Generosity in Action

and how we need to hold on

Photo by Anastasia Vityukova on Unsplash

I have been struggling. I know you all have been struggling, too.

I am getting the sense that a lot of us started off this shitshow so resolute (raises hand), but the overwhelm and the confusion has been getting to us. I think this is especially true of people who experienced abuse, because when you see the flagrant actions of an abuser who is getting away with it and will continue to get away with it for the time being, your body and mind react in ways that you aren’t necessarily in control of. You can take all the meds on earth and go to therapy 7 days a week, but these triggers stay with you for the rest of your life. There is no way to undo the coding. What happened to you lives in your body and in your heart, and you can’t escape it, you just learn how to live with it in a way that is bearable.

Sometimes it is not bearable. Not even a little. I have had moments where I felt like a trapped fifteen year old who’s drunk parent is trying to break down the door to her room. She’s pressed up against that door with all of her might, barricading herself, while it gets harder and harder to keep them out.

When the election first happened, I thought my calling was to rage about it, to write about it. Then my brain started asking questions. Does writing here on Substack actually help anyone? Do the things I have to say even matter? Am I supposed to write a play?

I don’t think writing for theater helps jack shit right now, but maybe that’s just the bitterness of recent rejections and disappointments. It takes a play usually 2-3 years to see a stage, and god knows what world we will even be in then. It doesn’t mean I won’t write a play, that just means that isn’t what I am being called to do at this exact moment.

So what is my calling? How can I best serve my communities? The country? The world? And then I immediately get overwhelmed by it all and put on 90 Day Fiance: The Last Resort and dissociate for a while. Or just stare into space.

Sometimes, I am scared that I’m not actually built for this moment. That despite all of my so-called courage, in the end, it feels like they’re gonna bust through that door anyway. It feels like we’re losing, no matter what, and there’s no scenario I’ve been able to conjure where we don’t. At the very least, this past week has been finally, truly accepting that everything has changed. Even if by some miracle we get these assholes out, the damage is already so immense.

By the end of February, I was straight up DEPRESSED.

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There is only one person who could get me to go to Manhattan on a Sunday when it’s below freezing. That person is Tori Amos.

I can hear what you must be thinking. “Oh god, she’s writing about Tori Amos AGAIN???”. You bet your ass I am! I’ve been writing about her and her work on and off for thirty years, and I ain’t stopping now!

I don’t write about her to convince anyone to like her music. That’s not the goal, even though I think she’s one of the greatest musicians to ever grace this earth. I write about her because of all the artists I have admired, she has had the single biggest impact on my life. She taught me how to be a woman, and then, a woman artist. As I age, I realize how important it was for me to have a blueprint of the kind of life I wanted to live, the kind of career I wanted to have, the kind of art I wanted to make, and the kind of person I wanted to be. She blew apart my entire belief system as a teenager, and I truly believe that saved my life.

And so, on this unfairly cold first Sunday in March, Tori did a talk at Barnes and Noble in Union Square for her children’s book, Tori and the Muses, and just released an album of music to accompany it. Obviously, I bought tickets for the talk the second they went on sale.

Let me tell you, this record she made to go with this sweet book is damn good. If you need to hear soothing - but musically complex - songs about fairies building pianos and how to find your inspiration, this one’s for you. This ain’t no Kidz Bop.

It’s always a joy just to be in a space with her, and the discussion was great. Part of the goal of writing the book was to encourage parents to let their children find their calling, their muses, and their creativity. She talked a lot about how important it is to nurture your children based on who they are and what they are interested in, and not to force your own beliefs or interests on them.

The talk concluded with the moderator thanking her for everything she does (he’s also a fan), and this is what she said (if you want to watch, it starts at 24 minutes in):

We have to hold on to our spirituality, to each other, to our soul's purpose, to our calling. And that calling can change. It can change on the hour, and some of us are called in different ways to serve right now, and we have to respect each other's calling. Not everyone is being called to write towards the scary out there. Other people are being called to bake, to grow plants, to give healing in different ways.

But we have to hold on. We have to hold on.

As I looked around the room, I saw many of my fellow middle aged queers - some with their own kids in tow - wiping away tears. I was, too. We all needed to hear it.

After the talk, there was an opportunity to briefly meet Tori and get a photo. She stayed and took photos with about 400 people that day, as there were separate tickets just for the photo op.

I’ve met her a few times over the years, and every single time, I have a plan of what I am going to say. The second she takes my hands (she does this!), looks straight into my eyes, and asks me my name and how I’m doing, I forget English entirely. My words vanish and I blurt out some nonsense. It doesn’t matter, though. I’ve realized that whatever my individual experience was, 400 other people got to have their own experience, and that energy was palpable.

What she does for her fans is generosity in action; taking several hours out of her busy schedule to personally greet every single person who showed up, look them in the eyes, and really see them. And she’s been doing that for her entire career. Before her shows, if you line up by the stage door or the venue she’s playing that night, she comes out and does a meet and greet before she goes into soundcheck (she didn’t do this last tour, but that was because of COVID). She takes song requests and signs merch and talks to as many people as she can. She has listened - truly listened - to more trauma dumping than most veteran therapists. She uses our requests, stories and the energy of the place she is in to create her setlist, which she changes every show.

As a result, she has given us something rare in this cruel world - a place where we feel safe. Safe to be ourselves, and safe to really feel what we need to feel. It’s a decades long conversation between artist and audience. It has been one of the greatest gifts in my life, and I am sure many of my friends can say the same.

I am still not sure what my calling will look like in action, but I can give myself a word to guide me, which is generosity. Whatever that might mean. I just needed someone to remind me what it looks like.

In closing, my dears….listen to the woman. Hold on. It’s okay if you aren’t sure what to do, or what that will look like, or if it looks different than what other people are doing.

Just hold on.

I blinked in the first photo so they had to call me back to take it again, and of course i was like OH OMG SORRY LOLOL OF COURSE I WOULD DO THAT, thus my face. Tori, as always, looks great.

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