Healing Still Happens

Dear Ones,

Today I revisit where I started this Substack a year ago. Fair warning – this is longer than usual.

A year ago I started writing here as an exploration of the truths that life is hard and beautiful at once, and that it is possible to find healing even in the broken places.  A year later, healing still happens.

January was hard. January was beautiful. I wish I could tell you these two stories simultaneously, with overlapping layers of words on the page or two voices speaking at once because they happened at the same time, and they are equally true. Life takes the hard, the beautiful, the mundane and squishes them together in the back seat while it keeps driving.

The Hard.

For the past 15 months, I had a good run on my cancer treatment. It was pretty tolerable, and by the last few months, I felt good enough that sometimes I nearly forgot that I have cancer. There were some twinges that made me begin to wonder, and scans confirmed that the cancer is growing again, and my line of treatment has stopped working. In Cancerland, this is called “progression,” which is the kind of progress that exactly nobody wants.

Bring on more testing to find out just how my cancer has mutated to outwit my treatment. I get this news on January 16.  Even though it is not completely unexpected, it is a gut punch.

The Beautiful. Community.

The next morning, we fly to Cancun to go to a long-awaited music festival which is so much more than that. It is four days of joy, curated and hosted by Brandi Carlile. We have been trying to get here for 3 years, and cancer has interfered every year until now, so we are ecstatic to be able to attend.

At Girls Just Wanna Weekend (GJWW) I live with abandon. For four days and nights, a few thousand, mostly queer, music lovers take over a resort and create a community of joy. These are good people. My wife and I sink into the warm humid air surrounded by turquoise water, tropical plants, palm trees, loud and colorful birds, iguanas and some friendly coatis and exhale the weight of the past few years.

A community of safety forms that enables the expression of queer love and life in a way that is singular. To be queer in this space is both unremarkable and joyous, and we begin to shed all of the ways we must be cautious in everyday life. Lounging by the pool or the beach, you will see every size and shape of body welcome. Three generations of music lovers are here with fans from teenagers to 70+ years old. (There is work to do to make the community safer for trans and BIPOC fans, and there is also an awareness that this needs to happen.)

Generosity and mutuality set the tone – we are on the island of misfit toys and we look out for each other. People make stickers, bracelets, key chains, patches and give them away. In the group social media, people reach out for a forgotten medication, for support for their sobriety, for sunscreen and liquid IV. Every time someone responds – we’ve got you.

All of this is the context for the music!

the stage, the water, our sticker

The Beautiful. Music.

Allison Russell opens the festival with her powerful blend of joy, truth-telling and healing. When Allison Russell sings Eve Was Black, she stands in fierce love like the goddess Kali, conjuring ancestors and using her alchemy to turn the deepest pain into the possibility of love. The story is a painful reckoning. The music shifts and the banjo starts a melodic, lilting chapter and she sings of the promise of one human family. This is what she does: she tells the truth poetically, but unflinchingly, and then she offers the hope of redemption. She calls us all in and reminds us that there can be joy on the other side of pain. She invites us all to be a Superlover.

Brandi Carlile and her amazing band follow, the common denominator that draws us all together. Stories and deep cuts blend with favorites and become a 2 and ½ hour set that begins to slake our thirst for music. She is a gracious host who uses her influence to open doors, to give new artists exposure, to honor artists who have paved the way, and to elevate artists whose immense talents have been overlooked. It’s hard to say whether this crowd loves her more for her music or for this generosity of spirit.

What becomes clear is that this is a mutual experience we are having, with palpable reciprocity between performer and audience. It is a relationship in which each performer offers their artistry, their music, their story, and we the audience receive it and offer gratitude in return. We celebrate them, chant for them, hold space when needed. Nearly every artist over 4 days is moved to tears by this reception.

Night 2 brings the playful energy of KT Tunstall, the sheer power, presence and musical artistry of Celisse whose energy radiates into the audience like fire, and the fun, sexy, positive, interactive world of Janelle Monae come to life on stage. We are basking in the music, and it is only night 2.

On night 3, we honor the “musical matriarchy,” as Brandi describes it. This is the night to honor the titans. Mary-Chapin Carpenter and Kim Richey sit alongside the next generation of singer songwriters that they inspired: Brandi Carlile and Brandy Clark. They trade songs and stories, sing harmony for each other and give Mary-Chapin and Kim their flowers.  Next up Sarah McLachlan, creator of the Lilith Fair, plays at this new iteration of a festival of all women and non-binary artists. The lineage of this moment goes back to her vision.

Wendy and Lisa take the stage and conjure the spirit of Prince from their days playing with the Revolution. They front a band made up of nearly all the musicians at the festival. The spirit of Prince is in the house. We have joyful chills as we dance and celebrate, singing Happy Birthday to Wendy who turns 60 that day (same age as me).

Annie Lennox at age 69, comes to own the stage in a bright pink suit and fedora with such swagger and fun as we all sing along culminating in a prayer for peace. We pinch ourselves at these last two sets.

I teared up multiple times on this night as it traced a musical trajectory that I have lived. It felt so good to celebrate these women who paved the way for the next generation, who are in turn paving the way for the next.

The festival ends on night 4 with Lucius opening for Ladies (and Theydies) of the 80’s. All of the performers play and sing in a collective party band with each artist taking lead on at least one 80’s song.  SistaStrings deserve a special shoutout as the duo who backed everybody up all week vocally, and on violin and cello, AND did their own amazing set of original music during the day

ready for Ladies (and Theydies) of the 80’s

The Beautiful. Healing.

This experience blew my heart wide open, and let some healing in. Something happened in that place that was way more than a concert or a music festival. It was church, in the only way that church calls me anymore. It was power, it was grace, it was fire.

I am so grateful for the timing of this trip, following immediately on the tail of hard news. This was a respite from talk of progression and treatment and side effects. It was a space full of joy and music and community that filled my wide-open heart with healing. It was a moment in time of full presence to this particular constellation of artists and attendees.

The Hard.

We return home and my wife tests positive for COVID, her first time. We isolate from each other. The kitchen is on my side of the house, so I deliver meals to her door. We watch shows together at night connected by the phone. We miss each other.

I have an infection that needs to be dealt with and finally get to the right kind of doctor for a procedure and a 3^rd round of antibiotics.

My mom tests positive for COVID and I spend hours trying to get a Paxlovid prescription for her.

I feel overwhelmed and frustrated.  That bubble of joy seems long ago. One particular day is full of f-bombs.

The biopsy comes back with a list of mutations which determine my next treatment. I go over this with both my oncologist and the oral chemo pharmacist. We cross fingers that this combination will be effective in stabilizing the cancer again, and that my body can tolerate it. There is potential for difficult side effects, but I’m remembering that my body has been strong tolerating my first two lines of treatment. The new regimen starts next week. More waiting and seeing.

The Beautiful.

I look through my photos from the trip and listen to playlists made from setlists. The music brings me back to center, that place of healing, grounded in beauty. I listen to Allison Russell singing Rag Child:  

I didn't know all the joy I could levy
'Til I rose to my feet in the merciful sun
And the voice in my head said, "Someday you'll be buried
You'll return to the stars, but today's not the one."

I am full of gratitude for our hosts, for the musicians, for the organizers, the event and tech crews, and the resort staff who all worked so hard to create and support this magical space.

I hope my health will hold for me to return next year. It is a hopeful aspiration for me.

In my hands I hold both – the hard and the beautiful– and together they weave the truth of my life. I lean and fall into the joy, the beauty, the sources of healing – and breathe.

Thanks for being here. I wish you many moments of healing and joy and fun!

Lots of love,

Maija

Song of the Week: The Returner by Allison Russell.  If you are a music lover, you can find a playlist based on setlists from the festival on Spotify called GJWW5 (Setlist based).