From Hair Bands to Headbands: My Civilized Concert Era

It has been an interesting few days, to say the least. But I did manage a little escape for a change of scenery, which included something I hadn’t done in a long time: going to see one of my favorite bands. And when I say favorite, I mean probably my favorite, because, let’s be honest, at this stage of life I’m not sure we’re allowed to have just one. Everything has an asterisk now.

Here’s the thing, I’ve been to plenty of concerts in recent years, mostly tagging along to shows I didn’t actually pick. And sure, I’ve had fun... local bands, community events, the usual “on the reg” entertainment. But this time? This was my pick. My music. My thing. And let me tell you, the hype was real. Add to that a beautiful fall Friday evening in Charleston with clear skies, a light breeze coming off the water and it was just pretty close to perfect.

But then I started people-watching (because that is what I do), and y’all…I was shook. Literally shook.

Let me just preface this by saying I don’t know how much of this was the “Charleston Effect” which if you don't know is that mystical Lowcountry magic that makes everything look prettier, smell better, and feel like it belongs in a Nancy Meyers movie even in a sold-out stadium. But everyone at this concert was stunning. Like, effortlessly stylish. Tasteful. Polished. Think: breezy linen dresses, cool sneakers, understated jewelry.

Meanwhile, flash back to my concert-going years? We wore less clothing, more makeup, and had twice the hair. Teased bangs that could block a view from the mezzanine. And hydration? Please. The only liquid available then was beer in a plastic cup, and water bottles weren’t even a thing. Speaking of options, can we talk about the FOOD situation, that was there was even a food situation? At this concert, there were vendors serving real food! Food that made me wish I had waited to eat there. Back in my day, it was nothing but lukewarm beer and a $25 t-shirt. 

And the civility! There was no smoking, no vaping, no clouds of “mystery smoke” floating through the crowd. People were polite. Respectful. Practically ready to write thank-you notes to the band on Crane stationery.

The contrast was jarring. Back then, we were savages. Literal beasts with Aqua Net. And here I was, sipping a water bottle (without a lid, because you aren't allowed the lid???)  under lights with the nicest people who looked like they were auditioning for a J.Crew catalog...and we talked to each other through the entire concert.  Did I mention I could actually hear fine after?  Back in the day...after a concert, I was still praying days later that my hearing would return.  

Embarrassed for my younger self? Maybe just a smidge. But on the bright side, I think I left that concert with at least eight new couples to add to my Christmas card list.

Who knew rock and roll could be so…gracious?

Something is Wrong...

 This one is a deep one.  

This is probably the biggest example of why I keep this blog a float, just to share my thoughts in a vacuum.  There are some days, I wake up and feel like I’m suffocating in a life that looks perfectly fine from the outside.

I have responsibilities. People depend on me. I show up. I check the boxes. I say "I'm good" when someone asks how I am. And technically, I am. I'm functioning. I'm doing the things I’m supposed to do. But inside? I feel trapped. Emotionally locked in a version of myself I don’t recognize anymore.

Yeah, I know the answer... "go to therapy", but I have and I spent a lot of time working through things and healing and learning to let go. It seems I have become so proficient at letting go that I can't grab hold anymore.  I have learned so well to numb it out and accept "it is what it is" and I just long for connection...real connection, deep connection.  

I don't know exactly when it started, maybe it’s been building for years. Maybe I didn’t notice it because I was so busy being busy, trying to not look at the emptiness that I keep pushed down so very well. Somewhere along the line, I lost touch with myself.

I look in the mirror and I don’t always recognize the person staring back. Not just in a physical way, but in the sense of: Where did I go? There’s a dullness to everything lately. A flatness. And I hate that I can’t just “snap out of it.”

I keep asking myself: What is this? Is this a midlife crisis? Is this what they talk about in books and articles, the sudden realization that life isn’t unfolding the way you thought it would? Or is it hormonal, a hideous betrayal of my body shifting under me, messing with my energy, my sleep, my moods? Or is it something deeper? A spiritual exhaustion. A quiet grief for the parts of me I neglected for too long.

The truth is, I don’t know.

On paper, I have a lot to be grateful for. But that’s the thing about emotional pain, it doesn’t wait for permission. It doesn’t care how good your life looks on the outside. It shows up anyway.

And when people say, “But you have so much to be thankful for,” I just nod. I don’t have the energy to explain that gratitude doesn’t cancel out emptiness.

I miss feeling alive. I miss passion. I miss the version of me who dreamed, who created, who laughed until she cried. Now I just go through the motions, hoping one day something will shift.

It is funny but I have never been much of a crier.  Now, I wish I could cry....a raw, heaving, full on ugly cry. The sadness is there. The ache is there. But it’s like there’s a wall inside me I can’t get past. I don’t want to blow up my life. I’m not looking for some reckless escape. I just want to feel something real again. I want to cry, not out of despair, but as a release... as proof that there’s still something soft and human inside me.

Happy Birthday Baby Boy!

 

Birthdays are funny things when your children are grown. They still carry the same joy and wonder they did when our little ones were blowing out candles over a mess of frosting, but they also bring a quiet feeling that I can't quite name...an awareness of  how quickly the years slip through our fingers.

Today, my baby boy celebrates another year of life. And while I am endlessly proud of the man he is becoming, my heart can’t help but drift back to the days when his hands were small enough to wrap around just one of my fingers, when his laughter filled the house in that carefree, boyish way that only childhood allows.

There is such sweetness in watching him grow into himself...seeing his confidence, his choices, and his passions take shape. But there is also a pang of longing for the days that feel like they ended too soon: the ball games, the school mornings, the nights he wanted to talk for hours starting at 11:00 PM.

That’s the bittersweet truth of motherhood. We raise our children to be independent, strong, and capable, yet we can’t help but miss the days when they needed us for everything. A birthday, especially, is a reminder of both, the celebration of who they are now and the memory of who they once were.

So today, I celebrate my son with all the love and pride my heart can hold. I also quietly honor the little baby who made his depute today, all those years ago, who still lives in every smile, every hug, and every memory.

Happy birthday, my baby boy. No matter how many years pass, you’ll always carry that title with me.

Keep the Memories Lose the Stuff by Matt Paxton

 I know, reading a book about decluttering, downsizing, and organizing your stuff probably sounds like the most thrilling way to spend an evening, right? 

 Recently, I picked up Matt Paxton’s Keep the Memories, Lose the Stuff, and it really resonated with me big time. If Matt’s name rings a bell, it’s likely because of the TV show Hoarders. I was both obsessed with and stressed out by that show. It made me anxious just watching it, but it also could turn me into a cleaning machine. I could toss all the things with that show playing in the background. It freaked me out worrying, "Am I on the road to hoarding?"

Ironically, I started reading Paxton’s book while staying with my elderly parents for a few weeks. One had recently had an accident, and both were dealing with mobility issues. Let’s just say the timing of this book was... uncanny. It hit hard.

Right now, I am in a season of life where I am reevaluating what truly deserves my time and energy. I’ve realized that I have a deep emotional response to “stuff”...sometimes pleasant, but often stressful. Clutter is loud to me. Not in a literal sense, but emotionally. It overwhelms me. Spending that time with my parents brought p a lot of old feelings, memories, some unresolved from childhood. But I’ve learned that when I understand the “why" behind my emotions, I can begin to manage them. And more importantly, I can give myself permission to stop accepting things, physical or emotionally, that cause anxiety.

So how does all of this tie back to the book? That’s exactly what makes Paxton’s book so impactful. It goes beyond the surface and digs into why letting go of stuff is so hard. It’s not laziness. For most people, it’s emotional...grief, guilt, memories, identity, and sometimes mental health struggles. This book doesn’t shame or pressure. It offers understanding, insight, and practical steps.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed by your own clutter, or that of a loved one, I would say grab a copy or download the audio version. It’s not just about organizing. It’s about finding clarity, healing, and maybe even a little peace

Remember to support small and shop independent book stores. 

Get a copy here: https://tinyurl.com/36eurd3r