Fireflies 🧚🏼
An ode to summer [and Noah Kahan.]
Hello ITER fam!
It’s a long one—this time, with music recommendations at the end. If you want to listen to the song in this newsletter, you’ll have to scroll down!
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Now, back to our regular programming…
I was walking with my friend Stephanie in Westmount when we first saw them—little green lights flashing and dimming, swarming around the front lawns of beautiful homes. I told Steph people were creative, putting little lights in their gardens to make them magical… until we arrived in front of one of these homes.
Fireflies. A ton of them. I had never seen fireflies in my life before this moment. I knew they existed; I saw them in romantic movies where they shine their lights around a couple who’s meant to be, but never in real life. And here they were, in front of me, shining their light in Montréal.
Looking at them, I felt the urge and need to catch one. I had seen kids catch some in series or movies, so I didn’t think twice. I told Steph I needed to catch one. I went into the garden and delicately caught one. I wanted my little main character moment, too. As I opened my palms, I saw its light shine bright. Genuine joy and astonishment filled my heart.
I told Steph in a little voice that fairies surrounded us. She replied that it was magic. For the first time in a while, I was transported by the moment.
Slower times
I don’t shy away from telling people I’ve been going through a hard time. I can write with my funny voice and make unhinged listicles, but I’m still struggling. But for the first time in a while, surrounded by fireflies, I felt healing; I was walking with someone I love and care about, I was reckoning with the pain I had been carrying since being a teenager, I was actually displaying maturity and understanding towards someone going through a tough time. I was patient without being overly emotional.
But I was also highly empty, void of feelings, and tired from the emotional storm in my head until… the fireflies. The fireflies made me appreciate the moment I was in. For a minute, I forgot everything—the fears, the shame, the problems, the decisions I needed to make. I was back to my childhood, mesmerized by nature and its most exquisite performances. I was with my friend, experiencing a magical moment. I did press Stephanie to catch a firefly with her hands. I delved into the moment's happiness and slowed down my day in it.
Life passes me at a thousand miles/kilometres per hour, and I’m not sure what to make of it sometimes. Last week, I told a friend that I felt people around me had easily bought into the capitalistic routine of life: wake up, go to work, go back home, watch TV, go to sleep. I’m not sure I want to buy into this. I want to hope for something better than whatever this is.
Collective Millennial Crisis™️
I’m not the only one wishing for this. When I speak with friends—primarily millennials—I realize we’re all going through the same questions and have the same wish: to break free from a life that is more resembling a Ford Assembly Line than a great adventure. I’ve noticed people around me are tired and less patient. They’re drained, angry, worried, stressed out. My friends are all going through hardships, destroying and questioning their whole life. It’s a Saturn Return… but we are 29 to 35 years old, and usually, a Saturn Return happens around 26 to 29.
I told my therapist I didn’t understand why I was in a constant existential crisis. She looked at me and explained that the current social norms make our thirties a more crucial moment for questioning. We’re about to make the most significant decisions, so we better be sure about them. All this questioning happens when a person is 28 to 35/36 years old. She explained that it is as if the midlife crisis moved towards the thirties. I researched it and found this article written for Vox in January 2020 that answered my questions.
Why was I [or we] in a perpetual crisis?
I’ve been looking for happiness lately, and for the first time, I’m searching for it within me. I know who I am. I was alone from late 2017 to early 2021 and experimented a lot in finding the Real Me™️. If you had asked me my definition of myself recently, I would have said the following:
I’m a chaotic, cool, funny, curious, talkative, trendy, edgy, intelligent young woman who writes for a living. I can also curate great playlists and cook like no one else.
But today, in therapy, I’ve been working with the concept of myself as a multitude. All those sides come together to build a very complex person who is also extremely sensitive, emotional, and anxious and who suffers from a personality disorder (but isn’t defined by it). I’m impatient; I don’t trust easily. I always expect the worst from people. When I get hurt, I build walls around me higher than European Cathedrals built in the Renaissance. I need medication to function correctly, but I’m highly functional, extremely functional to the point it scares my doctor. I can be very intense, but I’m easily overwhelmed. I can text for hours and answer right away… and then disappear from everyone’s life for a month. I’d like to have children, but I’ve been hesitant about it recently, more than ever. I often hate looking at myself in the mirror, even if I know I am a beautiful woman — at least, I think I am, sometimes. I’m riddled with self-doubt.
My definition of myself was easy. I thought it was all someone needed to understand me. But today, this definition doesn’t mean anything. I’m so much more: a complex human being with flaws, insecurities, anxiety, and some chaos in her life—a complex human being passionate and as genuine as they can come by. And the road to happiness starts with this: acknowledging I have much more to offer than only the aspects I want to show and control to be as perfect as possible.
And maybe this starts by catching fireflies in Westmount with Stephanie, someone I love and care about, someone who makes me want to be a better person, someone I look up to.
Oh, I worry for the time I spent worrying alone 🎶
Stomp and Holler has made a comeback in the past year. It pains me to say it, but we are back to the HO HEY! times of music and… it’s not fun. So, when someone told me Noah Kahan does stomp-and-holler music, I nearly wanted to Sylvia Plath myself between the dry and wet mix — a reference to… you understand what. This being said I’m not ashamed of listening to Kahan.
I don’t hide my love for the man. He’s a great composer and a fantastic writer. His voice is particular and charming. And he has no shame tackling mental health through his music. I’ve been going through his entire discography lately. Sometimes, music feels like a big blanket that warms you up. Noah Kahan’s music is my warm blanket right now.
I’ve been stuck on Cape Elizabeth, his 2020 EP released amid the pandemic. It's a beautiful work of music in the most intimate and vulnerable way, and it just feels right to me at this very moment in my summer. And while listening to Cape Elizabeth on repeat — and really wanting to go and spend a week in a secluded cottage in Maine next to the sea — I’ve found A Troubled Mind to be incredibly soothing. While the subject of the song (anxiety and depression) is exceptionally harrowing, he delivers it with a calming energy. I’ve been listening and alternating between those two versions for the past few weeks, on repeat. It makes me feel less alone in the overthinking thunderstorm in my head. It makes me feel less self-conscious, and yes, it makes me cry cause it’s exactly how I’ve been feeling lately.
(I really like the version with his brother. You can hear their mom encouraging them, and it’s sung at a faster pace, which gives an interesting take on it.)
I saw Noah Kahan back in April at the Bell Centre, and I’ll see him again at Osheaga in August. I might also have a chance to see him in Vermont in September — if I get through the waitlist. Right now, like the fireflies, Noah Kahan makes me feel better. I can take my medication and pour my feelings to my therapist, and I know someone sings about having done the same thing over and over again.
It feels like someone sees me as I see them.
Conclusion et Fin
My newsletters have been long lately. I want to apologize for this. I won’t. They come straight from the heart, from reflections I’ve been having, and I have a blast writing them every time.
I want to thank Steph for allowing me to write about her in this newsletter. You’re an extraordinary friend. With you, I can be myself without judgment or shame. Thank you for loving me how I am.
And as for the rest, on se revoit bientôt.
-xo
The Stomp and Holler revival is something I was not expecting to happen at all, let alone gain traction.