Rootbound

Human Gatherings, Books, Spiritual Itches and Seam Rippers

I’m hoping to keep my tangents brief today, so I’ll start with the topics I’m hoping to discuss:

• The magic of gathering (not to be confused with Magic the Gathering — a game played by many thoughtful humans).

• Books! Check’em out!

  • Soul Boom — Rainn Wilson

  • Caste — Isabel Wilkerson

  • The Island of Missing Trees — Elif Shafak

• Trying to name a spiritual itch

So off we go!

Gathering

We humans gather for many reasons, across the spectrum from joy to sorrow, creation to destruction: marriages, birthdays, funerals, holidays, new things (babies, homes), graduations, jobs, protests, battles, sports, and so on. I’ve said before, gathering is what I missed the most in the pandemic. I’m the type of human who likes to gather, and therefore often generalize that we humans are social creatures. It’s a spectrum, and not all people like to gather, but as a species, it’s kind of our thing. Like bees in a hive, dandelions in the soil, mycelium below ground, ants in a hill — we create a community.

When we’re joyful, we want to be around others who will celebrate that joy. During loss and sorrow, we seek comfort and solace from our community of friends, family, important people to reminisce and, maybe, plant seeds of hope that it will hurt less someday. We celebrate each other’s achievements, we work together toward common goals, and many times those activities are in the best interest of the common good. Others, not so much (those gatherings have got enough attention in the media right now, so I’m keeping it light today, folks).

I’ve had many moments of gathering in the last few years that have felt — for lack of a better word — other-worldly. I try to name the good feeling — joyful, ecstatic, spiritual-high — and nothing seems to hit the nail on the head. It all feels like a finger pointing, and a brain trying to describe in words. It’s inadequate, but it’s (so far) my greatest tool — words. Art comes in many forms, and I believe it’s often we humans seeking to describe a feeling (good, bad, or other) that resonates.

I had the opportunity to bring my 1st grader to a show last night. A concert. Not just a concert — a couple of my favorite local bands from high school were playing at The Metro in Chicago. You may have already read about how much I love music in my latest post (spoiler alert — live music is my jam. Church-like, you could say).

Hush Up When the Band is Playing

We went to see The Dog and Everything and Lucky Boys Confusion (I shared an LBC song in my last post and here’s Arizona Stand for your enjoyment today):

The Dog and Everything — the diggety D&E — is summed up for me in the song Hey Luv:

These bands, their music, and the shows I attended — magic. From a boombox on the seat of my 1990 Honda Accord to streaming on whatever service the internet could come up with, these guys have been with me (in the form of their music) for a lot of my life. Like… more than half of it. Weird.

Last night, I got to bring my son to their show. He got to see the city of Chicago from afar and within, enjoying the sites as we circled The Loop, crossed a bridge over the river, waved at Wrigley Field, and parked right across the street from the Metro for a whopping $20. We were in Wrigleyville immediately following a Cubs win, and the people around us were electric. (It’s that feeling I’m struggling to name, again. THAT feeling). Our tickets and bodies were scanned, my bag was searched, and our wrists were stamped with a big black M (or W - WoW MoM - Go, Cubs, Go!) when we arrived at The Metro.

In we went!

I was buzzing with excitement, yet I could feel my son’s energy change as we entered. The exhilaration of the unknown settled into the reality of adult-sized crowds of people in a noisy, echoey, clangy venue with three floors and dim lighting. There were a few kids with their awesome parents, but wearing ear protection makes it hard (impossible) to hold a conversation or even hear yourself clapping for the artists on stage. He enjoyed a pink pineapple juice while we watched/listened to the opening band: Take the Reins. And guys, I gotta tell you. Guys. GUYS!!! YOUS GUYS, LISTEN UP!! Take the Reins was new to me last night, and holy moly were they incredible. Their presence, power, energy. MAGIC.

I felt like I was living in the movie 10 Things I Hate About You, and I was somehow seeing my favorite band on the roof of my school. An itch I didn’t know I had. It felt so good to get it scratched. They were so good.

Simultaneously, and for the first time, I was seeing a live concert with fresh eyes. Young ears that weren’t familiar with the atmosphere. A brain that hadn’t yet been exposed to this level of effervescence. I let myself notice the overwhelming nature of the beast.

When the first set ended, my son said “I’m ready to go home”. We took off our ear protection and talked about it. I asked if he’d be okay to stay for the next band so I could catch a bit of one of the bands I came to see. He said sure, then we wandered around to check out the view from the floor while the next band set-up. He said he liked the view better from the floor instead of the balcony, and also said “I’m cold and I want to go home”. I understood the feeling. In spite of the comfortable temperature in the venue, and the sweatshirt he was wearing, I knew the type of “cold” he meant. Spiritually chilly. No amount of blankets will warm the coldness in your chest when you’re uncomfortable (anxious?) and want to go home.

Having fun takes two “yesses”, leaving needs one “no”.

So we made our way to the exit.

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We stopped by the merch room on the way out so we could get the LBC album Stormchasers on vinyl and a thing or two from the other bands. We ended up having a really cool experience at the merch tables! Katie at the LBC table was super friendly and seemed to understand our predicament with no explanation at all. Todd at the Take the Reins table was also so unbelievably nice (also, I recognize him in the video I shared above just now!). We got stickers, buttons, a record, and a hat that my son wore the rest of last night and is currently wearing as I write this. (Incidentally, I asked Todd where Take the Reins is from, and he said the Western Suburbs — same as us!!). And oh my word, The Dog and Everything — not only did we get two CDs and a sticker, but Augie, Dan, and the guys each came to sign the liner and we took a special picture together.

My teenage heart was and is overflowing.

And then we left. Snapped a quick picture of my kid in his hat under the marquee, then got back to our car where the lady monitoring the lot gave me some money back without me asking. What?! She was like, “oh you’re leaving already? Here” and she gave me a pile of singles. Where was I that I got a refund on parking in Chicago??!! (For those unfamiliar, this is not usual).

I went in with minimal expectations. I brought a 6-year-old to a gig that was an hour from our house in an unfamiliar place with every sensation on full blast. I’m beyond pleased with what we got, and am so proud that he used his words to tell me what he needed. As his mom, I knew exactly what to do. And we had a fucking blast! I’m filled with gratitude.

Books

You may be thinking, “Jessie, how can you possibly transition from rambling about a concert to a tangent about books?”. Well, dear reader, here’s how!

I dabble in several books at once. Like a buffet, I like to change up the flavor regularly, and when I love something I gobble it up. I’m currently munching on the books listed above, and each is scratching a different itch.

The Island of Missing Trees — Elif Shafak: Similar to her book The Forty Rules of Love, Elif Shafak is weaving a tale of past with present. Demonstrating the recurring cycles of human behavior. And also helping expand my empathy and compassion for THEM, whoever THEY are. It’s fiction, but it doesn’t feel that way.

Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents — Isabel Wilkerson: I do not feel I can speak to the injustices in our country sufficiently, and at this time am listening and trying to become informed. A few books/conversations led me here, including Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates, Dancing in the Darkness by Otis Moss III, and We Know in Our Bones that Things are Harder Than They Have to Be with Krista Tippet and Isabel Wilkerson. This audiobook is creating new neural pathways on how I think about the of power in our country.

Finally, Soul Boom: Why We Need a Spiritual Revolution — Rainn Wilson: It’s happening. Someone has begun to name this feeling in my gut. It’s a brain tickle. A scratch on an un-nameable itch. The author (a known actor if you’ve seen the movie Juno or the show The Office) is very engaged in conversations online via the Soul Boom Instagram and website. And this is a nudge in the direction of community that I’ve been seeking. I’m into it.

These books are on my mind when I’m enjoying experiences with my family, making my way through a project at work, teaching, and learning. I look forward to future conversations about any of these three books. Please, and thank you.

Onto our last topic:

Itches Get Stitches

I’m repeating myself here, but all of this art is helping scratch a spiritual itch that I’m struggling to name. I want to name it, because then I can talk about it. If I name the bands, venues, or books above, eventually someone might say, “Oh yeah, I love/hate/don’t know that one”. For spiritual stuff, I could say to someone, “I’m looking to improve my ___”, and then they could direct me. But I don’t have a WORD for this feeling.

For example, if I wanted to become more physically fit, I might say “I’m looking to get moving and eat more nourishing food. Can you point the way?”. If I was struggling with depression, I could say “my mood is very low, I have little interest or pleasure in doing things, what should I do?” and then I could be directed to a doctor or therapist who would help me navigate those murky waters.

Spiritual needs are tricky. Religious institutions have rules, beliefs, and hierarchies that I don’t always resonate with me. Finding secular spiritual medicine has got me thinking the same. They all seem to be based around a shared belief system with sets of rules. I haven’t found the box I fit in. I’ve found bits in each box that resonate with me, but haven’t found my box. I’m comfortably, patiently seeking. In that, I’ve found a way to describe the way this feels.

I have been Spiritually Rootbound.

It happens with sewing and gardening. In machine sewing, the thread can get caught and bunched up in a wild messy tangle. The only way to fix it is with a sharp object — scissors or a seam-ripper. You just gotta cut that shit out. Snip or rip, and get all that messy thread out of the way. This analogy gets close to what I was feeling, but gardening was warmer.

Potted plants need the proper size of container, mix of soil, amount of water and light. As they visibly grow stems and leaves, they are also developing roots down below. I have spider plants that were a gift from a long-lost friend (turns out, cats love to eat yummy spider plants and hallucinate a bit). Though the leaves get nibbled regularly, there’s still a lot happening out of sight. As the roots grow, they get all wound up in tight balls and eventually require repotting and their roots need to be unbound. To do this, the tactful gardener digs their fingers into the middle of soil and roots, pulling/twisting to break apart the knot within. Unlike a seam-ripper, which is used to carefully remove every strand of thread, unbinding the roots is a bit traumatic. The roots have to be torn, severed, in order to expand in the new, bigger container. If the hands are too aggressive, the plant dies. Some spider plant leaves are sacrificed in love to my cat, and bits of the roots are sacrificed for the survival of the plant. (I hope I’m describing this in the magical way it’s felt).

I’ve had to to let some of the old story go.

Sometime between last year and now, I feel like I’ve been repotted. I didn’t realize I was rootbound. I don’t know what I need next. But I’m situated, I’m safe, I’m comfortable, and I’m adjusting from a feeling I can only describe as “grounded”. Seeking. Open. Waking up.

Oh, words. My comforting, old friends. Thank you for giving me the tools to continue pointing with. (And for the giggle I get when I end a sentence with a preposition).

Love,

Jessie