance of control in this bleak world. I hope my words reach people. I want us to fight for peace, for housing and food and healthcare for all, for a better future for us human creatures. We’re all in this together, and I hate seeing how divided and polarized we’ve become. I feel weary, but I have hope that things will get better in my lifetime.

Maybe I’m too optimistic for my own good.

How to Be More Original

So, I signed up for a virtual audition with The Voice. Get your laughs out now; I know it’s silly. But I’ve wanted to be on one of those ridiculous singing shows ever since I was little. The Voice. American Idol. X Factor. Like, I’ll take any ridiculous singing show.

I remember watching those shows with my family as a kid and imagining I was on that stage, performing in front of millions of people at home. My name would be in lights. I’d actually be popular, which was a pipe dream for socially awkward, autistic little Jess, who discovered performing music was a way to make people like her.

My first foray into the world of televised singing competitions came in college. I found out the American Idol auditions were coming to Detroit. I stood out in the cold with my two best friends at the time, Crass, rehearsing my little heart out with my guitar and chosen two songs. I’d play a jazzy cover of “You Give Love a Bad Name” followed by my original, “Oceanography” (which I recently re-recorded and released, actually).

I knew I had it in the bag. And to be honest, I did make it pretty far into the audition process. Something no one tells you about American Idol is it’s not one or two standouts and five hundred duds auditioning. NO. It is quite the opposite. You’ve got five hundred Mariah Careys in the room with maybe one or two William Hungs.

So the fact that I made it three rounds into the audition process is astounding. I passed the initial audition, another audition in front of a set of producers, and made it to the executive producers.

Judging by the fact that I’m typing this and not, I don’t know, on a yacht sipping a pina colada with Simon Cowell somewhere, I obviously didn’t make it.

It’s what the producers told me that will stick with me forever though.

You’re just not unique enough.

After years and years of being the outcast for being too unique, I, Jessica Joyce Salisbury, was not unique enough.

I almost laughed. It didn’t seem right. I wasn’t like any of the other girls auditioning. I had blue hair at the time, for cryin’ out loud.

I’ll forever associate my blue hair with the Band That Will Not Be Named, though.

I guess in a sea of, say, Ypsilanti, I was basically the town’s Taylor Swift, but in a sea of millions, I was just another girl with a guitar. There wasn’t anything original about me. I didn’t have some sad sob story except the fact that I grew up without friends (which is a sad sob story another million other singer-songwriters already have). I didn’t even have that unique of a look. I didn’t come in there looking like Lady Gaga, or that girl who wore a bikini to her audition. I was just…ordinary.

I think I’m running into the same problem now as I go about promoting my music. Every artist needs a hook, and I honestly don’t know what mine is. I’m autistic and ADHD. So? There’s millions of neurodivergent artists out there doing the damn thing. I don’t have a unique look about me. I dyed my hair black in part to quell comparisons to Swift, but now people, especially older ones, compare me to Ann Wilson from Heart. Not that I minded either comparison all that much, considering both women are musical inspirations (and big gay crushes) of mine, but I wish I had a look that stood out more. Even the split-dyed look I sported for a while has already been done better by Melanie Martinez.

I don’t know what I need to do to set myself apart, but I’m sick of being the only person who cares about my music. I just wish I knew how to make other people care about my music. I can’t just pull a U2 and download my songs onto other people’s devices or like, stream “Oceanography” or “Sweet Honey” directly into people’s heads. (If that were possible, it probably wouldn’t be legal.) I’m not a virtuoso by any means, but I’m a damn good songwriter. That should be enough, but we live in an age where anyone with a laptop can be a songwriter and produce their own music. That’s not a bad thing, but it does make the competition that much more fierce.

Maybe I’ll get through the Voice auditions and finally get my big break, who knows? All I want is for my music to be heard by other people. I’ve always made music as a way to connect with other people. I don’t do it just for my own amusement.

Even if I do listen to myself more than I’d like to admit.

I didn’t answer the question in the title, mostly because I still don’t know myself. I guess I’ll always be on the journey to find new ways to stand out in a big wide world of other creators. That’s all we artists can do.