There are some eccentric and unofficial rules around the "Jess is awesome!" playlist. The first is that there's usually a theme song I choose (sometimes two, if I'm feeling especially Gemini Rising). The second - and this seems to be unintentional - but there must always be one Hanson song. Luckily, they have a pretty sizeable repertoire. And third - it's not going to change after July 6th, so the songs must be selected with intention. I was struggling a bit with composing the playlist this year. but I finally put it together a couple of days before my birthday, in a fit of inspiration. Right in the nick of time. For this year, the songs are largely aspirational and motivational - the attitude and perspective I would like to embody (or am embodying) as well as ideas I would like to bring into my life this year. As you may have guessed by the title of this post, "One of the Greats" is my theme for my 39th revolution around the Sun.
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I've been pre-occupied with this idea of greatness. Or, more precisely, this intense introspection into whether or not I'm doing what I was put on this planet to do. More often than not, the answer feels like a resounding "No!" Don't get me wrong - I am really good at my mundane job. And I could probably keep climbing up the ladder indefinitely....but do I want to? True, it keeps me busy - my days are a whirlwind of bullshit that keeps me spinning from task to task. Occasionally, it gets interesting. I'm proud of the things I've accomplished. I like the people I work with (for the most part). And I love the financial stability - arguably the best part of the job (and most mundane jobs) is the salary. That being said - if I won the lottery tomorrow, I'd be out of there in a heartbeat. It's a means to an end.
The harsh reality is that purpose is pursued in the dim light of early mornings and the darkness after bedtime hugs. It's built in the span of a couple free hours on weekends and on breaks during the work day. Often it feels like toiling with no outcome - there is only The Work. Often, there is no tangible reward so you must learn to love the process. It's about the journey and not the destination. And even then, even if you love it, you can burn yourself out from the disappointment. It takes discipline and devotion, when you have nothing left to give. At which point, you just start digging out the bottom of a dry well. In theory, that's where the good stuff is anyway.
In the past - and even now - I struggle with wondering if I'm wasting my time on this. I'm no good at this writing thing, so I should give up. There's no money in it, there's too much competition, everyone is writing something - what more could I have to offer? It used to make me quite depressed and - as the huge blank spaces in the timeline of this blog can attest - unmotivated to write anything, even when I'm overflowing with inspiration. But lately, there's this little voice inside saying, "Who gives a shit?" And instead of scrolling another hour when I get those thoughts, I've been coming here or to my Scrivener projects or to one of my many notebooks....and doing the work. My mind has been so loud this year. And there's really only one way to quiet it.
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There are some songs I wish I could just shoot into my veins, they are so thoroughly in my blood when I hear them. This latest album from Florence perfectly captures where I am right now. Her albums often do that. I think it's because we're so close in age (she was born in 1986, about 10 months before me), so we're going through a lot of the same milestones at the same time. That's why I originally wanted to write a 33 1/3 book about "Ceremonials" - in my 20s, it perfectly encapsulated where I was on my journey. Recently, I realized I don't resonate with it as much anymore. Maybe I've overheard the songs too much, or maybe I just have the latest album to compare the feeling to. I still love it but in a different way. The songs on "Everybody Scream" speak of overcoming loss and grief, and I've been through a bit of that in recent years. Florence experienced a miscarriage due to an ectopic pregnancy prior to writing "Everybody Scream." She nearly died herself. I cannot begin to tell you how devastating pregnancy trauma can be. And though I haven't experienced a miscarriage myself, others in my family have gone through the pain of losing children they desperately wanted. It leaves a scar. My heart goes out to her. Art often exists as a byproduct of healing these deep, soul-sucking wounds. I want you to keep that in mind as new technology brings up questions of what the purpose of art is, who gets to be creative, the importance of the creative process, and what is art anyway. Be prepared - we are about to go on a long journey through the lyrics of "One of the Greats."
I crawled up from under the earth
Broken nails and coughing dirt
Spitting out my songs so you could sing along, oh
And with each bedraggled breath, I knew I came back from the dead
To show you how it's done, to show you what it takes
To conquer and to crucify, to become one of the greats
One of the greats
The first verse begins where many stories do - at the end. She went through a Death. This may have been her miscarriage story - in your story, it could be a loss of identity brought about by any number of things - and yet, in spite of that Death, she has to carry on. There are expectations, responsibilities, contracts she needs to fulfill. The show must go on, regardless of how she's feeling. Regardless of what she is going through. That's what it takes to be one of the greats - you keep going, even when you have nothing left in you. Yes, we state the underlying lesson at the beginning, because that's how you tell a story. The conflict and the lesson are usually co-present at the start, albeit dressed in poetic drapery.
I kept a scream inside my chest, killed everyone I'd ever kissed
Hung them on the wall like trophies, each name, a stain upon my lips
I told the truth but could never see it through
You see yourself hung on the wall but that song is not about you
I wrote down all my fumbling visions transmitted by a television
Got everything I thought I wanted and cried hungover in a hotel closet
This is, arguably, my favorite verse. It's about the creative process. One of the most amazing things about Florence is that she's very soft-spoken in interviews - at the concert we went to in May, when she would talk to the audience, she sounded so quiet and delicate. But, man, when she sang, she filled the arena. It was amazing to behold. I find that's true about a lot of artists - even myself, at times. When I was acting, I was often told it was "scary" how I could transform into the characters. I became a different person on the stage and then morph back into this quiet, shy girl when rehearsal was over. This is the magic of the creative process - it draws something out of us when we don't feel like we're able to express it in other ways. When we don't feel like we can scream, even though the emotions we're feeling are bursting out of our chest. "I told the truth but could never see it through/You see yourself hung on the wall but that song is not about you." I found myself ruminating deeply on this lyric during my daily commute this summer. It reminds me of Anne Lamott's writing advice (which I'll paraphrase) - tell the truth but change the names....for legal reasons.
What I've realized lately is The Movie Star - or The Journalist or The Poet or The Exorcist or whatever stupid name I give people to explain their place in my story - they're all just characters in my performance. They're shadows at best. The Muse has always been me. These voices in my head are mine alone. The magic flows from my thoughts and ideas, regardless of what's happening in my life. Art is a process. You hear a song or read a book, and we think it's about a certain person in the artist's life, but it's not! It's about their experience. It's about them. A prime example of this is Taylor Swift - we point to lyrics and scream it's about Jake Gyllenhaal or Joe Alwyn, but no! All her songs are about her experience, her feelings, her fears and aspirations and troubles. Except "Wood" - I'm 99% sure that's about her husband's cock. Weird choice to put on an album but I'll allow it. I'm sure I've written spicier stuff so I've no place to judge.
Did I get it right? Do I win the prize?
Do you regret bringing me back to life?
Arms outstretched, back from the dead
Streetlights bursting overhead
Arms outstretched, back from the dead
Streetlights bursting overhead
I did my best, tried to impress, my childhood dream made flesh
And my dresses and my flowering sadness, so like a woman to profit from her madness
I was only beautiful under the lights, only powerful there
Burned down at thirty-six
Why did you dig me up for this?
Moving on. They - and by they, I mean the earth-bound ancestors who have written books about writing and the creative process - say that you start putting out the best work when you don't care anymore. When you're not trying to win anything. When you don't care about the views or the money. When you've scraped the bottom of your grief and have come up empty. When you're doing it just for yourself - that's when the magic becomes unbound. I wonder if I've gotten to that point yet. Or is this the same old drivel I've always written? If it is, do I care? I paused to consider it just now and all I felt was silence. I guess that's as clear a "no" as any. The truth is I wish I could profit from my madness - I think we all do - but even if I never make a dime from my writing, I'll still be doing it. I'm burned out from trying so hard, from being so aware of what I'm putting out there - hoping it's good, hoping it's worth reading, hoping it won't be misconstrued or misinterpreted. The expectations are overwhelming, when it feels like so much of what I'm writing is just screaming into the void. And that's where I am right now - the Void. Nobody can hear me scream here, so why am I doing it? The best answer I've got is I just gotta do it.
You'll bury me again, you'll say it's all pretend
That I could never be great being held up against such male tastes
'Cause who really gets to be one of the greats, one of the greats?
But I've really done it this time, this one is all mine
I'll be up there with the man and the ten other women
And the hundred greatest records of all time
It must be nice to be a man and make boring music just because you can
Now don't get me wrong, I'm a fan
You're my second favorite frontman
And you could have me if you weren't so afraid of me
It's funny how men don't find power very sexy
So this one's for the ladies
Do I drive you crazy?
Did I get it right?
Easily one of the best bridges I've ever heard. Because who really gets to decide who becomes one of the greats? Historically, it's been men. That's not just me being radically feminist (even if I am) - every day seems to unearth another woman whose contributions to the world have been forgotten or overshadowed or even stolen by the men she worked with. The truth is, women often feel they need to be extraordinary just to hold on to what they have, because the bar is set too high in order to keep them down. I've seen it myself, being in a heavily male-dominated industry. The assumption I've most encountered in my career is I'm too timid to be a leader. And I'm not - I've shown time and time again I am outspoken and smart and have good ideas, sometimes better ideas than my male counterparts. The people I work with closely learn this pretty quick, but it's always the men (and occasionally women) two or three levels above me who have developed this false impression of who I am. That starting assumption is difficult to overcome. Recently, I've realized I've been taking on a lot of extra work at my job and the underlying reason has been to prove I'm worthy of a promotion. But I know I'm worthy of a director-level position. In many cases, I've been doing work my own managers should've been doing, advocating for things my leadership should've already been planning for - and I'm tired of burning myself out for people who have already made up their mind about me.
But the flip side of that coin is being a capable and intelligent woman means that the men you encounter who recognize your brilliance are often intimidated or even afraid of you. If I had a dollar for every man who said I scared them, I'd probably have like $10. Which doesn't sound like much but, psychologically, it takes a toll. Most women's response to this fear - including my younger self - is to make themselves smaller so others feel comfortable and safe. Dimming their light to be less frightening. Even in romantic relationships, many women worry about things like being the breadwinner or letting potential partners win at competitive games so they don't damage a fragile ego. After nearly four decades of living the female experience, I can tell you this isn't the way to go. You deserve to be seen for how beautiful and amazing you are - and if that scares some people away, the Universe is doing you a favor. It's trying to save you from the heartache of losing yourself, which is way more painful than any breakup or lost promotion could ever be.
Side note - and this absolutely will come up in the future - I love the lyric "you're my second favorite frontman." It always makes me wonder who she's talking about. I've decided it's Dave Matthews. I know I'm probably 100% wrong but it's way funnier than whoever she's actually singing about. It is now official lore. I declare it.
There are many other things I love about this song. The supernatural elements of Florence's work always excites my witchy spirit. I love the symbolism of Death and Rebirth, because Life is just a continuous cycle of Death and Rebirth. It goes without saying but I highly recommend checking out "Everybody Scream." I have quite a few favorites from this album, all of which I plan to write about throughout the rest of this year. I have the posts brewing already.
Thanks for reading my friends. If you feel called to comment, here's your question: What are you creating today?
"One of the Greats" Music Video
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