In Light of Recent Events...

A tribute to Sheryl Crow, (and all the lovers this Pride Month.)

It’s been a decade since I ended my last relationship. My ex and I spent five years together, (on and off), had a band, wrote and performed a lot of great music, but ultimately, he wasn’t for me. Over the past ten years, I’ve dated here and there, fell in love again - though it was unrequited - and between losing two men who I thought were my forever persons, my parents’ divorce, a sometimes prosperous but more often rocky career, and fighting to save my soul in the midst of a country losing its own, I took time to figure myself out. To slow down. To practice self-compassion. To grieve the career I’d never had and always wanted. To grieve the family I thought I had but would be no more. I’ve been unlearning how to protect everyone else at the expense of my wellbeing and truth. I’ve been a mother without having birthed a single child.

Ten years single is a long time. It’s enough time to get to know yourself, to learn to rely only on yourself, and to know the value of having someone to love besides yourself. Still, I wasn’t about to settle. I never plan to. Not in career, not in love, not in friendships. The only downside is that when your standards are high, if others don’t want to meet them, you may find yourself alone more often. Recently, I reconnected with a long-lost friend I knew in freshman year of high school. The moment I received his follow on Instagram, I felt something visceral in me awaken. I felt excited. Curious. Warm.

He’d asked if I was still living in Nashville because he was going to visit soon, but I told him I was in the process of moving to Austin. He said he needed to get down there too, as he has friends who live here. He asked if it would be weird to take me to dinner if he were to visit, and I said, “Not at all! I’d love to.” I don’t remember a lot of meaningful details of freshman year together, but I remember having a little crush on this man. I thought he was cute, I liked that he was a wrestler - something different than all the football players than the other popular guys in my little Texas town. And I just remember him being… normal. Down to Earth. Like me.

We’ve been seeing each other for the past few months now. He came to visit and we both fell hard and fast. It had been nineteen years since we’d seen each other. This entire thing is such a trip to me. I’ve lived multiple lives since then. The last couple weeks, this song, “Strong Enough” by Sheryl Crow has been circulating in my head. I listened to it the other day and I just started crying. The song is coming up for me for obvious reasons now. But what I was surprised by when I put the song on was how it was hitting me; the rawness and clarity of the production. The vulnerability in Sheryl’s voice. I also felt so acutely the passage of my life. That song was a huge hit in the early 90’s. I was, like, 5. It was like being transported back to that moment not only in my young life, but also Sheryl’s.

An overwhelming wave of reverence for Sheryl flooded over me, listening to the first few measures of “Strong Enough”. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how deep those feelings of connection and love to the artists we listen to really go until we’ve had some time away. I think about how honest, and true, and raw recordings used to be. How imperfect, and yet perfect in their own way because of their unique quirks that cannot be recreated or duplicated. The capturing of a moment. The very first guitar tone on that record alone snapped me back to an entire world that I no longer belong to. A world where my family was whole. A world where I didn’t need to perform to feel seen or loved. A world where little houses and little moments and little milestones were enough. A world with real faces, that moved. A world without smartphones. A world where identity wasn’t a cause for violence. I hear the first few measures and I’m suddenly acutely aware that all my life I’ve been a witness to the becoming of this incredible artist, Sheryl Crow. And what a gift it is to bear witness to the art of another human being. All of these feelings and insights… from listening to just a measure or two. That is the power of music.

I set out to make a simple video to this song, but rather than record a cover that could never outshine the original, I wanted to sing to Sheryl’s timeless recording of “Strong Enough”. Seeing myself on camera, without filters - or fillers - makeup, and perfectly coiffed hair, was harder than I thought it’d be. You think you’ve done the work until you look at yourself in hi-def up close and personal. And crying. It’s funny, I’m more accepting of my true self than I’ve been in many years, but my mind’s still been trained by the algorithms to focus on my imperfections and compare myself to the highly con$tructed faces I see on Instagram every day.

Which is why we need art. Even if it’s something as simple as a lip-synced video. If it’s cathartic in any way, if it allows you to communicate something true, it’s worth making. There is no truer reflection than art. And while we as artists always strive for excellence, may we never forget the elegance of simplicity. And the value of vulnerability. Of cracking open. Of being seen in our truth.