The Sounds She Collected is a newsletter about mixtapes and mixed emotions. Thanks for being part of this hive mind for empathetic, hopeful people.
I recently went for a walk on a surprisingly balmy day. Multicolored leaves crunched beneath my feet, delicate and easily breakable. I reached the curb and paused as I saw gentle movements out of the corner of my eye. A small coyote made its way at a steady, creeping pace. It passed by undetected. It was alone.
It seems that most people I talk to right now are feeling some sort of heaviness, a solitude as this year winds down. A need to turn inward, to go out on one’s own. A desire for increased alone time, a sense of not being the most okay we’ve ever been. It’s understandable after the past two years.
Which brings me to, “How are you?”
A singular question during the holiday season that really has the power to mess with our heads. When we’re at our best, it’s a generous opportunity to share. When we’re not, it’s a tricky question that asks so much of us.
Does the question-asker want to know that I was absolutely wrecked by last week’s lunar eclipse as a Taurus moon? That I am just emerging from a period of intense burnout? That this year felt mentally difficult in a way I cannot tangibly describe? That I am actually doing okay, even if it’s different from what I would have previously judged as okay?
I wonder what would happen if we answered this question with more candor. If, instead of chirping, “Fine!” and promptly moving on, we sit with the discomfort of where we really are in that moment. And let someone hold that for us.
Turning inward is a natural defense mechanism for me. To jump into periods of deep rest before I can reemerge. I recently had this reflected back to me in Katherine May’s book Wintering, in which she discusses how the embrace of these times can lead us to a more resilient becoming.
“Wintering” means at its essence, “to survive the winter.” I love the slow spell that winter brings about. Every year, as the chill descends on Chicago, the bare trees become coated with snow, the silence outside becomes a magical hush, and I turn inward.
In this solitude, I am constantly reminded that there is a difference between being alone and feeling lonely. I recently read a quote by Chicago writer Claire Bushey on loneliness during the pandemic:
“Lonely as a cloud?” she wrote. “I am as lonely as an iceberg, an egg, a half carafe of wine. I am lonely as the body is hungry three times a day, hollowed again and again by an ache that does not ease except with the sustenance of connection.”
I can feel this sentiment deep in my bones. I’ve known loneliness. While I am not feeling lonely as I did during the depths of 2020, I am feeling the need to be alone, like the coyote ambling on its path. And the distinction feels palpable and even good. It is okay to feel this. To take time for yourself to process what you’ve experienced on a deep level.
“How are you?” takes on a different meaning with just a simple switch to, “Are you alright?” Legendary folk rocker Lucinda Williams wrote this song about her brother. They hadn’t spoken in years, and this was one of three songs she wrote to try and bridge the void. For me, this song always epitomizes the real meaning beyond sentiments like, “How are you?” The bland answers don’t matter. “Are you sleeping through the night? Do you have someone to hold you tight? Do you have someone to hang out with?” are the questions that do.
In this time of solitude, I listen to music that bears witness to the range of emotions in the human experience. So this week, I’ve compiled a playlist of songs that can connect you to yourself. It’s longer than the standard 30 songs, because I want to show my gratitude for all you readers who make me so happy by listening to this music, sharing it with others, and continuing the conversation with me. I wish you a peaceful, love-filled week, whatever your celebrations may be.
Take good care,
Sarah
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Something to remember: “The turkey. The sweet potatoes. The stuffing. The pumpkin pie. Is there anything else we all can agree so vehemently about?” —Nora Ephron