Hitting The Reset Button
To refresh and restart all over again.
On August 2, in a crowd watching Noah Kahan sing his most depressive songs at Osheaga, my eyes were filled with tears.
Don’t worry. This won’t be another piece about Noah Kahan and how much his music means to me. It does mean a lot — I’ve bought one of these celebrity prayer candles with his face on it. I’m a sucker for fake catholic lore. — but I don’t want to talk about this. No.
Music has been the main focus of my writing for the past few years. I wrote features, incredible portraits about inspiring people in the industry, and album reviews. I met fantastic people driven by passion and love for their art. For a while, covering music was a dream come true—until it wasn’t. After a couple of bad experiences, a low pay grade for the effort put into the piece, and a desire to report on the industry differently — read here keep it accountable — I just gave up. I stopped reporting on something that made me feel alive.
Then came the exhaustion, the existential crisis, the questioning, the doubts. My writing dwindled to… next to nothing or very depressing content—which I don’t hate per sé, but sometimes I can be very heavy.
I talked with my friend and ex-editor, Matt, about it. They just finished writing a book—I’m super proud of them—and we went back to the subject of writing. How can we take the time to write with full-time jobs?! We have to earn a living, something music journalism doesn’t offer to most — if not all. While Matt was looking forward to his writing break, I reluctantly accepted that I had maybe come to need one, too.
My identity is intricately tied to my passion. I’m a writer, first and foremost. I thread words on a spinning wheel, making stories people relate to. I’ve always done so, but lately, I have pondered what I want to write. What stories do I want to bring to life?
I haven’t written poetry or fiction in a while. I cannot find the right words or the right inspiration. I have a story I really want to tell, but I cannot find the proper flow of sentences to put it on paper. I have a clear vision of my characters and their narrative, but I’m currently struggling to muster the creative energy required to give their story the vibrant story it deserves. As I am trying to find a way to write, I lose myself in details, I become unfocused… My writing feels uninspired.
Until, well, the Osheaga Friday. While listening to Noah Kahan — and I’m calling it right now. He will DOMINATE my 2024 Spotify Wrapped — I finally understood what connected me to his lyrics.
The relatable stories and feelings. The unfiltered depression and anxiety he shares through his lyrics. I realized I was doing the same. I have slowly shifted from fiction to non-fiction. I started as a music journalist and slowly became a columnist until I shifted completely towards essays about my reality as a young woman, a young millennial, a young professional, a writer and a human living in a burning world — and so are we [burning], baby!
I thought the current autofiction trend in fiction was a fad. People wrote about relationships, failed connections, situationships, their lives, being single, being in relationships, being… themselves. But wasn’t this what we were looking for? A tangible proof that we aren’t alone in living those missed connections, these heartbreaks, these hardships? We keep searching for this little sentence, this little whisper in books, songs that will validate our experience.
No, I didn’t imagine all of this. No, I am not alone in this. No, I didn’t do anything wrong.
And this might be why I love music. It mixes sound, colours, and poetry to make those experiences relatable. Because music is autofiction, it validates your experience. You are not alone.
And it all came back this week, listening to Mannequin Pussy — also at Osheaga on Friday — on a weekday. Those simple lyrics.1
I know four, five, six, seven ways to get ahead
But I wouldn't know how to get you into my bed
There are three little words
That I wish I had said
But I wouldn't tell you
No, I couldn't tell you
I know a lot of things
I know a lot of things
But I don't know you
Or again, these lyrics by BETWEEN FRIENDS, a band whose members are siblings — don’t sing about love and hooking up with your siblings; it’s weird.2
Is it reciprocated?
I can never get you out my head
Is it okay that you're fucking with me once again?
Is it reciprocated?
I can never get you out my head
Even Phoebe Bridgers has very relatable poetic lyrics.3
The doctor put her hands over my liver
She told me my resentment's getting smaller
No, I'm not afraid of hard work
I get everything I want
I have everything I wanted
If I accept how music draws inspiration from everyday life, I can accept my writing drawing its inspiration from my life.
Listening to Haley Jakobson
I went to Pulp Books in Verdun for Haley Jakobson’s book tour — y’all should get her novel, Old Enough. Jakobson talked about her book, her inspiration and writing process and said something that hit me.
“I don’t want to be a literary author. I’m fine with being a New Adult author.”
When she cited Mary H.K. Choi—another favourite author of mine—as her inspiration, I understood how I was limiting my writing because I was scared of being deemed too superficial, too dull, and too focused on relationships rather than… something else. Jakobson wasn’t afraid of showing her colours or writing to everyone, even those who did not like it. She is herself, offering shamelessly a piece of her to the world. And they were hooked to her lips, to what she had to say. And I was, too.
I looked around me, wanting to notice who was at Pulp. My friend Gabrielle was there with She’she’s been so present this summer for me; having someone I can rely on is magical. Despina, my beautician who became a cherished friend, was here with her partner, the beautiful and calming Fern. Someone told me I had beautiful hair. Others complimented the vest I was wearing and told me I looked good. I waved hi to my friend Ennie, who works at Pulp, and Alex, the bookshop owner. My people were surrounding me.
Jakobson attracted my people—the people I want to be around. Her writing brought us together. It didn’t need to be deemed acceptable fiction by the literary intelligentsia; it just needed to reach the right people. And her writing reaches the most beautiful ones.
I want to do the same. I want to attract people with my writing, help them identify with these experiences, and make them feel seen and heard through my stories. Understood. I do not want to write anything other than what I want to write. My writing is raw and profound. It is authentic. It is and should be an truthful reflection of who I am.
For the past three weeks, I’ve known that something in me has changed, as if I hit a reset button on myself. My perspective is slowly changing. My therapist says that it is as if I decided not to listen to the noise around me anymore. I believe she is right. I’ve been in the depths of a significant depression all summer. I’ve spent my summer inside my apartment, sleeping and crying. My antidepressant dosage was increased by a lot. I go to therapy every week. I avoid people and keep those who make me feel good closer. I eat what I feel like eating. I barely cook. I sleep on my sofa. But I felt good at Pulp for the first time in a while. I looked around me and saw pure joy coming from people.
Despina and her partner stopped me before I left with Gabrielle. Despina told her partner I was the one who made her discover Big Thief’s Simulation Swarm4. Her partner looked at me, her eyes filled with a feeling I could not describe. I could only understand exactly what she felt towards the song. The three of us shared something intimate only by looking at each other, knowing what the song meant to us.
With a warm gush, now I wanna touch
Like we never could before
I'd fly to you tomorrow, I'm not fighting in this war
I wanna drop my arms and take your arms
And walk you to the shore
As tears filled my eyes, my heart expanded exponentially to receive their love. I told myself silently…
I wanna drop my arms and take your arms
And walk you to the shore
I’ve hit the reset button. After drifting for a while, she’s back inside of me. She’s not leaving me for a while.
Thank you for reading me. And thank you to everyone who was reading me this summer as I was battling major depression. I’m close to making it to the other side of it all. I’m grateful for your support.
I’m happy you are here. I welcome you with open arms.
Until next time,
-xo
Mannequin PussyDon’ton’t Know You:
BETWEEN FRIENDS; Pleasure Delayer:
Phoebe Bridgers; Garden Song:
Big Thief; Simulation Swarm