Holiness, Hustle Culture, and Why We All Need a Break

I’m coming to a terrible realization. I need to sleep.

Yes, I’m coming to terms with the fact that I can’t keep going at the rate I’m going unless I want to end up in the hospital — or worse. This realization comes on the heels of me being asked to work five nights in a row, including one 12-hour shift. I’m thankfully on the last of those shifts as I write this, but I’m already panicking about the fact that my other job is sending me out of state tomorrow morning and I still haven’t packed a damn thing and oh God, the plane boards at 10 and the airport’s over an hour drive from my apartment and…

It’s a lot.

I’ve also been trying to get back in touch with my spirituality to an extent, since I probably need to lean on a Higher Power to get me through all of this. I’ve gotten back into the habit of reading my Bible, and I figured I’d start with Ecclesiastes, my favorite book of ancient emo poetry. It was written literal millennia ago by one of the most powerful men to ever walk this planet, King Solomon. It would be like if Elon Musk had a single creative or introspective bone in his body. These writings come from a place of having had it all in life. But in the words of acclaimed Canadian indie band Metric, all the gold and the guns and the girls couldn’t get him off.

And so, he wrote about how futile it all is. At one point, he writes:

“There was a man all alone; he had neither son nor brother. There was no end to his toil, yet his eyes were not content with his wealth. “For whom am I toiling,” he asked, “and why am I depriving myself of enjoyment?” This too is meaningless— a miserable business!”

-Ecclesiastes‬ ‭4‬:‭8‬ ‭(NIV‬‬)
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There it is. Like a flashing neon sign from God Himself, the problem I’m facing right now. The problem I think most of us are facing, to be honest. We’re so deep in hustle culture, we forget we need to take a break sometimes.

We got ourselves into this mess because of religion — think the Protestant work ethic that permeates American culture — but I don’t think this is the life God really wants for us. We weren’t meant to be working these grueling long hours away from our loved ones. Even experts are saying these long work weeks aren’t normal or healthy. We’re expected to break our backs at work, then come home to work on whatever side hustle you can hobble together out of your interests. Where’s the time for connection with friends and family? Where’s the time for working on a creative project to fill your soul, not your pockets? Where’s the time for rest?

Here’s the part of the blog post where I tell you my secrets to getting out of that awful work cycle!

Except if I’m honest, I haven’t gotten that far myself yet.

But I know this system isn’t cutting it for us. No one is happy like this, as much as we try to tell ourselves otherwise. Working ourselves this hard is simply not sustainable. Going back to the Good Book, even God Himself needs a break once in a while. Genesis 2:2-3 says “And on the seventh day God ended His work which He had done, and He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had done. Then God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, because in it He rested from all His work which God had created and made.” That’s why we’re supposed to take a whole day, once a week, to just rest. It’s okay to do absolutely nothing. It’s healthy — holy, even — to do absolutely nothing. Some especially pious Jewish folks don’t even believe in ripping off pieces of toilet paper on the Sabbath, as that’s dangerously close to doing a thing.

So here’s my advice, and I’m going to do my best to take it as well. Carve out some time every week for just you. It doesn’t have to be a whole day, but make sure you allot at least half a day. You deserve it. And whatever you choose to do during that time, don’t judge yourself for it. If all you’re doing is watching Netflix, that’s not wasted time. You’re refilling your soul the best way you know how.

It’s a sad fallacy that our culture perpetuates, the idea that we need to be productive at all times to be successful. There’s more to life than being productive, and we are more than just what we contribute to society. We have inherent value as human beings. I hope we can get back to a place where we can embrace that.

Because let me tell you, hustle culture sucks.

Creativity Overdose: What It Is and How to Fight It

So my wife and a good mutual friend of ours recently staged an intervention in my living room over a glaring problem that’s been worrying them for a while.

(Okay, it wasn’t an intervention, but it sure felt like it, dammit.)

You see, I suffer from something I’ve dubbed Creativity Overdose.

It’s an insidious beast that comes at the intersection of bipolar and ADHD. Creativity Overdose is when your ideas start to come at the expense of people around you. Another good name would be “Eddy from Ed, Edd, & Eddy syndrome,” since it’s basically what he has. Every three seconds, you come up with some hairbrained get-rich-quick scheme or the newest version of The Best Idea Ever™ that consumes your entire being. And that would be fine if you a. followed through on these ideas and b. they weren’t coming at the detriment of your loved ones.

My poor wife has had to deal with approximately 6,348 new ideas since January, and getting back into academia and becoming a specialist on the way AI affects the brain on a psychological level was the straw that broke the camel’s back (I’m shocked it wasn’t my short-lived oil painting business). I don’t envy her for having to deal with my manic ass on a daily basis, and I want to be a better, more reliable partner for her. She deserves that much from me. So here are four ideas I’m putting into practice to negate my struggles with Creativity Overdose and keep the mental and interpersonal peace:

1. Write down your ideas (instead of burdening people with them)

This is hard if you’re an autistic extrovert like me. Sometimes, the neurospiciness kisses the extroversion just right and you feel the need to infodump about every grandiose idea you’ve ever had to your loved ones. I can assure you, they don’t want to hear about it. I know it hurts, but for the most part, it’s true. This is tough love. Nobody wants to hear about your Parakeet Circus idea, especially when the last time you tried to start a Cirque du Soleil featuring parakeets, you blew up three parakeets. Unless the project is cued to be finished or released, absolutely shut up about it. Not everything is about you. (I’m talking especially to myself here.)

2. Write down all of your current projects

Okay, now that we’re not telling everyone all the shit we’re up to, let’s figure out what we’re actually up to anyways. Write down every single thing you’re currently working on, no matter how small or insignificant. My current list has all the musical projects I’m working on, my two jobs, school stuff, my podcast, and even getting my passport. Write down some steps you’ll have to take for each one, too. Putting it all down on paper will help you see how busy you really are and maybe give you a little more perspective on how much you actually need to fill your plate. When you’re excited about stuff, it’s easy to underestimate how much it really takes to get things done.

3. Pick one thing to hyperfocus on for a month

Here is the tricky part. You’ve gotta prioritize. Label the projects on your list from most to least important. Like, “you’ll die if you don’t do this” to “this can wait a few months or even years.” Shelf the stuff that can wait. If writing the book that’s been on your heart for years can wait a few more years, that’s perfectly fine. Like, I’m probably gonna end up releasing Venona at an absolute snail’s pace, but I’m not worried about getting the story out there at this point. Unless something goes terribly wrong, we’ve still got a lot of time on this planet. Don’t worry if you can’t get to everything in the next year or so. Pick one thing (maybe two, since you’ll probably need to pick whatever your main job is for survival reasons) and really buckle down and get it done before moving on. It feels good to get something done for once, trust me.

4. Help someone else create something instead

Here’s something I’m really learning — it’s better to collaborate than work alone, and sometimes it can be just as rewarding helping your loved ones meet their goals as it is meeting your own. My wife wants to be a professional artist and merchandiser, so I’m going to step aside a while and let her work on that. I’m going to take a year off school so she can save for the equipment she needs, and I’m going to support her any way I can. See what your friends need for their endeavors and ask how you can help them. Assisting someone else in reaching their dreams can be a good feeling in and of itself, and it can further inspire you in your own dreams as well. The best part of having creative, ambitious people in your circle is that you can all help each other up.

So what do you think of Creativity Overdose? Have you experienced this in your life? Let me know your thoughts in the comments.

If you enjoyed the writing in this post and elsewhere on the site, please consider donating to Jessa’s tuition fund! Any help is appreciated!

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Autistic Joy: Little Things That Make Neurospicy Brains Happy

It’s rather unfortunate that autism has the less-than-favorable reputation it does. Sure, it’s more accepted than ever, to the point where it’s trendy on TikTok to claim neurodivergence (a trend I have mixed feelings about if I’m honest). But many on the spectrum still feel misunderstood by the public, with only 16 percent of autistic folks and their families feeling people actually “get” them and many choosing not to interact with the world because of it. It’s a big reason I’m self-diagnosed — when my childhood psychologist suggested the “A” word back in the early 2000s, my well-meaning parents ran the opposite direction, afraid their beloved daughter would get saddled with a label that would get her further ostracized by her peers. My girlfriend had a similar experience growing up. And then you have people like RFK Jr. who say — and I quote:

“[Autistic people will] never pay taxes, they’ll never hold a job, they’ll never play baseball, they’ll never write a poem, they’ll never go out on a date.”

So yeah, it’s pretty clear the world looks down on us for being different, which, to be fair, has always been the case. It’s never been “cool” to be autistic, right? Why would anyone want to be on the autism spectrum?

Here’s where I’d say “Wrongo, partner!”

Definitely read that in her voice, by the way.

There are lots of special kinds of joy that come with being autistic, or even ADHD and similar kinds of neurospicy. There’s been quite a bit written on the neurodivergent love languages, many of which I feel are closely connected to the kinds of neurodivergent joy. That neurodivergent joy is what I want to write about, because I saw it at work amongst me, my ADHD wife, and my AuDHD girlfriend this past weekend when I took them to my hometown. That brings me to my first joy:

1. Sharing Lore

Taking my partners back home was such a cool experience. I got to share so many parts of my backstory with them, parts I couldn’t show them without taking them to the exact place in time where my story unfolded. I could point out my high school, the Dairy Queen I went to as a kid, all my favorite plushies in my childhood bedroom, and so much more. It’s all part of my lore, as I’ve started to say. Sharing parts of your past with your loved ones scratches the same itch as infodumping, except in this case, you’re infodumping about yourself!

Hearing other people’s lore helps us connect to them as well. This past weekend, my dad regaled us with the story of how he saved for two months to go to Woodstock, despite his coworkers making fun of him, because he knew it was going to be a big deal. He ended up going with six friends and left with 28. I knew music was a big part of my family’s lore, but I never truly knew the extent to which my own father was present for a huge moment in music history. Just taking that time to talk to him gave me a lot of joy.

2. Sharing Media

During the trip, I allowed my girlfriend, Livvy, to take control of the hotel television, since she has some sensory stuff regarding talking and background noise. Most of the time, she left the TV off and the three of us, ya know, engaged with the outside world. But when we got back to the room every night, Livvy would search for one of her childhood favorite shows, Zoom. She loved that show so much that her grandparents taped it and sent it to her so she could still watch it after it went off the air. And now, she wanted to share it with us!

I can’t express how happy she was that we not only took the time to watch what she wanted to show us, but actively participated in it as well. We started daydreaming funny skits and science experiments we could do in our spare time, like the kids on the show. We even had our favorite cast members and tried doing the “ubby wubby” language ourselves (with little success). Livvy was so pleased we were as into the show as she was!

3. Being Around Other Neurospicy Folks

When you’re wired differently, it can be exhausting masking in order to fit in with polite society. Masking is typically associated with “higher functioning” autistic individuals, as shitty and outdated as that terminology is (we prefer people refer to our support needs instead of the “high and low functioning” labels). As someone who’s gotten so good at masking that many outsiders aren’t aware I have the ‘tism in the first place, I can tell you it’s absolutely exhausting. It’s a form of hyper-vigilance and suppressing natural urges. You basically have to water down your entire personality.

But when you’re in a group of other neurodivergent people, you can let all of that fall away and reveal your true self. I don’t have to pretend to be interested in mundane things. I don’t have to make eye contact (which is scary as hell to me if I’m honest). I don’t even have to say words. I can communicate in noises if I want to, and oftentimes, that’s exactly what my partners and I do! It’s freeing to not be restricted by social norms and expectations.

4. Researching What You Love

I (probably rightfully) get a lot of crap from my loved ones for being too glued to my phone, but I’m going to let you all in on a little secret. If you see me on my phone, there’s a very small chance I’m texting a friend. More likely than not, I’m reading!

I’ve always been like this, and I’d be the first to admit that had smartphones not been invented, I’d have to carry a huge bag of books around with me everywhere I go. I’m always reading something or other, usually nonfiction, and usually about one of my special interests. I love reading about creativity, spirituality, or whatever library book has captured my attention most recently. When I was a kid, I’d hide in the nook between the kitchen and the bathroom in my grandma’s house, right where she kept a complete set of Encyclopedia Britannicas on a bookcase, and just study them for hours. I kind of miss physical books, if I’m honest, but I love having the ability to read about anything and everything at a whim nowadays. It’s a kind of special joy.

5. Being Respected

Obviously we love researching things, but we also love getting recognized for our research too! We love the thought of being an expert in our field of interest, even if it’s not a formal area of study. For me, music theory is a big area of interest. I do have a degree in music, which does make me feel good about myself, but even more than that, I love when people tell me that I’m knowledgeable. Even more than that, I love when I get a chance to demonstrate my knowledge. When someone asks me why a song works, I’m always happy to explain things like chord progressions and the circle of fifths and why those concepts are important in popular music.

I think that’s why it almost feels like a personal slight when we don’t get the respect we require as it involves a particular special interest. I still remember the one of the only times a non-music professor made me feel like shit about my abilities and know-how. It took me years to recover and get back to a place where I felt confident about myself in music again. We autistic and ADHD folks are so sensitive to the slightest criticism — we’re prone to rejection sensitive dysphoria for a reason — but the flip side is that we get an even stronger sense of pride from positive feedback.

Which of these “joys” do you relate to the most? Leave a comment below! And as always, if you enjoyed the writing in this post and elsewhere on the site, please consider donating to Jessa’s tuition fund! Any help is appreciated!

CashApp: $TheJessaJoyce

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Chosen Family: The Life-Changing Power of Finding Your People

Jot down the first thing that comes to your mind.

Family.

That’s the first word that comes to mind after this Easter.

The day started in the fucking crapper. It was my third overnight shift as a caregiver and my chronic-whatever that’s making me not eat was really flaring up, to the point where I had to sit down every two minutes or so to keep from passing out. From the start of the day to the end of that night shift, I’d eaten maybe 400 calories, tops. I couldn’t get home from the facility fast enough. Once I walked through the door, I peeled off my scrubs and climbed into bed with my girlfriend and her other girlfriend, who were staying the night, and I slept like a damn rock.

I thought Easter was going to be pretty shitty as well, considering my state of health. And it would have been, except today made me realize I have the greatest support system on the planet.

From the moment I woke up this morning, the whole polycule doted on me. Livvy, my girlfriend, headed out into the wild to fetch me food I’d actually eat. Crass, my wife, hunted down my Sylveon kigurumi and made sure I was warm and comfortable. Meanwhile, Gabbi, my metamour, played all of the funniest bullshit she could find on YouTube for me. As my loved ones went above and beyond making sure I was healthy and happy, I came to this really beautiful realization.

We might not share a bloodline or a surname. But we’re family nonetheless.

Growing up, I was pretty close to my family. But after my grandmother’s passing when I was in high school, the glue that held my family together sort of dissolved. I haven’t had real quality time with my cousins in years, and my older siblings and I text maybe twice a year. The only blood relatives I still talk to regularly are my mom and dad, who are, in all fairness, the greatest humans to ever have the honor of being parents. But aside from them, I don’t really have a strong connection to my family, which kind of sucks, especially considering I wanted that kind of connection. There’s a reason I begged my parents to give me a little sibling for years.

Yet I’m realizing lately that family looks different for everyone, and sometimes, it’s your chosen family that’s really there when you need them.

This was a short post — more of a life update if I’m honest — but I wanted to write about how happy my little family of neurospicy queerdos made me this Easter, just by caring for me when I really needed it. I know it’s not conventional or traditional, but why stick to tradition if there are other ways that work just as well, or even better? They say it takes a village to raise a child, but really, we’re all still growing. We all need support throughout our lives. That’s what being with my partners means to me. That’s what being polyamorous means to me. That’s what being a family means to me.

I’ll leave y’all with a song by one of my favorite pop artists, Rina Sawayama, who absolutely should be as big as Chappell Roan.

Family is what you make it.

The Queen of Hungry: Surviving When Food Loses All Appeal

I just had a horrific realization.

All I’ve had to eat today is two mini Reese’s cups and three bites of a Tim Hortons croissant. There was a nonalcoholic beer and a virgin Moscow mule in there too for good measure, but for the most part, I’ve been subsisting off whatever nutrients my body has stored up.

And I’m still.

Not.

Hungry.

It’s not that I don’t want to eat. I simply haven’t had an appetite in months. And it’s getting worse.

My mukbang videos would consist of me staring at a cupcake and maybe licking the icing off while crying.

A few years back, I started Adderall as a way to combat my ADHD symptoms with quite a bit of success. For such a scary drug with so much potential for abuse, I didn’t notice any negative side effects at all — except for the small fact that it nuked my appetite. But I didn’t mind at the time. I was pretty overweight due to having just quit drinking in order to stifle a worsening alcohol problem, and getting sober did wonders along with the Adderall in getting me back down to a healthier weight. But now that I am a healthy weight, I don’t want to go too far in the opposite direction either.

So here’s the real scary thing I realized today. it was around noon and I’d been awake for a few hours when I went to grab food and coffee for me and my wife from the Tim Hortons down the road.

Okay Canada, just annex Michigan already.

I was ordering and nothing sounded appetizing, which isn’t unusual. Except I remembered I hadn’t taken my Adderall this morning. Instant-release Adderall only lasts 4 to 6 hours and the XR version lasts 12 hours, which means yesterday morning’s dose shouldn’t have been affecting me anymore. Typically by noon, if I don’t take my Adderall, my appetite starts coming back, but it was crickets. My appetite was still nowhere to be found.

Desperate, I got home and hit the uh, Penjamin Button.

Typically I can stimulate my appetite with a certain herb that is legal (and very prevalent) in the great state of Michigan. Today was different, though. I could have smoked enough green to make Snoop Dogg and Willie Nelson look at me funny, and absolutely no amount of THC in my bloodstream made me want to eat.

If my Adderall isn’t what’s causing me to stop eating, and if weed isn’t making me hungry anymore…

Am I dying?

Probably not, to be fair. My brother and my mother are certifiable hypochondriacs, so it’s not too outside the realm of possibility that I, too, am assuming the worst about my own state of health. My doctors have all commented on how healthy I seem. Like, high blood pressure runs in my family, and I’m at the age where my siblings had to start worrying about it, but my blood pressure is always low. (Pretty sure I’m a vampire or something — it would also explain the light sensitivity.)

Let’s play “Vampire or Just *Really* British?”

Still, there’s something unsettling about living with anorexia. And that’s what this is, albeit not the anorexia nervosa most people would associate with the term. Anorexia is the medical term for a loss of appetite, and while I’m not intentionally starving myself, I am afraid I’ll start seeing some of the symptoms of the eating disorder if I don’t get some nutrition in me soon. I could develop such nasty side effects as dry skin, bad breath, and even infertility, which is a deep-rooted fear I’ve written about before. Like, not to be TMI or anything, but my periods have dwindled to almost barely extant. And worst of all, I could lose my hair. Female pattern baldness and facial hair already run in my family. If I play my cards wrong, I could spend my twilight years looking like the white woman version of Steve Harvey.

I don’t know what the solution is to this problem either. Forcing myself to eat is nauseating, even when it’s stuff I love. Sometimes, when I need a quick snack, I buy myself a two-pack of Reese’s cups, which are by far my favorite candy, only to leave the second cup uneaten. My wife’s been racking her brain trying to think of ways to get me interested in food again. She’s spent probably well over $100 on fast food in the last few days trying to find anything that will get me eating. Most of it is still in our fridge, languishing. I feel awful about wasting it, but I just can’t bring myself to consume it.

This isn’t the first time an alarming lack of appetite has been a problem for me. As a kid, I was very sickly and uninterested in food for the most part. Part of it was because it often hurt to eat (I was prone to tonsil infections), and part of it was because I was a small autistic child with the taste of a small autistic child. But a lot of it was because I just wasn’t into eating anything. Nothing tasted good to me. And when I got sick (which, again, was frequently), it was even worse. At one point, I dropped down to a potentially deadly weight following an unfortunate flu immediately after my tonsillectomy. I vaguely remember even being turned away from the pediatrician; they didn’t think they could do anything. So my parents stocked up on Pediasure, intent to fatten me up one way or another. My dad would even go out of his way to bring me my favorite food at the time, the only thing I’d eat half of the time — Pizza Hut.

And I mean, I’m still here today. And I’ll get through this somehow. I often think back to just a few short years ago when I wrote about my struggles with being overweight, back when I was still drinking heavily and *surprised Pikachu face* not losing weight. There’s probably a simple solution. My friends who’ve been in a similar situation say they lost their appetites due to stress. And while I personally don’t think of myself as stressed, I do work three jobs (including a new one that’s probably going to be hella stressful), in addition to having classes, several music projects, and two serious romantic partners. My bandmate often chastises me for getting in over my head, and I’m realizing they often have a point.

That being said, I don’t know when things will eventually slow down for me, and part of me doesn’t want them too. I enjoy staying busy, although if it’s coming at the expense of my health, maybe I really do need a break. For now, I’m going to try to be diligent about taking my vitamins and attempt to drink a protein shake every day. That’s what I had been doing for a while, when my Adderall first started messing with my appetite. I made myself a shake every morning to drink with my medications, and I took my multivitamin, and so I knew that even if I didn’t eat anything else for the day, I’d still have some nutrients going into me. I need to get back into doing that.

Anyways, apologies to anyone who reads this and freaks out (Mom). My health has otherwise been pristine, although I am knocking on like, all of the wood. And I promise most of my life is actually going very well for once. I have some creative endeavors to throw myself into, a new job that will help me make enough money to afford the emo cruise I signed up for (IT’S GOOD FOR NETWORKING!), and I have the best support system in the freaking world. I just wish I liked food still, because you could air drop me a chicken shawarma from my favorite restaurant in the entire world and I’d maybe take three bites, tops.

If you enjoyed the writing in this post and elsewhere on the site, please consider donating to Jessa’s tuition fund! Any help is appreciated!

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Jesus at the Karaoke Bar: How Singing With Friends Can Maybe Heal the World

I had a real odd revelation recently. I haven’t been to church in a while now, and as a fairly pious person, I should be hankerin’ for a robust spiritual espresso shot of the Good Word. Like, I’ve been an active churchgoer for much of my life, so not having a church home in my town is pretty unusual for me. I checked out a progressive, queer-affirming church in Kalamazoo and even attended a few times, but it didn’t stick the way I thought it would. In fact, you’d think I’m in a terrible spiritual rut by the looks of it.

But believe me, I’m still finding Jesus every week…just in a much stranger place.

That is, the karaoke bar.

I’ve been an avid karaoke-goer since the move to Fort Wayne last year, when my wife decided on a whim to check out the local gay bar on karaoke night. She doesn’t sing, but knows I love to. So we got all dressed up and sure enough, we met some of the coolest folks there. That was enough to spark something, and we kept going back. When we finally moved to Kalamazoo later on in the year, one of the first things we sought out was another outlet for my newfound karaoke lust. That’s when we found Old Dog Tavern.

So we’ve been going every Friday for half a year now. I’ve got a whole slew of friends I see every week. We’ll go out on the back balcony, smoke a joint, and catch each other up on life. Then, when we’re back inside, we all take turns singing our favorite songs and cheering each other on. There’s no competition (well, except when another girl sings Heart — that is my territory), and it’s all in good fun. Some of us are natural performers, and some of us just like being silly on stage. But no matter what, we all go because something keeps drawing us back.

And I think I know what it is.

It’s community.

For years, church was my only community. It was where I went to socialize, make music, break bread, and share life. And I think for a lot of religious folks, that’s the case. The Bible even encourages this:

And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.

-Hebrews 10:24-25

We need each other. I’ve written extensively about how we’re not designed to live in isolation, and one of the good things I think religion contributes to society, for all its ills, is the inherent sense of community it brings to its congregations. But there’s a hitch. Though the statistics may have changed in the last ten years, data as of 2015 shows that folks in the United States are less religious than they used to be. And people are also lonelier than they used to be. So should we be working to get more butts into pews?

Maybe there’s another solution.

No, not the church — the karaoke bar.

I often describe my experience at karaoke as almost spiritual. I leave with my heart full every time — it’s how I recharge my internal battery each week. It reminds me of the feeling I’d get from singing in church when I was younger. It connects me to the music, to my community, to God, to the universe.

What if everyone had a place like that to go to every week?

The world is a scary place right now, and it’s getting even scarier. What we need now is more singing and more community. Revelations 21:3 and Acts 17:4 maintain that the Lord doesn’t live in a particular building, but within us. When we all gather together, we know that God is there with us. As silly and almost blasphemous as it sounds, I find Jesus every week in the smiles of my friends and the sound of the music. In a weird way, it’s my church.

Religion obviously isn’t for everyone — many folks have been burned by it, myself included — but everyone needs a community. In a culture that’s becoming increasingly secular, we need to figure out spaces for people to fellowship together. That’s why I feel karaoke and similar activities like trivia night and music bingo have the power to really create these strong connections between people.

On Thursdays, I host music bingo at a little bar in a small town north of Kalamazoo, and you really need to see it to believe it. Last week, it felt like the entire population of the town was there, and the air had an electric energy to it. Everyone was talking. Everyone was making friends. I even had a brief heart-to-heart with one of my regulars outside. These are the nights that will make life still worth living when things go to hell.

I leave y’all with a song.

Maren Morris has the right idea. Sometimes you find God in the strangest places. Maybe that is driving down the highway with the radio on. For me, it’s when I grab the mic every Friday.

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.

Self-Love Prompt #1: Connecting to the Earth

I was browsing Barnes & Noble when I happened upon these little cards. It’s a box of 70 writing prompts meant to inspire self-love and reflection. I need some fresh material for my blog other than giving life updates, and this seemed like the perfect way to spark some creativity. Sitting at a hookah bar with my wife, I drew my first card:

And I blanked immediately. How do I feel connected to the earth? That’s such a lofty concept, I’m not sure I know how to answer that. The first thing that came to mind was my dabblings in magic and witchcraft. I hesitate to call myself a Christian witch (which is not an oxymoron surprisingly), as I don’t practice nearly enough. But my personal religious beliefs align somewhere between Christianity, witchery, and science. And a connection with our life-giving planet is a crucial part of all of those philosophies.

When I lived by the lake, I liked to take walks and collect various things I found along the way. Little pinecones and flowers and such. I’d put them on my altar alongside my favorite crystals and religious symbols like pictures and statues of saints I admire. I took a lot of pride in arranging my findings to be aesthetically pleasing. It was soothing, and I felt like I was bringing a little bit of Mother Nature home with me.

Another practice I enjoy when it’s a little warmer out is grounding by standing or laying on the grass or dirt with no shoes. Someone once told me it’s a great way to feel connected to the earth, and I agree! Is there anything scientific to it? I doubt it, but it feels good. I like standing in water even more though, feeling the waves hit my feet and my toes buried in the sand. I think it’s the Pisces in me, or maybe the Michigander in me. I just really like lakes, okay?

On a grander scale, just existing alongside other living beings makes me feel like part of something greater than myself. We’re all part of this beautiful cosmic experiment called humanity, and it’s pretty awesome when you think about it. We’re eight billion interconnected stories, all unfolding at once. Someday, God willing, I’ll have kids of my own, and perhaps they’ll have their own kids eventually, and the great cycle of life will continue. It’s the same cycle that’s been happening since the dawn of time. I’m someone’s great-great-granddaughter, and maybe one day, I’ll be someone’s great-great-grandmother. It’s all very overwhelming and exciting to think about.

I think being connected to the earth is much more than just being connected to a clod of dirt floating in space. It’s being connected to each other, to flesh and blood, and it’s being connected spiritually. You can’t love the planet without loving one another. We’re all a part of this together. And that’s pretty dope actually.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Last night was my interview for my dream internship. So much is riding on me getting this position. If I get this internship, I’ll get to graduate by next December, meaning we’ll get to move to Kalamazoo so I can start grad school and perhaps most excitingly, start our family. Should I fail to get this position, I’ll have to either wait another year or move (potentially out of state) for a different internship. Which is a lot to take in.

I just wish I knew one way or another. Like Tom Petty said, the waiting is the hardest part.

I talked in a recent post about how I wish I could fast-forward my life story and know for sure that everything works out the way I planned. I’ve been reading books on things like the law of attraction and how you can manifest the life you want just by imagining it really hard. I hope that’s true, but at the same time, I hope it isn’t, because I’m secretly afraid the second I lose faith, everything will come crashing. If my hopes can manifest good things, surely my anxieties will manifest bad things in turn. That’s how it works, right?

And all I can think about is, if I’m this much of a wreck waiting for news on whether or not I got an internship, imagine how much more of a wreck I’ll be waiting for news of whether or not I have some terminal illness or something.

Is there such a thing as being terminally anxious?

I don’t have a lot of family baggage, but there is one generational curse that’s plagued the women in my family for time immemorial, and that’s anxiety. My grandma was so anxious she rarely ever left the house and consequently never learned to drive. My mom’s better, but not by much. I see how anxious she is and it breaks my heart. She’s scared of heights, bridges, highways, serial killers — she once told me not to date a guy because he looked vaguely like a local murderer who was on the run (it wasn’t him, for what it’s worth). And as much as I’d like to consider myself fearless, I do have things that scare me. One of them is death, and the other is not being able to do everything I want to do before death. So really, I only have one fear, but it’s a whopper.

This internship and the anxiety I’m feeling over it is a microcosm I’m of my bigger fear — that I won’t get to accomplish everything I’ve set out to do. I’m scared if I don’t get this internship, I’ll have to wait another year for it to happen again, and what if I don’t get it then and have to wait another year? What if I can’t have kids by then? What if I’m like, 50 by the time I graduate from grad school? I’ll already be halfway dead, right?

I don’t have an easy antidote for anxiety, and if I did, trust me, I’d sell that shit in a heartbeat and make millions. I guess there’s always Xanax, but you need a prescription for that and that’s too much work. I think the thing that’s helping me is one single affirmation — “What if it all goes right?” We’re so used to telling ourselves it’ll all go wrong, just changing your inner dialogue to something more positive helps alleviate the stress. Will it make the thing you want to happen, happen? Maybe, if you believe in the law of attraction. But it’ll make things easier in the meantime.

I’m holding onto the hope that this internship will come through and I won’t have to uproot my entire life to finish my degree. But if it comes down to it, I know things will work out in the end. God has always provided a way for me in the past, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. There’s always a way forward, even when the waiting is daunting. You just gotta trust that the universe will catch you as you’re free falling.

Love, Your Mom Friend: A Guide to Growing Up

I think it hit me when my wife brought up yet another youngin’ who latched onto her. You see, for some reason, we attract people in their early 20s. And we’re the ones they turn to when they need advice, or even just an ear.

We’re the mom friends now.

I never thought I’d see the day when we’d be the wise, old, responsible ones in our friendships. Two years ago, we were lazy drunks who contributed nothing of worth to society, who barely scraped by in life. We were the former gifted kid burnouts everyone pities, squandering what little money we had on booze and vapes for a sad little hit of dopamine. It’s a wonder we managed to pay our rent on time. We should have been on the streets.

Now we’re in the gym every other night, and we’re no longer bloated and sick from poisoning ourselves with alcohol. We have a measly savings account, but that’s more than a lot of people our age can say. I’m interviewing for my dream internship tonight, and my wife is preparing to start her costuming business.

I think at some point, you have to get sick of sucking in order to grow. It’s the difference between real adulthood and adolescence (which goes way beyond the teenage years in some people, us included). I get why a lot of folks our age have stagnated, especially due to economic/financial issues. But at some point, staying in this prolonged state of adolescence is just sad. We’re not meant to have our growths stunted. We’re meant for bigger, better things.

How do you reach real adulthood, though? The path is different for everyone, but here are the steps we took to get out of that adolescent rut.

1. Stop Drinking

All together. Even if it’s just for a little while, but I think you’ll find you like yourself more when you’re not guzzling booze every other day. I know I’ve improved significantly as a person since I ditched alcohol. I sleep better, I don’t have weird abdominal pains, I’m actually creative again, and I don’t bitch like a baby at my poor wife who had to deal with my bullshit. There’s a book called The Alcohol Experiment by Annie Grace that I highly recommend. If you do nothing else in this list, at least read this book. It changed my entire perspective on why we drink.

2. Make a Budget

No one likes talking about money, but it’s an important part of everyday life. And if we’re honest, we all like money — we just have a complicated relationship with it. One way to make that relationship a little less tumultuous is to make a budget. Sit down one afternoon with a nice cup of tea (or whatever helps relax you — NOT ALCOHOL) and see where your money is going every month. You might be surprised how much you’re spending in certain areas, and how much you could be saving by not throwing money at Taco Bell three times a week. It might help to hire a financial advisor, but I realize that’s not in everyone’s budget. You can do it yourself with a free hour and a spreadsheet and/or pen and paper, so there’s no excuse to not be doing this!

3. CLEAN YOUR SPACE

“But it will just get dirty again—“ Enough of that nonsense. Imagine if we said “Why eat if we’ll just get hungry again?” You’re a living being, and by living in your house or apartment, it is by extension a part of you. Take a little time every day to tidy up one thing. Just one single thing. Maybe clear off the kitchen counters, or scrub the tub, or do laundry. Just make sure you’re doing ONE thing. And if you keep going after that one thing is finished, don’t stop the momentum! Keep on cleaning until you don’t have it in you to do anything else. Having a clean space will help you feel more relaxed and “at home.” And while we’re at it…

4. Decorate Your Space!

The fun part! Now that you’re an adult, you get to do whatever you want with your home (within reason — don’t get in trouble with your landlord because you tried to set up a pool inside your tiny apartment). Put stuff on the wall that makes you happy. I suggest buying art from local artists and turning your space into your own personal museum. It will make you look really cool and cultured, trust me. Especially if that art’s on a canvas. That screams adult.

5. Get Moving

When we were kids, running and jumping felt right and natural. What happened?! As we step into our new adult bodies, we need movement just as much as we did as kids. It doesn’t need to be structured or have a specific goal in mind. If you want to run a 5k, it’s great to have that as an objective, but even just dancing a little every morning to get the blood flowing is good. I have a routine of waking up early, swimming around a little, and doing 20 minutes of cardio on the elliptical. That helps me stay grounded and focused all day. Find ways to make movement fun again. Play tag with your significant other. Play that Just Dance game I suck at. Take a walk every night and see what sights there are to see near your place. There’s a whole wide world to explore!

And most importantly, don’t be too hard on yourself. Growing up is a process, and there are some aspects of adulthood I have yet to master. But as your mom friend, this is me telling you that you gotta step up your adulting game, because you deserve to live an amazing, fulfilling, grown up life.