This wandering life of mine has been punctuated by creative invitations, collaborative initiations, and serendipitous opportunities from me just going along doing my thing. An invitation to be part of an exclusive writing club in the fifth grade after my teacher read one of my stories; being cast as the lead in the high school play when I was a freshman after apparently giving a great audition; being approached to play the lead in a feature length film; being invited to join a group putting on a music festival; and the numerous projects in between.

As I type these achievements I’m wondering … should I be typing these? Am I low-key flexing right now … am I HIGH KEY flexing? Maybe I need to flex, to see the past up close, to see that I am in fact a talented creative being. I lose sight of it sometimes.

The problem is, these opportunities were handed to me. Yes, I worked to get them. But the creative engine was in front of me, leading me. I wasn’t igniting the whole train, I was somewhere in the middle. In all those projects, there was a director, a visionary, there were parameters.

Which leads me to my current obstacle - releasing this record. With this project, I am the engine: to fundraise, to write, to record and co-produce, to release some singles off the record and to promote them. As the leader of this project, it has felt hugely difficult. It’s felt like I’ve been groping around in the darkest woods on a moonless night. However, despite the stumbling and bumbling, I kept finding my way, BECAUSE …

Up until this point, I’ve always felt led by something. A hoot hoot spirit owl of guidance in the form of advice from a friend, or input from my producer, or a strong intuitive nudge. The strong intuitive nudge was always the final indicator. The gut brain, solar plexus voice guiding me to the next checkpoint in the dark. And feeling correct in that guidance, feeling the rightness of heeding my gut. And feeling really proud of getting as far as I have with this project.

Yet now, as I look down the barrel of actually releasing this record - FULLY - complete with a show and a band and a vinyl drop in a proper venue … Crickets.

Nothing.

Nada.

No intuitive nudge.

No push from my solar plexus. No hunch. No hair tingling whispers from any mouths of divine shadows.

Zip.

I did phone a friend. And she told me to wait.

And I’m wondering if that’s what I need to do.

‘Opt out of urgency.’ She said. She took that from someone else but I can’t remember who and I can’t find my phone and there’s a cat on my lap so I’m not about to go looking for it.

Now, I am a hunches kind of gal. I open myself up to the direction of the universe. I look for signs everywhere. I feel my way. I depend on divine intervention to skuttle me along, and so far that has worked really well for me.

But this lack of clarity around releasing my EP is crushing. It’s causing me to panic, which is creating a sense of urgency. But I think my friend is right, to wait. Because the hair raising whispers of divine shadows have not let me down thus far, so why would they let me down now?

It’s the ‘shoulds.’ I should release my record now. I should do it sooner rather than later because people are depending on me and I’ll disappoint literally everyone if I don’t release this thing RIGHT NOW. I should release it sooner rather than later otherwise it will atrophy and turn into a nothingness non-entity creative stillborn.

There is a lot of doubt. There is a lot of indecision. There are 200 vinyl records in my closet collecting dust. There is a vinyl pre-order I need to do. I need to practice with my ‘band’ … we’ve had one practice, and I already need to find a new guitarist and possibly a new drummer. I need to learn the piano parts to these songs that I recorded like two years ago. I need I need I need. Then the anxiety grows into a so many headed Hydra and I just want to hole up, watch Disney movies, eat ice cream, and do none of these things that I need to do.

It seems like the universe is not rolling out my big dreams according to my plans OR my timeline.

There’s a saying in the recovery circles that ‘God (Goddess/Spirit) is in the Pause.’ That probably applies here, but I don’t like it. Waiting is not my forte and I can be distrustful and lacking faith when I’m not getting what I want, when I want it. Oh the humanness!

But maybe I’m supposed to listen to my gut brain even when I can’t hear it. Especially when I can’t hear it. Heed it, and pause. Maybe that’s what my gut is actually saying.

Wait.

UGHHHHHH.

So. Until more is revealed, the final two songs will be in the ethers. The record as a whole will be in the ethers. The physical vinyl will be in my closet collecting dust. Although I may create a vinyl pre-order in October … there’s some amorphous swirling taking shape there, but don’t hold me to it.

And if you’ve read this far, please accept a virtual cookie basket from my heart to yours, because this post has truly been an artist’s messy process. The ugly side of any pretty, polished final product.

My cat is still on my lap though. And she is definitely telling me to pause so she can stay curled up for as long a possible. She is never wrong. God is in the paws.

Thanks for reading.

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Amidst the pandemic of 2020, something broke in me, and I could no longer tolerate being seen or known. It was not acceptable for me to be in public. If I was, my body would revolt and pull the fire alarm in my brain, signaling for a panic attack, a fight or flight response, or to simply go numb and shut down. I joined a theater production and was wracked with a mysterious somatic illness. During another production, I felt voiceless and out of breath, as if I needed to turn myself inside out just to be there.
Sure, I was showing up on Instagram and Facebook, creating content and stories and sailing along the surface of visibility. But under that surface was a central nervous system being absolutely throttled by existing. It was just too much. I needed to hide.

I needed to hide and find a way to afford life without jumping through administrative hoops or putting on some social mask just to be among others. I needed a way to continue living and breathing without feeling like I was going to harm myself or someone else. My cat and my television were my best friends during that time. And after ruminating on how I could make some money to afford to live, I became a house cleaner.

Timidly seeking out potential clients through the local email list, I didn’t expect to be so good at the work, but I was. I also didn’t expect my name and results to travel, but they did. Despite the positive signs, my body didn’t love it. I started to get migraines due to the harsh cleaning chemicals. My back started to ache due to the grueling nature of the work. Regardless of the physical limitations, I pushed on. I gained more clients who then referred me to their friends. My results were ‘exceptional,’ and my trustworthiness set me apart. The work was private, quiet - save for the motor of my vacuum, and the only people I had to talk to were my clients, which was always a brief hello.

I got to hide in plain sight. I got to get lost in my thoughts. I got to wander aimlessly in my head - down back alleys of partially forgotten experiences, up side streets of half-memories, and, I could breathe. I could dance in front of a grimy bathroom mirror that would be sparkling after a little elbow grease. It didn’t matter that I was a professionally trained actress or a college graduate or a working singer-songwriter or that I was highly qualified in many other career options. I had to clean. I could be silent for hours: scrubbing, moving, sweating, existing. I made friends with the house cats. I could be completely alone, and Aloneness was my Savior.

As an hourly contractor, I wanted to make sure I cleaned as quickly as possible, which meant I gave myself very little time to rest. I was hustling, sometimes cleaning two houses totaling seven to eight hours of cleaning each day. I’d rushrushrush, cleancleanclean, zipzipzip, and there was excitement in that. There was pride in that. There was also pain in that, which was cumulative. My migraines got worse. My back pain got worse.

Funny how our bodies tell us exactly what they need, but the mind is such a distrusting brat that it HAS to figure everything out all by itself.

At this time I was introduced to a career counsellor who was also a therapist. After one or two appointments, however, it became clear that the priority would not be career counselling, not yet, and instead would be a deep dive into my mental health, because apparently, having a desperation to hide is … not normal? That was news to me.

Healing is hard. It’s also not linear. And it’s also not like a broken arm where you can go, ‘Hey ya, I have a broken arm and it hurts and this is exactly what it looks like and feels like and heals like and here’s the timeframe.’ Mental health work is an open-ended mercurial abyss, and anyone who enters that murky arena better pat themselves on the back and have a rest day on the day-of or day after their session.

We discovered that I’m a ‘highly-sensitive-person’ with complex trauma, combined with a wildly vigilant nervous system, a tendency to isolate, past drug and alcohol abuse (sobriety was the door through which this healing was possible,) and family dysfunction … No wonder I wanted to hide.

pats self on back

For three years I showed up weekly and did the work. Memories, emotions, trauma, a lot of sadness and lost iterations of my own self came up, out, and into the light. Witnessed by a woman I came to trust deeply - who I even got mad at occasionally and who could handle it - I began sifting through very important and very healing mental health work. Layer after layer, week after week, my Little Allisons got to speak their truths and be seen and heard and validated.

There’s no graduating from mental health work but there are times when a chapter comes to an end, and that’s what’s happened for me. An inner strength has taken root and a clarity that I have not known for many years is shining within me.

Ironically though, that clarity came three weeks ago in the form of my body saying enough is enough resulting in me throwing my back out while teaching yoga. Teaching yoga is new for me, and yoga in general has been a huge part of my healing journey. It was devastating to have to cancel the rest of that week’s classes, and as you can imagine, I certainly couldn’t clean.

I cleared my calendar and laid on the floor. In the tub. On my stomach. On my side. On many ice packs and then pouches of frozen peas. I ate Ibuprofen like candy. I also ate a lot of candy. I cried. I was a complete mess, and I was in so much pain.

I think if I had listened to my body years ago, I might have avoided this screaming sign that I ought to be done with cleaning houses…

But I was so not ready to hear that. Cleaning became my identity, my financial solvency, my solace, my sanctuary. Back pain and migraines be damned.

The body talks and this time, I listened. Without knowing exactly where the next steps were going to take me, I explained my situation and permanently let go 90% of my client base. They were understanding, sympathetic, and naturally, super bummed. With that space cleared, I looked online at a specific local hotel to see if they were hiring banquet servers. They were. I sent in my resume, and a day later they called to schedule an interview for the following week. I got the job. I start tomorrow. Some banquets, some hosting, likely some serving, part time.

No more scrubbing. No more crooked spine for hours each day. No more inhaling bleach fumes and dust particles. No more caca. A steady paycheck, with taxes already taken out. Some perks, some discounts. A work community. Gentle. Plugged in.

I’ll still toot my own horn as a house cleaner, because the attention to detail I gave my clients’ houses truly exceeded their standards each and every time I cleaned. I successfully operated my own small business. I was excellent, and I was nice. The work was exactly what I needed, for exactly as long as I needed it.

And just like that,

I’m done. (I’m still nice though.)

I’m so done and so glad to be moving on. I’m keeping two clients for a little extra coin, but it’s easy cleans and off the books. I’ll be teaching more yoga in the coming weeks. I’ve got music gigs lined up. I’ve got a creative bug for theater performance that I haven’t felt in years. And I’ve got this sweet hotel to work at where I won’t be pathologically alone.

That’s the best turn around here, the longing for connection.

Recently, the craving for isolation has turned into … loneliness, and what a healthy change. Maybe six months from now I’ll be kicking myself, surrounded by workplace drama and catty coworkers, but I don’t get that sense from this workspace and I also don’t bring that energy to where I work. Even if there is drama, it’s not going to break me if I’m around it.

I want to thank that Allison who busted her ass so there was a roof over her head while she dove deep into feeling and healing, to get herself to where we, I, am now. A freedom and sureness has settled within me that is clear, bright, and roomy. The body spoke, the mind had no choice but to acquiesce, and the universe paved the way.

All I had to do was listen.

What’s your body telling you? Will you listen?

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Yet there is laughter. There is a glad voice on the other end of the line. There is a saved voicemail from a friend who is no longer with us, but here in spirit.

There is love. It is you. And it is me.

Through the sometimes nauseatingly mundane acts of simply existing, and the definitely nauseating facts that so much injustice continues to take root and thrive by evil-doers each day, let this be a reminder that your heart is yearned for by other hearts. Your voice is yearned for by other ears. Your laughter is missed when it’s left the room. Your presence is required.

Breathe into the fact that you are loved. Exhale any doubt that prevents you from believing it. If you don’t have a friend nearby to embrace, take your own strong arms and wrap them around yourself. Right now. Do it. Breathing in that you are loved. Breathing out anything that gets in the way of that abundant fact.

It is always here for you. Like a saved voicemail from a friend. You may not be able to see it, but you can call upon it anytime you need. Wrap yourself up in it. Breathe it. Believe it.

And be.

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This current mantra I’m chewing on is almost at it’s two week expiration date and I feel it wriggling, spreading its wings and clawing it’s way up and out of the depths of my convictions. Because, for the duration that it takes hold of me, I can truly think of nothing else. The words guide me, offering me momentum through each day, are are like little buddies that remind me, hey I’ve got you, you’re not alone, you got this.

This latest mantra is: What is stopping you?

What is stopping me?

There’s a stoic philosophy that states ‘the obstacle is the path.’ That, whatever you’re struggling with is supposed to be there? That whatever you’re struggling with is guiding you, and to let it shape you, with curiosity, instead of avoiding or resisting. That seems to be the take away.

Perhaps others can relate to this, but often times in my life, I’ll gain momentum in some area that elevates me in some way: my job by gaining financial traction, my hobbies by gaining joy traction, my creativity by gaining soul traction. Then, for some reason, I’ll abandon them, just like these little mantras abandon me. I’ll call out of work for no reason. I’ll turn my back on my hobbies for no reason. I’ll drop my creative routine for no reason.

Actually, there is a reason. In the dark corners of my mind, I hear an antagonistic whisper. You don’t need it anymore. See? You’ve done it. You’re fine. Look at how good you’re doing. Ease up. Rest. You’re SO tired. RESSST.

Um. Ok I did not realize Gollum was my inner demon…

I could go down an ENTIRELY nerd-ariffic rabbit hole about Lord of the Rings allegories…but I’ll spare you. THIS TIME.

Anyways. This mantra has been such a balm for me these past two weeks.

What’s stopping you?

What’s stopping me from basically showing up. To my life, to my work, to my joys, my hobbies, my craft, my commitments?

These two weeks, I have not called out of my life. Radical, I know. Repetition and consistency and routine are the glue that holds my whole nervous system together, and these past two weeks with this divinely inspired mantra, I’ve just…done it.

Phew.

Like I said earlier though, I can feel this mantra fluttering, ready to depart. Just like my own constitution, I get flighty and restless and need to spread my wings to encounter some new mindset.

Perhaps as I release my grip on this mantra, I can remember it’s teachings and stay curious about not only the emptiness it will leave behind, but also what new thought will take hold of my attention when it sees fit.

Keep the teaching tucked away, so that I continue showing up to my life, steadily, consistently, but staying open to the next dear mantra gift.

How about you? What is stopping you? Is it Gollum? Seductively calling you closer and closer only to steel the precious away from you, to keep it for itself? Is it a too-long to-do list of ‘adulting’ that is bogging you down? What is your obstacle and what is your path? Can you step back, just a hair, and gain a little perspective? Is there maybe even a teeny tiny little foot path around that big boulder in your way?

Take a look. You might find a whole new way to approach it.

Or you could just slip on that infamous ring, disappear completely, and run off to your little cottage tucked into the side of a hill.

Thanks for reading <3

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All that aside, the openness I’m feeling in the wake of the release is both roomy yet also a bit overwhelming. I’m feeling both tethered to the song and it’s steadily increasing stats on the listening platforms; as well as lost at sea from the innumerable options available as an independent music artist. Where exactly to focus my energy? Should it be on promotion, gig-booking, networking, marketing, or to just start on the next release? I was not expecting this resulting inertia from the aftermath of the release, although I wasn’t really sure what to expect. If nothing else, it’s a great learning opportunity.

That said, I am so proud. SO proud of this song and you of my listeners (many reading this now,) who have taken time from your busy days not only to listen to the song but to reach out to me with what the song meant for you. Talk of your tears, your hearts opening at the instrumentation and my voice, your gratitude for the words and melody - no amount of inertia or overwhelming to-do lists could ever defeat the gift of what your praise and attention has meant for me. Thank you, infinitely. That’s why I do this. To reach some part of me, and of you, that neither of us knew needed reaching, holding, hearing, loving.

Blessing in Disguise is a bit of an outlier from the other tracks. It’s message came to me during an emotional time of feeling very lacking and powerless. On this blog I talk a lot about my experience being poor - not for sympathy from the reader - but for processing and for connection. Money has always been a tricky thing in my life, and this song came about as I was grappling with just how abundant other’s financial resources might be. I was desperate to possess a sense of power, integrity, and WORTH. I was desperate to feel a sense of ownership over my existence, and my purpose here on this massive earth. I was desperate for autonomy despite being poor, as money really can open doors. Thus, this song was borne from a sense of seeking empowerment, and from the perspective of both my very young and wild and free inner child, and from my grown and nurturing wise adult self.

Thus, Blessing in Disguise burst forth with life-giving fervor. Tears and astonished laughter came to me as the words presented themselves. My breathing quickened as my excitement poured onto pages and pages of notebook paper. Relief flooded my nerves like a river-plunge in the height of a humid summer, as my tumultuous thoughts found their way up and out of my thundering bones, taking shape as this rallying lullaby for my disheartened soul.

That’s what songwriting seems to be for me. A life-line. A remembrance. A way home. A sometimes gentle but more often a sudden quaking of the earth that sends me careening back to the path of my soul. It is both a blessing, to have such a seemingly tangible sense of myself, and a curse, to sometimes get so thrown off of the course that is my identity, my voice, my essence, that a very intense artful emotional experience will ultimately bring me back. I wish America was better to their artists. We are real.

I hope that whatever it is you do in your life, that you find that trail that brings you back to your essence, your inner wisest, wildest, truest and most revered self. In a world where a millennia of societal pressures demand us to shrink into a version of ourselves that serves someone or something else, it is my hope that with this song, and with your own soul’s calling, that you will blossom into exactly you. That you will serve exactly you.

Sure, money might open doors, both those of us with a keen eye for bullshit will know a true heart with integrity, versus a trap that will ensnare our soul’s essence. ‘Watch for traps, don’t cut yourself off at the feet. Stay the course. Stay free.’

Thanks for reading, and if you have, thank you so much for listening.

Blessing in Disguise
Lyrics

I may not know the technical term
But it sounds good
Playing right through to my heart
And it vibrates

Shaking my bones shaking my bones shaking my bones
Shaking your bones shaking your bones shaking your bones

I may not have a lot of square feet
But it’s shelter
Safe and quiet with a lucky cat
I look after

No it’s not much but I pay for it on my own
Welcome to my welcome to my humble home

A little bit of confidence was all that I needed
To live a life that has purpose and meaning
Watch for traps don’t cut yourself off at the feet
Stay the course stay free

And I want you to know
That I love you just for being alive
And I want you to know
That I see how hard you try

Settle down now and get yourself some rest
It’s ok Child you don’t have to be the best
You’re good enough you got the stuff
Honey I’m impressed so take a deep breath

And I want you to know
That I love you just for being alive
And I want you to know
That I see how hard you try

We might be broke but see just how we thrive

I love you even if you’re scraping by

Hey this mirror has a brand new pair of eyes

Cuz this poverty is a blessing in disguise.

written by Allison Fay
recorded & engineered by Matt Appleton
available on all streaming platforms

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The ‘burnout.’ A massive and ever-evolving distraction from our individual and collective soul’s calling.

I was invited at the last minute to be a guest speaker on a podcast talking about that exact topic: Burnout, specifically as a musician.
I initially declined the opportunity, telling the host that I was ‘too burnt out to talk about burnout.’ She so very gently and kindly and intuitively suggested that it might be very healing for me to stop whatever it was I was doing, sit my butt down, and join the conversation.

The conversation (link here if you want to listen) was hosted by Backline.care and the SONA Foundation. Both are entities designed to support musicians. I’m so eager to learn more about them, as I’ve only recently discovered they exist.

Full disclosure, I have not been gigging nearly as much as I’d wish to. I have not toured, really ever, except for that one little jaunt around New England (which was admittedly fun but totally disorganized and lonely.) I have one teeny song on Spotify, and outdated recordings everywhere else. So … I felt like quite the poser sitting there talking about how burnt out I am trying to be a songwriter in this loud, loud world.

Truth is though, I am trying to be a songwriter in this loud, loud world! So, I put my little despairing ego to rest and just let myself listen, learn, and speak my truth about where I am in my process.

The conversation was so nourishing. I was joined by another singer-songwriter, as well as Backline’s community manager and clinical director. We talked about what burn out is, ways to prevent it, ways to manage it if you’re in the spiral, ways to seek help, and the reminder that you’re not alone. The reminder that, no matter where you are on your journey, you’re making progress, even if your ‘progress’ is sputtering in fits and starts and then long stops, like mine.

I needed that conversation, badly. I have been so burnt out that the community I crave would have passed me by had that angel of a host not called me in.

Has anyone else been so fiercely hard on themselves lately? Has anyone else been pouring themselves all the way out of their container for some wildly unreasonable expectation that is entirely self-made?

If so, where would you rather be? What would you rather be doing? I’m willing to bet money that you’d rather be getting cozy somewhere and you’d rather be doing some art. Maybe that cozy is under a blanket with your favorite notebook, pen, and a cup of tea. Maybe that cozy is under stage lights as you harness and release the unbridled bucking spirit that is sharing and receiving and deep listening. Maybe that cozy is your body matching the stillness of a wintering wood, where a steel wind tells you secrets that you are brave enough to be privy to, as you are brave enough to endure Her cold truth.

This is the first time I’ve given myself a moment to write, to type, and this too is nourishing. I’ve given myself permission to let go of a couple house cleaning clients. While it greatly served me for a time, cleaning houses is becoming more exhausting than ever before. My body can’t keep up with the demands of that work. My energy can’t keep up. I am exhausted, depleted, achy (oh, now I know where the back pain is from!) and operating on a baseline of agitation, impatience, and hopelessness. Something’s got to give.

This is a long and winding post. One that is disorganized and out of order, and I want to keep it that way. I want to reenter this space with some graceful messiness. I want to put my editorial perfectionism in the backseat and just show you. If you’ve read this far, I am seriously impressed. I’m not really even putting this out for applause or praise, just to rip the band-aid off. Maybe it’ll be another couple months before the next one.

ART IS NOT LINEAR.

LIFE IS NOT LINEAR.

‘PROGRESS’ is not linear.

All is not lost, even if you are, in fact, lost. Along this trail of life and creativity, there are always clues to get you back. But you have to pause. You have to enter stillness. You must, or you will clamor on deeper into the unrelenting reaches of your mind, of your burn out, where you will lie to yourself about who you are not and what you are not and the hopelessness of that cage will consume you. You might reach for substances at that point, or doom scrolling, or arguments with loved ones that further isolate you. You will reach for anything to numb that loud voice that is berating you of how unworthy you are to be on YOUR trail, YOUR soul’s path, your journey that lights you up and gives you joy.

Arguing with your partner will not draw you back. Comparing your life to bots on instagram will not draw you back. Overcompensating your low self esteem with hyper-consumerism will not draw you back.

Drawing a bath might draw you back.

Standing outside for sixty seconds and listening to the air might draw you back.

Taking yourself out for a plate of pancakes might draw you back.

A walk might draw you back.

Drawing that dark place, may in fact, draw you back.

Calling a friend might draw you back.

You’re never lost, even when you are in fact lost.

May this holiday season be a cozy blanket of respite, in spite of the chaos it can (and likely will) bring. May this darkness that is the slumbering Northern Hemisphere draw you closer to your heart and your joy. Your joy is the real gift. Your joy is what will be remembered after all the presents are opened, all the ham and peppermint stick ice cream is consumed, and after everyone leaves again. Your joy is the trail. But you have to remember it is there if you’re lost. And for that, you have to be still to remember is it there.

Thanks for reading, for being here. Now go be still and remember your joy.

With heart,

Allison

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Matt had about a week in between shows with Ice Nine Kills and Metallica, and flew back East to do some recording for me and his ska band ‘Big D and the Kid’s Table.’

I’d toyed with re-recording vocals and I’m SO glad I did. I touched up the beginning of Blessing in Disguise, as well as recorded some really spirited back up vocals to the end of that song. Matt also added pedal steel to Medicine, and we talked about next steps.

The songs are almost ready to be mastered, which means ‘finished.’ All the vocals and instruments are added except for live drums. We’ve got stand-in drum sounds that could pass as actual drums, but they were made with a computer instead of a real person. We want a real person to play drums on these songs, and we have a date for late July to track those with Matt’s friend Adam from Boston. This recording, this mastering, this drummer - all made possible by the Kickstarter that YOU funded. Pretty neat, eh?

This recording process is taking a lot longer than I anticipated - and I’m glad for it.

It’s so often in this busy, busy world that we rush from one thing to the next. I do at least, I don’t know about you. The fact that this process is taking time is really meaningful to me. Time. It’s a real gift.

Don’t get me wrong, I said this record would be out by now and it isn’t and I feel that.

But here’s the thing - the process is what this is all about, and then yes, of course, the songs.

Speaking of the process, I’ve been thinking a lot about the release plan for these five songs. You know when you find a good show on your favorite streaming network and you can just binge and delight in the next episode? I’m thinking of releasing these songs as singles, releasing one every 6-8 weeks or so, and giving each song it’s own kind of little mini-series of attention.

I’m wholeheartedly in love with each song, and I feel like the release energy wants to spotlight one song at a time.

Since we’re in this horrific moment of millions of Americans losing their health care and food assistance benefits (which I have been extremely lucky to receive SNAP benefits at several point in my life,) I feel it might be really timely to release Blessing in Disguise first.

That song came to me as a direct result of looking my poverty squarely in the eyes and embracing it fully. During that time, I had to move in with family after losing my jobs and gigs in the wake of Covid-19. I hit up food shelves, applied for food stamps, started working for myself as a house cleaner, and then I was able to move into my own tiny ass apartment thanks to continued food stamp support and housing assistance (literally the state of vermont paid for half of my security deposit.)
I didn’t get on my feet because of pulling myself up by some mythical and nonexistent bootstraps. I was able to live with dignity and get back on my feet thanks to receiving help from a governmental body that values helping the people it serves.

Blessing in Disguise is about cherishing one’s life and sovereignty in spite of massive wealth inequality. With the current administration cutting programs that support the poor and working and middle class in order to give massive tax breaks for the already ultra-wealthy, the themes presented in this song couldn’t be more timely.

More will be revealed about when, where, and how that song will be released.

To that extent, the CEO of Spotify (you know, the biggest music streaming platform IN THE WORLD,) just gave 700 MILLION dollars to fund a military defense startup … I really don’t want my art funding bombs, so I’m not sure if I’ll be distributing my music to Spotify. More on that in the coming weeks I guess?

Sigh.

There’s SO MUCH. If anything, these updates serve as a testament to what it truly takes to create, write, record, produce, and publish music.

How’s your summer? What are you up to? What are you most looking forward to in this month of July?

That’s all for now. As always, I love you being here.

With heart,

Allison

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I hope you’re able to take some time today to rest and soak up this much needed sunshine that our Northeast region has been lately deprived of.

Let’s focus on what we like. I like having homemade chicken salad for lunch most days when it’s warm out. I like petting my cat especially after she’s been sitting in a sunbeam and her fur is all warm and silky. I like seeing tree branches rustle in the wind, and believing their little leaf hands are waving at me. I like waving back. What do you like?

A friend gave me a sticker of a fox in mid-pounce. I put it on the cover of my journal. I like that sticker. I like journaling. I like gentle days to rest and recharge.

It’s hard to stay gentle when I know how much our planet is hurting, reeling, arguing, fighting, warring, killing, dying. I tried to save a bumblebee who was boots-up on my porch. I put it in the grass and said a prayer, but I don’t know if it lived. I don’t know how to save bumblebees, just like I don’t know how to save this whole world.

I feel it though. I feel the discord, the division. Like a virus, it seems this brutal wave of hatred needs to run it’s course. The molten lava of our rage needs to erupt - is erupting - and burn everything in it’s path.

On this Memorial Day, I wonder if America will ever look back on our history and be honest about who and what we’ve harmed, and apologize by taking action to restore and repair and like just stop the fucking churn and burn of capitalism and war and industry. I also wonder if the big religions of our day can do the same. A lot of people and a lot of the planet has been severely harmed in the last 2000 years. It feels like its high time for a scene change and a shift in ideology, a return to the earth, a return to the sacred feminine, a return of land to indigenous peoples and cultures, a focus on action-oriented reparations to black families who were stolen from their homes and dehumanized, the list goes on.

It’s a lot to type and likely a lot to take in as a reader, but this is what Truth is.

Truth is hard. It’s easy to spend money and barbeque and drink to forget in the name of patriotism. It’s hard to confront the truth and think, ‘Well shit, now what?’

This Old Grave, the title of the album I’m working on, scratches the surface of making an attempt to do the hard thing, and look.

These songs look at death. These songs look at strife. These songs look at the very human quality of occasionally being wrong and having to admit it! These songs look at love and community, at our innate need for nature and creatures and each other, and at being enough even when you’re broke.

Compost is only good if you turn it over. Otherwise it’s a smoldering pile of rot. Turning the compost requires strength and the knowing you’ll get hit with some stink. But when you work it, it becomes fertile gold to grow with. These songs are a call to turn over your own ‘grave’ and that of our collective. What’s rotting that needs to be exposed to some air and light? It’s ok to get gothic and morbid with it. We can handle it. We can handle you. We can handle your morbid. We love goth.

Can you imagine if America united in the act of amending and repairing how many graves it has made? We can’t restore Turtle Island (one of the original names of this North American land mass) to the way it was before it was colonized, but we can start to look and we can start to amend. The only way to heal is by turning our collective compost. Otherwise it’s rot, and rot kills.

The studio work continues to be on pause as Matt is still on tour which is f*cking awesome. He’s getting in much needed stage time so let’s be pumped for him.

This EP delay is also good as I’m working through my own inner composting. The Spirits apparently think I’m ready to take on the task of amending parts of my past, as well as forgiving some deep wounds that have shaped the course of my adulthood. The soil of my soul is turning and I am growing and crying and angry and the molten lava of my psyche is erupting and I am trusting that this is all clearing me out into a lighter and freer version of myself. I know it will because I’ve heard many similar stories of amending and forgiving, and freedom is always the result.

Like I always say, I need you. This post highlights a lot of what I’ve been ruminating on lately, and a lot of what has come up for me each time I look at the news or any type of social media. The outlets are saturated with no clear solution.

My solution is to turn it over.

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Now that every closet in my house is reorganized, all of the dishes are done and put away, all of the laundry is washed, dried, folded and sorted, and all of the floors are clean enough to eat off of …

I can finally do something that feeds my soul!

Don’t get me wrong, tidying is absolutely one of the best medicines for an achy soul. However…there’s a line between soulful tidying and manic and turbulent procrastinating in the form of a little zhuzh here and a little zhuzh there and by golly where’d the day go!?
I have crossed said line into the manic yet enthusiastic style of tidying, so I put some metaphorical super glue onto my rollie chair and I ain’t gettin’ out of it till this here newsletter is DONE.

Truth is, I’ve got some shows this Summer that I’m really excited about, and I want to spread the word! So far, these are relaxed solo shows, providing ambient covers and originals to the community at a couple different venues.

Essex Junction is putting on it’s first ever farmers market and I am smitten to be invited to play a few dates.

American Flatbread at the Burlington hearth is one of my favorite eateries up this way, and I’m pumped to share tunes for one of their brunches.

See below!

Show Dates and Details:

• Essex Farmers Market // Sand Hill Park, Essex Jct., VT

  • June 18^th 4-6pm

  • July 16^th 4-6pm,

  • August 20^th 4-6pm,

  • September 17^th 4-6pm

• American Flatbread // 115 Saint Paul St., Burlington, VT

  • July 20^th 11:30am-2pm

I hope to see you!! I’ll keep you posted if more live shows are happening.

Album Updates:

The recording itself is still on pause while I nail down a date to return to the studio.

That said, my tote bags came in the mail recently and they’re perfect. I’m committed to using the artwork that Jes made, and it feels so incredibly relieving to have that decision made and solid. I’d been waffling about the cover art at the beginning of the recording process, but it turns out that pre-fundraising and pre-recording Allison knew what she wanted all along. I think Jes’s stunning artwork on these bags is going to look fricken awesome.

When I do jump back in the studio, I’ll be tightening up Blessing in Disguise, and we’re coordinating with Matt’s drummer friend to come through and record the drums live. Matt’s digital drumbeats are amazing on all the songs, but we want that real-life human feel, for obvious reasons.

Musings, for Funzies.

I’m still not sure if I like using this platform for album updates and show announcements. It’s easier having everyone on one Substack email list, in that I can blast one memo to all my people … but this blog was created specifically to dive deep into recovery, solvency, empowerment, mental health, and the daily life of this sensitive human body navigating through this absolutely insane mind-f*ck of a reality.

Music-making and creative expression are huge parts of this all, huge parts of me. In fact, they’re not so much ‘parts of me’ but rather - all of me, an integrated whole. I can’t have mental health without music, I can’t have solvency without soul, I can’t have a sensitive human body without expression, and I can’t have recovery with you.

That said, I’d love to hear from you. Feel free to make yourself known here. I’ll answer too, and I’d love to know what you’re up to:

• What are you working on?

  • My EP. My housecleaning business. My budget. My house. My partnership. My bangs. Training Peeka to use her newly installed cat door -thanks bb, my garden, tarot, journaling, breath, movement

• What are you working through?

  • Less self-criticism, more self-acceptance. Forgiveness.

• What song can’t you get out of your head right now?

  • Summit (a working title, it’ll change. it’s from my first ever EP and i’ve got the bones down but it’s asking for an upgrade.)

  • Little April Showers from Bambi. My Goddess, animation and scoring was a whole different universe in the ‘40s.

• What’s something you want for yourself, that life is getting in the way of?

  • More time in nature (even if it’s raining!)

• What’s something you’ve done recently that you’re really proud of/happy about:

  • I put myself to bed at a healthy and reasonable hour every night last week

  • I deleted an extremely time consuming and addictive phone game and I don’t really know what to do with myself. It feels great and also, yikes, I really let myself go with that one.

I can’t emphasize enough how much I love this community. Even if you’ve subscribed and I don’t know you, I can feel your presence through the ethers, and that’s really cool.

Until next time, sweeties.

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cover photo credit: Lindsey Flicker

The ‘Drafts’ tab of my Substack is growing, with nearly finished and actually finished essays starring awkwardly at me wondering why I haven’t published them yet.

And the songs. The songs that I’ve been recording over the last eight months are done. Mostly. Almost. Well, some of them.

(If you’re new to my musings and want to take a deep dive into my album making process, head over to the archives I’ve built of all the updates so far - from Kickstarter success to present day recording sessions.)

I’m taking a brief hiatus from recording while my producer goes on tour with a little known band called Metallica. No big deal. But while he’s on the road, I’ve been listening to my tracks and feeling really proud of how they sound.

Except for one. I think I’ve talked about it here before. It’s called Blessing in Disguise and I knew from the jump that this song would be on the record. It was ready, polished, precious, beautiful and just perfect.

Or so I thought.

I presented it to Matt, thinking he’d fall over and start weeping in awe of my song baby. Once I finished the song though, he was just like, ‘Nice. It’s too long though.’

…

EXCUSE ME?!

Oh man. I think that was the session that I almost fired him. My poor little ego. I’m happy I can laugh about it now. He obviously gives me ultimate control over the final say of my songs, but I highly value his experience and I wanted to be open minded to his input.

The truth is, the song gives me chills when I listen to it. We’ve successfully cut it down to under four minutes, added great sonic elements, and it progresses really beautifully.

And yet.

It’s just not quite there yet.

Now. Is this my artistic integrity talking? Or is this my fuggin PERFECTIONISM talking.

I texted Matt that I’d like to go over the vocals a few more times. Fearing that he’d flick me away like a clingy booger, he enthusiastically responded, ‘Let’s do it! Let’s make sure it’s right!’

What a gem.

Since then I’ve been tossing and turning about whether to actually commit to redoing the vocals, or to just let the song live where it lives.

I’ve grown a lot since I began recording, and both my vocals and my attitude have gained confidence and character. To have this new and roomy sense of agency over my voice presents some really fun opportunities.

I’m getting to know this voice of mine. I think where the rubber meets the road here is that I’m being seen and heard by Matt in a safe and nonjudgmental way where I can (in my mind) sound bad. Then I listen back and I’m like, ‘holy shit that sounds good.’

I always thought I had to overanalyze my voice while I was using it - which takes me out of the breath, out of the song, and out of the present moment. It takes me out of the joy. One minute I’m singing, the next I’m sinking in the quicksand of perfectionism. Singing. Sinking. One little letter can ruin a really fun song.

If my theatre training has taught me anything, it’s that active listening is the butter of any production bagel. You can’t be in the scene with someone if all you’re thinking about is your next line and how you’ll deliver it. You have to be with your scene partner. You have to see them, hear them, hold space for them, and most importantly, you have to BREATHE with them.

Did you know that audience members’ hearts sync their rhythms during theatre performances and concerts? We breathe and beat as one when we connect rhythmically, in our heart and our breath space, and in our spirit and soul spaces.

When I’m working in the studio, I’m being witnessed as I open my heart and soul and spirit and voice - and I’m being held and validated, elevated and supported.

Blossoms I’ve never seen can thrive in that environment. Sounds I didn’t know I was capable of - but are wholly mine - can take root and ground me in that environment.

My artistic integrity sees my perfectionism and says, ‘I got this, why don’t you sit in the back and enjoy the scenery.’

I’ll take another stab at the vocals and I’ll give myself permission to breathe, and instead of sink, I’ll sing.

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I’m trying something new.

I’m minimizing.

Get this - I’ve got album updates that go out via Squarespace. I’ve got blog posts that go out via Substack. I’ve got show notices that I throw up on Facebook and Instagram and separate news that uses a whole other email list.

I’m saturated.

Too many outlets for this one brain to keep straight, let alone maintain.

Friend and fellow songwriter Jes Raymond has ingeniously advised using ‘one email list to rule them all.’

I’m going to try it.

For those of you who might be miffed that I made the executive decision to add your name to my Substack subscriber base - I get it. I was nervous to do so, but here me out:

1. You can unsubscribe.

2. There are NO adds. Zero.

3. You’ll still get album updates.

4. Any news from me will just be from ONE platform - Substack. No more whiplash from squarespace and substack and this and that email list.

5. Substack is geared toward artists, not big tech wigs and AI bots. It’s a human and humane platform.

If I had a team of content writers and managers, I suppose I could delegate them to focus on multiple media outlets. But I don’t.

It’s just me.

While I’m traveling down to Norwich from Burlington to steep in the magic of music-making, I’m also maintaining my business, meeting new clients, cleaning houses, nurturing my relationship, giving my cat quality time to lay on my lap (it’s her love language,) aiming for solid sleep, exercising regularly, going to meetings, practicing healthy habits, and carving out time for my inner creative soul child - I ALSO want to keep YOU updated!

I don’t have the bandwidth to foster multiple content platforms.

So here we are. Join me. Stay with me.

There will be album updates. There will be musings on creative sovereignty, on healing, on addiction recovery, on poverty recovery, on my cat, on my houseplants, on how much I love my boyfriend, on how little I know about the mysteries of life, on how blessed I am that my friends are who my friends are, on how sad I am that some of the best people I’ve ever met have died too soon, on trees who hug me back …

All here.

Thanks for being here for all of it, for all of me.

Stay tuned for more album updates and life from this here Allison.

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This makes me wonder, what about emotional strength and endurance?

The emotional strength to receive a lovingly animated visit from your in-laws is very different from the emotional endurance needed to be present for a sick friend.
The emotional strength of talking through a hard thing with your partner is very different from the emotional endurance needed to show up every day to a dying democracy.

One emotion in particular seems to require both strength and endurance: Grief. And grief is a real head-scratcher.

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LOTR is such a severe and serious story, yet there are a few times throughout the trilogy where I find myself laughing at or with Gollum. Except, Gollum is one of the story’s most prominent villains. Isn’t it interesting that such a wicked character is the one providing comic relief?

Also worth noting: a villain always believes that they are the righteous hero of any tale. In LOTR, Gollum wants his ring back. It’s his. They ‘stole’ it from him.

*Perspective*

We are undoubtedly in dark times. Regardless of what side of the aisle you’re on, you can see and hear the anger, dissention, hatred, meanness, and rage. You may even feel the anger, dissention, hatred, meanness, and rage.

I do at times.

Then my cat does a zoomie with her string toy and I laugh like a seven year old, and am overcome by the wonders of her joyful little instinctive powers.

There is room for all of our emotions in this severe and serious reality we’ve found ourselves in. There is room especially for humor.

Just like the iconic theatre masks of old, we cannot have tragedy without comedy. We are currently steeped in the boiling and pernicious pot of antagonism. The only weapon, it seems to me anyways, is laughter.

I don’t know why I keep coming back to this, but it feels important. I’m not laughing at the fires, or at the wars, or at the opioid epidemic or the housing crisis. I’m laughing to remember my humanity. I may even be laughing to remember to breathe.

What, then, am I laughing at?

Myself, usually. How I’m capable of being so messy, despite my best efforts to try to be and look and present as ‘perfect.’ I think that’s why Gollum is so freakishly relatable. He is so messy, yet somewhere in there is actually a hobbit. I see his internal struggle of right versus wrong and I feel for him. It’s like, Andy Serkis’s performance (and the incredible CGI behind the scenes) gives me permission not to just sympathize with Gollum, but to put myself in his shoes.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to bite off anyone’s finger or lure my friends into an arachnid’s death den.

But the tragedy of Smeagol turning into Gollum is so human. It’s like looking at any addict and seeing the lengths they’ll go to get ahold of any amount of a fix, while witnessing their pleading eyes asking to be returned to normal.

Sympathizing with villains is not easy. And it’s not ideal. Because that usually means that we’ve been villainous ourselves.

That’s why I’d rather pretend to be perfect, as opposed to acknowledging my messy reality.

But when I am able to laugh at myself …

When I’m able to not take myself so seriously …

When I can remember to breathe …

When I can remember my humanness …

It all, just, feels a little lighter.

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Sometimes I flow.

Sometimes I trudge.

Sometimes the words joyfully bounce themselves on the page.

Sometimes the words wrestle me, scoff at me, scorn me and stay silent.

The latter is where I am at the moment.

I had a nice thought yesterday though, which helped my current state of blockage:

I don’t have to write.

I get to write.

Same goes for any creative pursuit. I don’t have to create a new song, I get to.

For now, though, I am certainly trudging up a mountain, pushing a boulder of creative expectation with all my might.
I need to write more songs. I need to be more active on Substack. I need more time for practice, more time for pages, more time for imagination. More. More. More. More. More.

Maybe there’s some truth to that though. With curiosity instead of judgment, maybe I can look inside this deficient feeling of -I need more- and try to find the essence of what is sparking it.

What comes up when I gently look inside is less more and instead: intentionality.

Setting an intentional ten minutes of practice without distraction. Creating space for intentional writing using a clear time limit. Intentional moments to myself. Intentional <fill-in-the-blank.>

Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way and healer to so many creatives suffering from blockage, offers what she calls ‘Artist Dates.’ These dates are weekly, mandatory one-on-one times with yourself and your inner artist/inner child. Cameron was so ahead of her time with the practice of nurturing one’s inner child, specifically to release creative blocks and become closer to each individual’s driving creative Source.

I used to take myself on dates religiously every week. We’d (we being my adult self and my inner little cherub artist child,) set off to a dollar store to find some stickers, a thrift store for some shiny trinkets or funky clothes, a walk in nature, a trip to the mall, a lunch date, a visit to the bookstore, a pop into a coffee shop for a sweet treat, a bowl of popcorn and a Disney movie, or whatever else might spark the little fire of my soul.

Upon reflection, it seems that my Artist Dates are what’s missing. It’s so easy to keep heaving and pushing the boulder that is called housework, errands, actual work, doom-scrolling, or self-flagellation at the lack of creative productivity, only to have it roll back down this More Mountain.

What’s really a challenge, though, is taking a holiday from the boulder to go look at sparkly snowflakes on a nature walk, or plunge my hand into a bowl of cool rocks at a hippie store.

This new year, I’ve had some words floating through my psyche. The first: collaboration. I want to try leaving the creative vacuum, and really lean into letting myself be and be vulnerable in community. Playing with others, making with others, and being part of groups that fill my cup, knowing that I too have something of value in these spaces.
The second word floating around is intentionality. This one is tricky because it requires listening without having a smart reply at the ready. Intentionality asks me to be still, patient, and open to curiosity - all things that require an abundance of faith and breath. Kindergarteners have this in abundance. Maybe not stillness…or patience, but their presence is so full of deep listening and genuine honesty and curiosity. It was really eye-opening to experience these little ones during my time as a substitute teacher, and I’m reminded of them now with thoughts of curiosity and my inner child at the forefront of my mind.

I’m curious how others go about collaboration and intentionality. Is it intrinsic? Are you naturally built to open yourself up without thinking what you might lose, or how you might suffer or get hurt as a result? Do you naturally feel safe, simply as you are? Or do you acknowledge masks within yourself, and particular defenses that you use to navigate the world?

Maybe I can let that rock go to roll roll roll down the mountain. Maybe I can look back at how far I’ve come while carrying such a heavy load, and feel the relief of letting go spring me forward with enthusiasm into collaboration and intentionality. Maybe I can watch as the boulder, tumbling down the mountain, sparks an avalanche of what is no longer serving me. I can witness in awe as the old craggy crust of staleness sloughs off as the result of letting go, and staying curious.

At the very least, I can hit up a thrift store to find some bangles.

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After the darkest night of poverty (which was a real season in my life and not so much one night,) my financial desperation shifted to solvency with the development of my house cleaning business. After months of sourcing clients, putting in hours of elbow grease and slowly getting back on my feet, I found I could look up, look out, and make a Christmas list. It was such a joy and relief to be able to buy gifts for my family. Even my extended family received some knicks and knacks. Before that, there were Christmases where I couldn’t show up because I was broke, and fearful that my family would reject me (it is bittersweet to report that my maternal side has never rejected me if my character or contributions were found wanting, although my paternal bloodline is another story.)
Regardless, having nothing (or not much) to offer, I felt like I was not much. I felt like I was lacking in worth, and therefore not allowed to receive love and the spirit of the season.

I really think it’s a miracle that I found joy and purpose in cleaning houses. Some folks have asked me, ‘Allison, you’re college educated and so talented. Why are you cleaning houses?!’ This stops me short a bit.

If you know me, you know that I don’t do a damn thing if I don’t want to. I mean, I guess I will do a thing if I have to. Like, if I absolutely must. But I’m as stubborn as a ram (an Aries ram to be precise) when it comes to this. I take the AA slogan, ‘to thine own self be true’ VERY far when it comes to not doing something if I don’t want to.

So, yes. I am college educated and I am talented (thank you for saying so,) and I clean houses because … I want to. I clean houses because it pays the bills and I get to keep some coin in my pocket. Interestingly, cleaning houses has been the one and only job I have stuck with the longest. That and playing gigs. Housecleaning creates a container for financial health that gives me the freedom to pursue the art of music making. Hot damn, it is liberating!
With housecleaning, there are no glass ceilings to break. There are no administrative hoops through which to jump. There’s no red tape, or seven-step interview process, or office gossip. There’s scrubbing and the thrum of a vacuum. There’s very happy clients. There’s unlimited podcasts and audiobooks. There is sacred and healing silence, which we are so desperately lacking as a whole. I’ve worked and reworked many a lyric in that silence of what is often meditative movement. The sparkling clean house is the cherry on top.

Now, I’m not over here drowning in cash. I still have debts that I’m slowly chipping away at, and I recently put new snow tires on credit. There’s still a lot of work to do. I’m discovering that my money mindset is a whole new entity to relating to. I am quite literally developing a new relationship with how I think about, engage with, and steward money.
The circuits that need rewiring are extensive because I was in fact broke for so long, and also because I’m healing what I believe to be generations of trauma from poverty, addiction cycles, family dysfunction, family separation, displacement, etcetera.
It’s been interesting thinking I’m poor and desolate, to be reminded that I actually have more resources now that I’ve ever had in my adult life. On top of that, there is evidence of healing and clarity in my physical body, my emotional landscape, and my mental aptitude.

I can fully testify to the power pulling myself up by my bootstraps. Yet, it is more a holistic encompassment of mind, body, spirit, community, and nature that truly and completely elevates one out of the depths of impoverishment. For impoverishment touches all aspects of the aforementioned. And while I can be as resourceful as my bootstraps are long, sooner or later my energy will fade and the laces will disintegrate.

This line from Desiderata comes to mind:

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Max Ehrmann

Keep interested in my own career however humble. It is a real possession. A possession. A treasure.

To any and all of you out there this holiday season worried that maybe it’s not enough; maybe I’m not enough. Trust me, you are exactly enough. You are perfect. Maybe you don’t have as much as you’d like to give the people you love, but if those people love you in return, your warm embrace and presence will be enough. You could even handmake a card or two with crayons, and invite your little inner children to the coloring party … or your actual children if you have those!

Extend your love and your heart to yourself, your family, your community, and the wonders of Mother Nature. The dark and cold and bleak markers of the season are necessary, and make the coming of longer days that much sweeter.

No matter your circumstances, however humble, you are a real treasure this holiday season. You are a real treasure in the changing fortunes of time.

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Desiderata: Original Text

This is the original text from the book where Desiderata was first published.

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

by Max Ehrmann ©1927

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“Recovery: The action or process of regaining possession or control of something stolen or lost.” - Oxford Dictionary

Synonyms:

• Reclamation

• Recoupment

• Repossession

• Retrieval

There was a period when my life was full of chaos, danger and destruction - with me swirling in a vacuum of active alcoholism and making choices so deplorable that they could burn the hairs off any kindhearted person - godly or not. I was lost to myself.

Then there was the poorness - being so broke that I relied on food stamps, clothing vouchers, and housing assistance just to live in the world. I was working but my expenses were too high and income too low to create balance or security in my financial realm. This was after putting down the drink. I felt like the ‘American dream’ was stolen from me.

Then, there was my fight-or-flight trauma response. Years of bolting due to a reaction - real or perceived - in an attempt to find the idea of safety. Out of all these, the trauma response had been the most isolating. Sure, drinking was destructive, but I was so blasted that reality as a whole really couldn’t affect me. Until it did. Then my poorness was my reality and the hustle became pretty distracting. But once I developed my house cleaning business and was getting on my feet financially, I found myself working alone, living alone, eating dinner alone, relaxing alone, exercising alone, etc. … and part of me craved less aloneness. But, how to feel safe out there? How to reclaim my soul in … community?

Then I started therapy. I’d tried other therapists in the past, with some success, but not quite getting to the core of my trauma response and not knowing it existed. (I feel like therapy, just like recovery, is a process and not a magic wand. Therapists are people in various stages of their own journey. Sometimes they will advance you in your healing, sometimes they will give you clues for where to go next. Sometimes the CLIENT is not ready to heal, or go deep enough to uncover the wounds that need a good scooping out of septic psychological goop. So if you’re of the mind of, ‘I tried therapy and it didn’t work for me…’ keep trying until it does.)

Anyways, I’d been working really hard just showing up to therapy each week. Just. Showing. Up.

At first I needed to make a ‘Safety Plan.’ My wounds were screaming so loud that the idea of harming myself started to sound like a viable option. So, a one-sheet of what Allison could do in case of a self-harm emergency was the top priority: who could I call, how could I breathe and ground myself and regulate my nervous system, things like that.
I worked hard in therapy to discover the wounds, hold them, treat them, wrap them, and breathe them into their right size. Therapy has helped me grow up and embrace my inner children who did their best to protect themselves (AKA me.)

Mostly, therapy has helped me access a joy of living that no other approach of recovery has. Not the 12 steps of AA (which I continue to use throughout the almost twelve years of my happy abstinence,) not an abundance of money (I can experience gratitude with funds and while scavenging in food pantries,) and especially not in self-help notions or pithy instragram quotes.

ALL of this is to say that I have worked extremely hard to recover my joy: my Goddess-given right to pleasure and happiness at being alive.

I will let nothing and no one take my joy away from me. I feel neither belligerent defiance nor fearful panic with this. I choose this mindset. It simply - is. There is a faith in there that is not mine. It is divine. For I know I cannot hold this mindset all by myself. I’d fuck it up. It comes from the Grace of the Unknown. You might call that entity ‘God.’ I do sometimes.
Regardless, this mindset comes from the healing road burn of a soul that had been dragged for miles before letting go to a notion that, maybe there’s something better, and then finding that something better.

I have felt grief and I will feel it again. I have felt despair and I will feel it again. I have felt anguish and sorrow so deep that my psyche existed in a damp and empty well for years, only to just recently climb out and experience the warmth of healing, love-filled sunshine.

I have recovered too much of my soul and self for it to be forfeited by my own inner demons or stolen from external influences.

There is little to nothing I can do about current events: political, global, environmental. But I am NOT grieving today. I am rejoicing. My heart isn’t broken. It’s whole. How?

I am getting out of the hellacious machine of cancel-culture, righteous ideologies, 24-hour news cycles, and torturous blame-games, and making choices that fill my cup.

I am living my life: happy, joyous, and free. Trying to be better. Trying to be kind. Failing. Trying again. Failing again. Making mistakes. Letting it get messy. Hating the mess. Accepting the mess.

Tradition #10: Alcoholics Anonymous has no opinion on outside issues; hence the AA name ought never be drawn into public controversy.

I am adopting this tradition like my life depends on it right now. I feel like all our lives depend on this tradition. I cannot predict the future. I cannot predict what will happen five minutes from now, especially on a global scale.

Because let’s face it, I could be dead five minutes from now. I could be shot. I could be hit by a bus. I could have a heart attack. An unhinged creep could decide that I’m the chosen one and assault me seven ways to Sunday.

Truth be told, I’m lucky to be alive. The amount of risk I put myself in from the ages of 16 to 25 … if I were a cat I’d have used up all my lives by now.

If I need to get out of the boxing ring that is social media just to be embodied in my humanness for one minute, I will do so for the rest of my life. If I need to turn off the insatiable 24 hour news cycle just to take one deeply cleansing and grounding breath, I will contentedly remain ignorant to the perils of the world. If I need to walk through some tiny pocket park to feel a connection with nature, I will find all the pocket parks amidst landscapes consumed by concrete.

We can choose what we give our energies to. We can heal from despair by RECOVERING the joy of our aliveness in this moment. At the end of the day, that’s all we have.

Did I want a woman prez? Yes. Am I going to call half of the United States population who didn’t vote for a woman prez ignorant or uneducated? Jesus, fuck. No.

Because that is the division. It’s spreading to all the nooks and crannies and aisles and sides. Can we recover our unity?

Tradition #10: Alcoholics Anonymous has no opinion on outside issues; hence the AA name ought never be drawn into public controversy.

I will be sharing a table this Thanksgiving with people who think very differently from me. Am I going to lambaste them for their opinions? The fuck? No.

Am I going to berate them? Cancel them? Humiliate them? Teach them?

Again with explosive expletives: No.

What I will do, however, is arrive with something to share, grateful for their hospitality. I will see how tall their children have grown and hear their familiar laughs and join with them in the common appreciation of the red blood cells that bind us together.

I feel strongly about this. You don’t have to. I’m so grateful for this platform that gives me permission to exude my enjoyment, which is the case today. My life is so precious, and I hope that you can find the preciousness in your life - honor it, protect it, share it if you can.

It really doesn’t matter what the Big They’s say. We are truly all in this together, and we’re all headed to the same place in the end. We are here now. Worship this moment.

Enjoy it.

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Allow yourself to reflect on what’s working, and lean into that. Ask yourself what might *not* be working, and maybe think about letting that go. And breathe.

I’m paraphrasing, but her words really hit me.

Lean into what’s working. Think about letting go of …

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My partner’s brother-in-law calls his Costco trips his time. He goes without his kids, without his spouse. It’s sacred to him. It’s his time.

Growing up, my mom would take a nap almost everyday. She’d post up on the couch in the living room, and the dog and cat would curl up with her and snooze for an hour or so. I would know never to disturb her (if it could wait.) It was her time.

Julia Cameron, author of the wildly popular Artist’s Way calls something like this an ‘Artist’s Date.’ An Artist’s Date is scheduled at least once a week, and is regularly planned time with yourself. It is sacred, vitally important, and NOT to be shared with anyone. The point is to spend quality time with yourself, specifically your inner artist and/or inner child.

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A lot of you know that I recently launched and managed a campaign to fund my next studio recording project. The fundraiser was an all-or-nothing approach, spanned thirty consecutive days and - much to my great relief - succeeded and surpassed the goal.

During this thirty day stretch of pants-on-fire self promotion, what was more difficult than asking for the money was actually receiving the money.

Once the fundraiser ended, I spent some time reflecting on my resistance to asking for and accepting financial support. The self-sufficiency of my psyche is strong and makes it viscerally hard to connect with others. This comes from both a fiercely independent spirit, and also an upbringing that required me to build an inner fortress of self-reliance. When asking innocent questions was met with mockery, I withdrew and decided to figure things out on my own. When asking for money was met with punishment and sometimes even physical harm, I vowed to ‘make it’ on my own. When the innate need for security, closeness and consistency was met with chaos, danger, and abandonment, I blamed myself for being weak, and became steadfast in pulling myself up by my bootstraps.

There is merit in entrepreneurialism. There is pride in resourcefulness. There is freedom and health in autonomy. Yet, there is disease and crippling loneliness in living solely on self propulsion.

Despite my challenging upbringing, I’ve learned that the world has soft places and gentle people. I’ve learned that not everyone wants to fight, not everything has a ‘catch,’ and not every situation has a motive. Sometimes, people just want to exist in the company of one another. This is the most foreign concept, and I can only attribute this lack of understanding to be my parents’ lack of understanding, and their parents before them: generational trauma resulting in a complete disconnect from healthy instinct, community, culture, and spirit.

« I want to go into a very long paragraph here about how I believe that many Americans, specifically white Americans (as colonizers/ancestors of colonizers) are steeped in generational violence and subsequent trauma that includes leaving a homeland and the disembodying effects of displacement; colonizing Indigenous lands and then dominating and exploiting Indigenous identities/cultures; embracing and adapting the uses of slavery and the abhorrent presence of racism in the modern world; and the exhaustive practices to remain righteous, empowered, unapologetic and unchanging in spite of the very well documented accounts of this history.
The characteristics (in my opinion) resulting from generations of abusive perpetration are increasing systemic disease, disconnection and violence - including increased gun violence; drug and alcohol addiction; violence against women, children, and animals; continued abuse and gaslighting to oppressed/marginalized communities; the belligerent inability to listen; abuse to the environment; abuse to self; cowardice, greed and corruption; and the fervent need to remain on top and in control (supremacy.)

There are no citations for my claims above. This is a blog and not a dissertation. I am not painting all white Americans with one brush, and many of us are doing the work to learn, change, help, make amends, and make reparations - whether in our individual and daily lives or on a larger and more political/societal platform. I am also not speaking on generational trauma suffered by black and brown communities, indigenous populations and other oppressed groups, as it would be wildly inappropriate for me to even try.

That side-winding digression said, the weight of self-sufficiency is expensive and brutally exhausting. I feel as though I’m healing from a lifetime of pushing people away in an effort to remain alert and stay safe from an unseen harm. The fatigue I felt after the fundraiser successfully closed was bone deep and lingers as I type. As I navigate out of the mindset of self-sufficiency (colonialism/capitalism/disease,) and into the embodied practice of receiving help (community & connection,) I reflect on the idea of culture.

What are aspects of your culture? Do you have any traditions? Did your ancestors? Who were they? Where were they from? Do you know?

Without much known culture tethering me, I’ve found culture (a sense of identity) in poverty. It’s hard to describe, but rich with knowing how a familiar hole in my sock makes a patch of exposed foot scrape against the inside of a tread-worn shoe. It’s knowing the best day to find a less crowded laundromat. It’s mustering all the courage and energy to call about food stamps and housing assistance. It’s making a brand new wardrobe out of somebody else’s old clothes. It’s integrity without a penny to one’s name. It’s the firm belief that no matter how bad it gets, we’ll somehow make it through another day. Poverty is not ideal, obviously, but our culture of convenience is so inhumane in how easily it pits us against each other, setting us apart and keeping us hungry for the next best thing. A culture of convenience commodifies our personhood, and makes people as replaceable as Tupperware.

The opposite of self-sufficiency, it seems, is connecting with others and asking for help. It means laying down the burden of appearances in order to step into our radical and vulnerable truth. It means (hopefully) receiving love, support, assistance, grace, and spirit. It means developing community. It means equality. It means belly laughter. And maybe some form of culture will emerge as a result. A ritual, a nod, a spirited centerpiece of one’s group/tribe/crew. A collective world breath.

It’s a massive relief to no longer live at the level of poverty wherein I existed not that long ago. However, the mindset of scarcity and compulsive self-sufficiency is harder to shake.

Feel free to share your traditions, rituals, and practices in the comments. I went deep with personal opinions here, and though I do firmly believe these ideas, I hope no one was harmed in my expressing them.

Thanks for being here.

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Some of you might know that I’m currently campaigning a Kickstarter Fundraiser for my next studio album. The album is a 5 song collection of original songs that dive deep into my emotional landscape, my past, my processing, my grief, my joy, the greater community, and the vast unknown of our hearts.

And …

I’m doing the thing that makes me quite possibly the most uncomfortable: I am asking for money. More to the point: I am asking for HELP in the form of monetary contributions.

I deeply dislike asking for money, and yet, here I am, asking for money. As someone very fervently clawing my way out of poverty by myself, it is humbling to ask for money. What’s more humbling is when YOU out THERE hear me and say, ‘yes, I will contribute to this creative endeavor out of pure faith and love for this person.’ Whoa.

If you can donate, any amount helps. Here’s the pitch:

Smoke, and Silk, and Memories is a collection of 5 original songs that dive deep into themes of self worth; the courage to love; holding space to honor death, dying, and the cycles of nature; and celebrating our radical existence on this beautiful and complicated planet. 

An all or nothing fundraiser means that if I reach my goal of $10k by September 9th, I will receive all the money pledged. And if not, then the money that’s pledged will go back to the donors. Click HERE to see a breakdown of expenses.

Reaching the goal means I get to record this album with peace of mind knowing that the funds are covered. It means I have money available for the recording process, merchandise, guest musicians and artist collaborators, promo/marketing, and most importantly: TIME. Time to craft a truly stunning work of art.

Please help me reach this goal. You can find the link HERE.

I cannot make this record without your help. These songs mean so much to me, and I know they will resonate with a listening audience. Please help me reach my goal by September 9th. Any amount helps. And if you can, please consider sharing this with anyone you think might enjoy a new original female folk record.

You can find me at my website HERE, on Facebook and Instagram.

I am pulling out all of the stops. I am holding space for willful and (hopefully) graceful AUDACITY, because this work is me, but it’s also bigger than me.

Thank you for reading, donating, sharing, and being part of this incredible community.

Yours,

Allison

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