Unhappy Holidays a Welcome Pause Amid End-of-Year Hubbub

By Jen Gilhoi

Dissonance’s third annual Unhappy Holidays event on Dec. 20 seemed to perfectly coincide with the very necessary need to hit the holiday-stress pause button. It came at a time when people were facing lengthy to-do lists and last-minute deadlines before the holiday break. It came at time when anticipation, anxiety and maybe even depressive thoughts were on the rise. It came when a pause was needed.

Dissonance’s alternative holiday gathering once again brought people together without alcohol, other substances or any of the season’s typical expectations. The evening kicked off with “Christmas Wish,” a song created and performed by Katy Vernon, Dissonance board member and ukulele songbird, a singer of sad songs on a happy instrument. The song is about missing loved ones during the holidays and was inspired by Katy’s work with Dissonance and reflections on the first Christmas her 12 year-old self spent without her mom, who had passed. The lilt of the ukulele hinted at happy, with grief and loss woven between, capturing the Dissonance vibe to a T.

Dissonance co-founder Sarah Souder Johnson welcomed everyone and walked through a breathing exercise to bring us into the present. Carl Atiya-Swanson, outgoing Dissonance board member, then took the stage as emcee to start the conversation with panelists about their art, the dissonance they experience in their lives and how they stay well (#howdoyoustaywell).

Comedian Brandi Brown—co-host of the podcast, “Bill Corbett’s Funhouse;” frequent blogger; and much more—covered topics from blackness, therapy and the St. Paul-Minneapolis rivalry to being Minnesotan on the East Coast. With her no-nonsense wit, Brandi shared one of her strategies for managing time, stress and her attention-deficit disorder: “Say no; saying no saves a lot of lives.” She also highly recommended therapy, and not just because it’s “a free workshop for jokes.”

Award-winning writer, community leader and activist Saymoukda Duangphouxay Vongsay grew up in St. Paul as a refugee from Laos. Her story is certainly no joke. But she has a wit of her own, and there is a childlike lightness in her beautifully illustrated book, When Everything Was Everything. The audience listened intently as Saymoukda and her publisher read from the book on stage and shared vivid imagery of everything from bowl haircuts to hand-me-down jeans, worn while working in cucumber fields. The book represents a poetic slice of her life, hinting at the residual optimism she may have inherited from her mother.

Throughout the evening, artists shared their views and experiences with self-care and wellbeing, discussing not-so-easy-to-accept truths about their health and the actionable practices that help them. Musician Chris Tait, founder of Passenger Recovery, a Detroit-based nonprofit that helps touring musicians and travelers find support away from home, shared a story of a Saskatoon gig that shed clear light on the need for support, safe spaces and community while on the road.

Wellbeing for Chris, keyboardist for indie rock vets Electric Six, starts with self-awareness about the nature of his life as an artist and the reality of his life in recovery from addiction. For example, while it’s easy to inwardly focus in a creative songwriting zone, Chris says he’s acutely aware of the need to balance that with plenty of time spent outside of his own headspace, focused on others. Chris shared two songs—Oh Severed Head and Jonathan Turtle—that provided humorous food-for-thought, punctuated by surprising kazoo and whistling solos.

Lydia Liza shared her journey from a 16-year-old prodigy thrust early into an adult career to the 24-year-old woman today that is excelling musically and personally, after giving up alcohol and working on co-dependency issues. With her song I Just Want To Know You More, she sang about being in a relationship or space because you think it’s safe, rather than because it’s fulfilling or benefiting anyone. Heck yeah, she’s in recovery now and living her daily “citizen-life” while being creative. Of the challenges balancing health and work in the music business, she said: if you love your creative being enough, you will find the balance.

Will she find that balance on Twitter? Maybe not. Lydia touched on her 2016 remake of the holiday standard, Baby It’s Cold Outside, with Josiah Lemanski—a recording that went viral, gaining national attention for its message about the importance of consent in relationships. Proceeds from the song all go to The Sexual Violence Center of Minnesota; the National Alliance to End Sexual Violence; and the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network, meaning the “trolls” on Twitter who blast the song as political-correctness-run-amok only support her cause by continuing to bring attention to it with their personal attacks. With that in mind,, Lydia said she has had some fun taking on the Twitter trolls but acknowledged that it all wears on her a bit. Brandi used her phone to pull up @lydializamusic on Twitter and handed the phone to Lydia so she could share some of the comments and her responses. Lydia said she enjoys the opportunity to be sassy, put the trolls in their place, and bring more attention to her cause but added that, for her own health and wellbeing, it’s best to put limits on her engagement.

We ended on a high note of acceptance. Group consensus built around the idea that it’s not a lot of fun to take our own advice or to look objectively and honestly at ourselves, but it’s necessary. Restore, compassion, honesty , authenticity—words and themes shared by our artists to close out the evening—wrapped up Unhappy Holidays in a bright red bow for all to take into the final days of the year. Happy Holidays!

Dissonance provides resources and actionable tools to stay healthy over the holidays and always. Shout-out to our amazing partners for the evening! They included our resource providers—MPR’s Art of Counseling (@ArtOfCounseling), Call to Mind (@CallToMindNow), The Emily Program Foundation (@EmilyProgram), the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation (@hazldnbettyford), Lyn-Lake Psychotherapy and Wellness, and Recovree (@recovree)—and our alcohol-free beverage partners, Hobby Farmer Switchel (on Instagram at @hobbyfarmercanning_co) and Hairless Dog (on Instagram at @hairless_dog_brewing).

Jen Gilhoi is a Dissonance board member.

Tearing Down the Walls

By Mariah Wills

I've spent the better part of the past year in excavation mode, tearing down walls. I can’t remember when it exactly started, but at some point along the way I realized I was sick of living within the boundaries of what was comfortable. So, I gathered some courage and started digging, and piece by piece, brick by brick, I've been tearing down the fortress I've been building for years. 

These days, openness looks a lot like shaky hands and stumbling words. I've never been good at talking about the hard stuff; in fact, I'm notoriously good at avoiding the hard stuff all together. But, as I've discovered time and again, this does nothing but make things worse. So here I am laying out the mess and holding up a sign inviting others to do the same—to put aside the facade of perfection and sit a moment with the hard stuff. This doesn't mean dwelling on your struggles or defining yourself by them. It means simply acknowledging them—sharing the not-so-pretty parts of life, the parts that play just as much of a role in shaping us as the good parts do. Our stories have so much more power than we realize, and when we share them, we have the ability to reach others, to make someone else dealing with similar things feel a lot less alone. 

My own story revolves around mental health. My experience with mental illness and recovery began when I was diagnosed with anorexia at the age of 10. At a time when most kids should be worried about sleepovers and soccer games, I worried about measurements and nutrition facts, suffocating myself with the need for perfection and control in my life. I spent the summer between fourth and fifth grade in an intensive outpatient therapy program. There, I learned about the role mental health plays in physical health and how inseparable the two really are. As if this wasn’t enough to wrap my head around as a fourth grader, my doctor also diagnosed me with generalized anxiety disorder, explaining that other conditions, like anorexia, can manifest as a result, or in a co-occurring fashion. 

There is certainly no standard experience of anxiety, but for me, it feels a lot like running a race without sight of the finish line. My back stiffens, my throat constricts, and I lose the ability to think about anything else. I get anxiety about most things, both big and small. Rationally, I know it isn’t warranted and it doesn’t make sense, but once it starts, the panic sticks in my mind, burrowing itself further into my brain and seeping down into every inch of my body. Anxiety is a natural part of life, but anxiety disorders differ in that the feeling doesn’t rise and fall like natural emotion; it is much harder to control.

Since that therapy program years ago, my journey with anxiety and mental health has been admittedly messy. For a long time, I kept that summer, and every appointment and treatment that followed, very quiet. Alongside the embarrassment and shame that often comes with mental illness, I’ve always felt a certain sense of guilt about it as well. What right do I have to be sad and anxious when there are other people who have it way worse than I do? What if I had to face problems that were bigger than these ones; how would I even be able to handle it? But this is the problem with mental illness. So often, we don’t talk about it because of these feelings of shame and guilt, and as a result, it makes the situation that much harder to overcome.

Last year at this time, I began taking medication for my anxiety. This decision came at a time in my life when I should have been the most happy and fulfilled. I was in school working toward a career I am passionate about, surrounded by friends and family who are as supportive and loving as can be, and I felt more driven and determined than I ever have before. However, at the same time, I felt like I was gripping on to all of it by the skin of my teeth. I came home every day exhausted from nothing but battling my own mind—my anxiety robbing me of the happiness that I knew I should have felt, that I so desperately wanted to relish in.

Because of my experiences, I have always tried to support others in their decisions to improve their mental health. However, when it came to my own journey, I couldn’t help but feel it was a massive defeat. I remember watching my doctor as she wrote out the prescription I had been avoiding for years. I have always prided myself on being independent, able to fix my own problems if need be. So, as she went on to describe how the medication, combined with other forms of treatment would help to “fix” my anxiety, I couldn’t help but think I should have been able to “fix” this myself.

It was during this time that I came across Dissonance at a concert for one of my favorite artists, Your Smith. Board members were there talking to concert-goers about mental health and recovery and selling T-shirts created in collaboration with Your Smith, then known as Caroline Smith. The T-shirts—both a Dissonance outreach campaign and a fundraiser for the nonprofit—featured a quote from Caroline: “Literally everyone can benefit from therapy.” I am not usually someone who looks for signs, but something about the way they spoke about mental health in such a casual and supportive way stuck with me. That night, something shifted in the way I viewed my situation. Slowly I began to open up, first to family and then to friends, pouring out the ugly, the uncomfortable, and the strange. To my surprise, I found that as I opened up to others, they began to feel comfortable enough to open up to me about their experiences as well. All this time, I had been dealing with these things alone, while some of the people closest to me were dealing with them, too.  

So today, I am trying to remain open and honest. I don’t talk about these things to be weird or depressing. I talk about them because—although they do not define me—they make up a part of who I am. Maybe these things play a role in your life too, and maybe, like me, you need someone to reach out and say, “me too.” We all deserve to be loved and known for our most authentic selves. Until we start sharing our stories, bearing our mess, and listening to each other, we cannot truly be understood. So grab your shovel, and let’s get to work.

Mariah Wills is a student at the University of St. Thomas and a Dissonance board intern.

See Mariah and the rest of the Dissonance crew on Dec. 20, 2018, at the third annual Unhappy Holidays event in St. Paul. It’s free, but seats are limited, so please reserve yours ASAP.

How to Leave

By Carl Atiya Swanson

As an artist, I think a lot about endings. As a writer, I want the right line to finish with, to leave the story with the right emotional impact. In theater, the experience is ephemeral and that memory after the ending is the point, the joy of it.

I think about endings because as 2018 draws to a close, I will be rolling off the Dissonance board of directors. Since our first conversations three years ago about taking a series of panel conversations into a nonprofit organization that brings people together to make and share resources to support the creative community, building Dissonance has been a profound and satisfying experience.

I often describe the work of Dissonance as being loud and open about smashing stigmas so that we get to have quiet and personal conversations.

In the first part of that equation, Dissonance has been a platform to share my own story of sobriety and recovery. In 2012, when the first Dissonance panels took place at McNally Smith College of Music, I was relatively new in recovery, and to see other artists sharing their own paths—and to connect with them through art—was inspiring.

Human connection is one of the keys to living a meaningful life and countering the isolation and separation that can feed addiction and mental illness. Being able to work with Dissonance has connected me to so many great colleagues and offered me so many opportunities to grow through sharing my own experiences publicly. I couldn’t be more grateful for the work, especially as we’ve been able to do this at a time when so many others – from the talented folks who make up the Dissonance community to celebrities like Kevin Love, Mariah Carey, and Pete Davidson – are sharing their own stories about mental health, addiction and wellness. When we name something, we make it manageable. We make it shareable. We put off the burden of having to carry things alone. Sharing stories publicly makes us more empathetic and compassionate, and we need all of that we can get in the world right now.

The second part of the Dissonance equation — getting to have quiet and personal conversations — has been one of the ongoing and tremendous joys of my experience on the board. So many people have reached out and shared their stories, or their needs — some at tremendous low points — and it has been an enormous privilege to be able to sit, talk on the phone, or text with each person, connecting in quiet support. Very little makes me as happy as hearing how people found a therapist in our Get Help Directory or seeing them share wellness milestones and anniversaries. The work of being well is everyday work, and it happens all around us.

Matt Rasmussen’s poem “Chekhov’s Gun” opens with the line “Nothing ever absolutely has to happen.” That’s been so true in my own recovery. Addiction makes demise feel inevitable. Ten years ago, when I was just coming out of rehab, the life I lead now was not unimaginable, because I had little framework for imagining it. But the day-to-day work, the support of many others, the opportunities to connect — these are the exercises that strengthen imagination, and that have helped build a life rich with meaning.

So in this ending, I need to thank those who have helped build all this meaning. The artists who have shared their talents at events and in conversation over the years, folks like David Campbell, Davina Sowers, Nora McInerny, Saymoukda Vongsay, Levi Weinhagen, Charlie Parr, Leah Ottman, MaLLy, Mark Mallman, Nicholas David, Caroline Smith, and everyone who has written for the blog, thank you for your brilliance and vulnerability. My fellow Dissonance board members past and present are so passionate and so talented, so to John Solomon, David Lewis, Haley Johnson, Kyle Frenette, Jen Gilhoi, Brian Zirngible, Katy Vernon, Ali Lozoff, Jeremiah Gardner and our fearless leader Sarah Souder Johnson, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

What’s in that list of names is also this truth — the work we do is driven by the people who show up to do it. If this work has resonance in your life, come, build the next steps of Dissonance. There are so many ways you can connect – write for the blog, make a donation on Give to the Max Day, volunteer for Unhappy Holidays on Dec. 20, talk to one of us about joining the Dissonance board.

In that sense, this isn’t an ending. I’m not really leaving, I’m just making some more space for myself and for others to shape the future. I hope it’s you who chooses to step up. What’s next?

Carl Atiya Swanson is a Dissonance Board Member.

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Tips for Staying Healthy on the Road

Editor’s Note: Touring can be challenging for all artists, especially those with substance use or mental health concerns. On our Resources-Tools page, we are assembling wellness tips from and for artists who spend a good deal of time away from home. We kick off that effort here with ideas from musician John Solomon, and invite others to send us your tips, too.

By John Solomon

Hint #1: Routine, routine, routine. One thing that makes touring so stressful is the constant changes. No matter how hard you work beforehand to schedule a tour, the plans never seems to stick. The key is to find routine where you can. I focus on making my mornings identical. I wake up at the same time no matter what. I travel with my own coffee setup. I try to eat a mild breakfast and lunch at the same time each day. It seems inconvenient, or maybe a little boring, but in the long run, establishing a routine lowers the stress levels and gives you something familiar to hold on to in the middle of the tornado.

Hint #2: Exercise. Playing shows every night, riding in buses or vans for hours, and sleeping in new beds or moving vehicles every night punishes the body. Getting up and moving every day for your own sake will lessen a lot of that physical stress. I don't work out on the road like I do at home. I just work out to give myself some time to reset and get some fresh healthy feeling in my life in the midst of the chaos.

Hint #3: Consider what you are putting into your body all the time. I don't drink, but a lot of my bandmates do, and it's easy to lose track of days on the road when every night seems like a Saturday. Drinking, and eating pizza and fast food, probably won’t hurt you if done once in a while. But after the third day of tour, you'll stop remembering what day it is, and if you don't get in the habit of eating healthy and staying away from booze, then you might fall into unhealthy patterns without even realizing it. 

I know … establishing routines, exercising and eating healthy might seem like bummers compared to what you expect touring to be, but I like to remember that the tour will be exciting enough. The goal is to make it through with as many good vibes as when you started.

John Solomon is a singer, songwriter and guitar player for the acclaimed indie rock band Communist Daughter. He is also a graduate student pursuing a master’s degree in addiction studies and a former board member and ongoing advisor for Dissonance.

* Banner image above by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash. Used with permission.
* Photo below, courtesy of Communist Daughter, shows John at a roadside stand in Georgia in 2015.

High on Life

By Dustin Tessier

I recently spent over a week in the mountains of western Montana. Now that I'm back home, the memories and impressions have been flooding my vision. Peace of mind can be hard to come by. But, as I look at this photograph, I am struck by the shift in perspective.

We climbed to the summit of RamsHorn. It was an exhausting slog up rough terrain. There were times I thought about stopping. Something kept me going, however. I don't know if I would call it inspiration, or maybe spirit. But, there was something incredibly freeing in the solitude of the climb. I found with each step, I was taken out of my own head. It was as though the pressure I put on myself to succeed, to be something, to shape how people see me as an artist, to matter—it all fell away like rotted tree bark.

The stillness of the thin air made my every labored breath echo deep in my head, and I was no longer addled with anxiety and worry. All that mattered in the moment was being present for the process. I was tasked with putting the next foot forward, and nothing more. The peace of mind was intoxicating, and I felt what it means to be human and connected again.

I was swallowed up in the vastness of it all.

Once atop the plateau, I tossed a shiny white stone, which I had carried since the start of the climb, over the edge. I think that stone was symbolic. It represented that which I have been clinging to. It represented my beautiful dreams. It was also metaphoric of the illusion of control, as my hand clenched around the rough stone, causing my fingers to cramp, my palm sweating onto the stone.

Releasing the stone, I felt the relief of letting go.

I don't know where the stone ended up. I don't know where I will end up. I don't know where my dreams will take me. I do know this: the journey matters. Being in the moment matters. Trusting in the process matters. So, I will continue moving forward. Along the way, I will remember to toss stones. I will remember to dream. I will climb the insurmountable. I will be present. I will trust. I will always remain open. I will create. I will love. The rest is up to the vast expansiveness.

Dustin Tessier is a Minneapolis-based guitarist, singer and composer, originally from Duluth, who records as Timbre Ghost and also performs with the Rolling Stoners, Mary Bue and others. His new Timbre Ghost album — Life, Death, & Disintegration — is due out Nov. 16, 2018. Dustin also is a person in long-term recovery and a licensed alcohol and drug counselor. Find him on social media at Bandcamp, Twitter and Facebook.

Dissonance Collaborates with "Passenger Recovery" in Detroit

The two nonprofits look to help build a national network of artist-support organizations

One of our dreams at Dissonance is to establish a national network of like-minded organizations committed to helping artists maintain wellness, share their experiences with mental health and addiction recovery, and advocate for others. 

We are doing that work in the Minneapolis-St. Paul area and, to some degree, in greater Minnesota. Now, we are looking to collaborate with other individuals and organizations pursuing similar missions.

One such organization is Passenger Recovery, a nonprofit founded by Christopher Tait, keyboardist for indie rock vets Electric Six. We met with Chris when his band's tour brought him to St. Paul for a recent show (opened by our friend Mark Mallman) at the venerable Turf Club. 

Sober Green Room Now Available in Twin Cities, Detroit

We whisked Chris away from the venue for a sober green room experience at the home of Jordan Hansen, a Dissonance supporter and blogger. We were actually testing out Chris's own idea. Passenger Recovery has a dedicated green-room space in downtown Detroit, available to any sober touring artist. After talking to Chris, we have decided to begin offering the same to artists traveling through Minneapolis-St. Paul, using a variety of spaces available through our local network. Chris had been on the road for a couple of weeks when we met, and he noted -- as others have to him -- how wonderful it was to get away from the van and the venue for a refreshing wellness break. 

New Tool to Find Support Meetings on the Road

For us, the time with Chris also provided an opportunity to discuss Passenger Recovery's new support-meeting finder called Compass. It's an innovative, GPS-enabled tool to help traveling artists locate Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, National Alliance on Mental Illness, and Refuge Recovery (Buddhist-inspired) support meetings. The Compass database includes thousands of individual meetings, is growing every day, and likely will be expanded to include other types of mutual aid meetings as well. We’re grateful that Chris and his partner -- Electric Six bassist Matthew Tompkins -- did us the favor of making Minneapolis-St. Paul the second metro area to get populated, after Detroit. Check out the beta version of the tool and find a meeting near you, wherever you are.

On our Resources-Tools web page, we now have a link to Compass. The page also includes links for artists to request sober green rooms through us for Minneapolis-St. Paul and through Passenger Recovery for Detroit.

As we think about our dream of establishing a national network of organizations like ours, the immediate aim is to work with Passenger Recovery to create a northern corridor of artist support from Detroit to Minneapolis. We are now seeking like-minded organizations in Milwaukee and Chicago to fill in the major gaps. 

We are also beginning to establish relationships with other more far-flung organizations like the SIMS Foundation in Austin, Texas, and the BTD Foundation in New Orleans. If you are involved in such an organization, or know others who are, please contact us.  Let's build this national network/collective/community together.

Chris Tait, Jordan Hansen

The Sober Green Room at Jordan Hansen's place in St. Paul

Chris Tait, Jordan Hansen

Jeremiah Gardner, Matthew Tompkins, Chris Tait

Chris Tait, Jordan Hansen

Chris Tait, Jordan Hansen

Jeremiah Gardner, Chris Tait

Dissonance to host #LifeTake2 Stage at Hazelfest 2018

Dissonance will have an amplified presence at Hazelfest 2018, the one-of-a-kind sober music festival that in six years has grown to become one of the biggest highlights on Minnesota’s summer concert calendar. We hope you'll join us for this feel-good celebration of life, to be held Saturday, Aug. 4, from 11 a.m. to 7:30 p.m. on the campus of the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation in Center City, Minn. 

For the first time, Dissonance will host Hazelfest's #LifeTake2 stage, expanded this year to accommodate a continuous run of performers and speakers right up until festival headliner Brother Ali performs on the main stage.

One big highlight on our #LifeTake2 Stage will be a 90-minute music and storytelling panel curated by our own board alum and current Hazelden Betty Ford Artist in Residence Johnny Solomon and his spouse Molly, both of the Twin Cities indie rock band Communist Daughter. The panel will feature popular Memphis-based singer-songwriter Mike Doughty; Jennifer and Jessica Clavin of the Los Angeles rock band Bleached; and San Diego renaissance man Al Howard, a songwriter, author and founder of the music collective and record label Redwoods Music. 

We will also hear from and talk to fantastic music artists like Dusty Heart, Tim Patrick and His Blue Eyes Band, and Kim and Quillan Roe of the Roe Family Singers; the inspiring multi-disciplinary arts duo Journeyman Ink from Dallas; comedian Evan Williams from New York City; recovery speaker Roger Bruner; and Sandy Swenson, author of Tending Dandelions, a book for moms whose families have been affected by addiction, in conversation with NY Times bestselling author William C. Moyers of the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation. We will also have Dissonance resources and t-shirts on hand at the #LifeTake2 Stage, including a limited number of shirts from our recent collaboration with 2015 Hazelfest headliner Caroline Smith (aka Your Smith).

While most Dissonance board members will spend the day facilitating the action on the #LifeTake2 Stage, one -- Katy Vernon -- will be among the artists showcased on the Hazelfest main stage, along with Dissonance friends Mary Bue, MaLLy, The Jorgensen Band, and Davina and the Vagabonds. In addition, our longtime friend and collaborator David Campbell is emceeing the main stage for the fifth straight year. And don't forget the great Chastity Brown and The Cactus Blossoms, performing ahead of headliner Brother Ali.

On top of all that, our friend and blog contributor Jordan Hansen will lead the music for two dance parties in the kids' area. And another friend, Woody McBride (aka DJ ESP), is producing the whole event.

What a day it will be. Outdoor music, speakers, food, exhibits, smiles, hugs and activities for the entire family. We love this festival. It captures what we're all about -- the intersection of art, wellness and community. 

Tickets are just $15 in advance (the best valued ticket of the summer) and available now at www.HazelFest.org. They will be $25 at the door, and children 12 and under can attend for free. For more information, please visit the HazelFest website.

Hope to see you there!

   Saturday, Aug 4

Get tickets!

Caroline Smith x Dissonance for Mental Health Month

May is Mental Health Month, and so Dissonance has teamed up with the awesome Caroline Smith to create a special awareness t-shirt. Inspired by a quote of Caroline's, the design is a reminder to look after yourself and others, and to open up the conversation and smash the stigma around mental illness and mental health care. The campaign is a limited time run through Teespring, available in regular tees, premium tees, and sweatshirts in a variety of colorways. Proceeds benefit Dissonance's programming, collaborations with artists, and resources.

Order at https://teespring.com/dissonanceMN.

Caroline has been a longtime friend of Dissonance, talking about her own family experiences with mental illness, her music, and balancing ego and creativity on a Dissonance panel in 2014.

Crashing into Nature: Survivor Guilt and Butterflies

By Mary Bue

I could easily say, “I wasn’t your normal American teenager,” but I don’t think there is such a thing as a “normal teenager” … or even “normal” in general. Sometimes I’ve heard that your first trauma is where you might stay stuck developmentally. And I wonder if that’s why often I feel reckless and distracted, and consistently on an emotional roller coaster, like the 16-year-old I was when I rolled my parents’ Buick LeSabre and hung upside down by my seat belt while the trance music blasted and the car interior bathed eerie electric green from the clock on the dash.

I hate to say it because I love and adore my parents to the absolute “nth" degree and have nothing but respect and gratitude for them, but I was a terrible lying scumbag of a teenager. I was also a goodie goodie, getting mostly straight A’s and able to start college two years early, but still, a lying cheating scumbag.

One weekend I went to a camping rave and partied hard with my first love, my besties and that bumping, thumping house, trance or dub music that still gets me on both a core level and an aversion level. This was the mid-90s — an era of pink halter tops, phat pants and secret numbers to call for the location of each night’s gathering.

That weekend, I had somehow locked my keys in the trunk. My friends managed to pry off the back bench seat and get my keys out, but damn, I’ve often wondered if that was a good thing. Or, does everything happen for a reason?

Driving the three or four hours home on Sunday (I was sober, but hadn’t slept … and is sleep deprivation worse? Or is just being a 16-year-old behind the wheel bad enough?), I dropped off a dude friend who had a tattoo of barbed wire on his neck (I hope you’re still alive, man!). Still 45 minutes from my own home, I turned up the trance music — amped and stoked from the fun weekend — and did a little “car dancing.” You know, dancing around in your seat to the beat.

But soon — I’m not sure what happened; maybe it was the hypnotic quality of the dance-y trance music or the relative emptiness of the freeway — I somehow swerved and hit the lip of the tarmac, over-corrected and began rolling side over side, over and over, down a deep ditch next to highway 169 between Elk River and Zimmerman, Minnesota.

When I came to my senses, I was hanging upside down from my seat belt. Christopher Robin’s mix tape was blaring. I COULD NOT SHUT IT OFF. IT WAS SO LOUD. ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS SHUT IT OFF AND COME TO PEACE AND QUIET. There was shattered glass all around me. It didn’t take long to realize I had to get out of the car. I unbuckled, crumpled to the ceiling, crawled and exited the opening left by the shattered back window.

I had NOT A SCRATCH. Not a scrape. Not a bruise. Not a cut.

The music was still blaring.

I walked up to the side of the highway. People had stopped at that point. One of them was a nurse. I cracked a joke. “My parents said it was a good family car,” I chuckled. It was NOT funny to her.

Soon enough, a cop came around and drove me home. He seemed nice enough. A few weeks later, I got a ticket for “inattentive driving.” Bastard!

My police escort left after my mom answered the door. She was in shock. Because I wasn’t hurt, it was even harder for her to believe the story. She got really angry. I get it now; I would have gotten angry too. I went to the shower, and that’s when it hit me.

I thought, “I could have died.”

I could have died. I could have died. I repeated it in my mind. And then I cried. And then I started saying it out loud, like a mantra: I could have died, I could have died, I could have died, I could have died … louder and louder and louder in my head.

The weeks after that were a total blur. We went to the junkyard and saw the car and the smashed-in windshield. Took a Polaroid of it. I could have died.

I went to school, most days. But I could have died. I could have been dead.

And then it switched to, “Why am I alive?”

Why am I alive, Why am I alive, Why am I alive, Why am I alive, Why am I alive, Why am I alive, Why am I alive? Again, like a mantra, it repeated louder and louder and louder in my head.

And then, deeper than that: “Why am I alive, and why do so many other people die in accidents like these?”

Why do I get to live? Why do I get to live? What makes me so special? What if I had killed someone else? Why do I get off so easy? Why do I get to live? I went down, baby, down down down. Down into a very sad place. A survivor guilt place, even though no one had died. A place of dark worthlessness. I felt like the scum of the earth. I don’t know how long it lasted, but it lasted a while.

And then, I went for a bike ride.

I went to the forest on my mountain bike. Sometimes the wheels would get stuck in the sandy soil and I’d spin out and get back on the weed-strewn path. I was headed for my favorite place on the land, a curve in the road through deep, tall, thick pines. Some white pines, some Norway pines. Green heavy branches all around — protective arms with the softest looking fringe of needles. So thick, the sunset shifted like a strobe as I moved along the path. So quiet, except for the wind. To this day, that is my favorite sound of all — the wind through thick pine branches.

I had a hint of a suicide wish that day, consumed by a repetitive, negative mantra of worry and guilt at having survived my car wreck. I felt like I was unworthy of living, unaccepted by my friends, not good enough to my parents, and not cool enough to be loved by my first love.

When I arrived at my favorite place in the forest … there was a fluttering of wings.

The monarch butterflies were in their migration. It was late summer, time for them to fly to Mexico, and they had perched in the limbs of my favorite trees to rest. Clumped together in packs, they fluttered above my tormented little head.

As I watched, it was trance-like. I became totally present for what Maslow dubbed a “peak experience.” All of my sadness and guilt disappeared. Nothing else but this. My internal compass led me to that place, I truly believe, to see these creatures on their way to something new, at a distinct transitional juncture in their life cycle.

My hope, my magic, my love for life slowly began to return in that moment.

I was granted a gift from the beauty of nature, so supreme that I knew it was a sign I was meant to be on this earth for some more time. To do what, I still am not exactly sure. But this gift of beauty and delight was not wasted on me.

My first album in 2000, when I was 19, included the title track, “Where the Monarchs Circled” ...

the calm within yourself
the ice and the fire
liquid muscles
winged feet
running farther

water and purity
silence seeks and open door
the roots of emotion
guide us here

inexplicable
soft siren
breeze and shafts of light
knowing your soul elicits safety
knowing the peace of sight

wind grasps the fear
swirling mists of sun and frozen tear
feel days brush against your cheek
they’ll slip away, yes,
but you know now what to seek

inexplicable
soft siren
breeze and shafts of light
knowing your soul elicits safety
knowing the peace of sight

During my first tour in 2004, while in Austin, Texas, I got a monarch tattooed onto my upper-left arm. A forever reminder of hope and transformation. The fact that monarch butterflies are now being assessed for endangerment kills me. The degradation of our beautiful natural places makes me wither. But I try to do my part, and that includes sharing this story.

I still don’t know exactly why I’m here, but if gifts like my experience in the forest are also here to be found, that is enough to keep me awake and alive on this beautiful earth.

Mary Bue is an indie musician and yoga studio owner based in Minneapolis. 

Don’t die. Be Kind. Be Easy. What’s Next?

By Carl Atiya Swanson

Feb. 7, 2008.

I wrote this for the 10-year anniversary of leaving treatment. It's been just over a decade now since I began moving through life without alcohol or other drugs.

I had been trying to put something down about the work and the process, but mostly I started thinking about people who have made it possible, song lyrics and riffs, and weird quotes and phrases that have run through my head in doing the work.

Don’t die.

Thanks to Stacy, Rosanne, Mark, Karen, Ted, JoAnn, Hannah, Bekah, Kathy and Doug ... for making sure I didn't die. Sadly, others did along the way, and I remember their names: Amanda, Omar, Dan.

“I'm an alcoholic. I don't have one drink. I don't understand people who have one drink. I don't understand people who leave half a glass of wine on the table. I don't understand people who say they've had enough. How can you have enough of feeling like this?”
– Leo McGarry, The West Wing

There’s always work to do. I've had an enormous amount of privilege in my sobriety and recovery, starting with the fact that I got to go to treatment and access the health care I needed. I also come from an educated family and have degrees myself. I have people who loved and continue to love and support me. I have had jobs and homes to go to. I have the ability to choose to leave triggering locations; I haven't depended on being in a bar for work. I have choices about meetings to attend and resources and networks to help me build connections and social capital. To be sober is to be continually humbled and compassionate, to be deeply grateful.

Be kind.

Thanks to Natalie, Colin, Lizzie, Eric, Kristina, Shawna, Brian, Heidi, Karen, Kathleen, Alexandra, Chavis, Chris, Dana, Brandon, Laura, Molly, Andy, Noah, Nikki, Michele, Naomi, Dominic, Daniel, Jun-Li, Peter, Sam, John, Caly, Dennis, Zaraawar, Nancy, Caroline, Adia, Anna, Susan, Ashley, Lindsay, Brian, Jamie, Erica, Danielle, Sarah, Jarell, Cary, Cole, Brandon, Lauren, Pa, Naaima, Josh, Kat, Matt, Ashley, Sarah, David, Ali, Jeremiah and Katy  .... for giving me work, trusting and challenging me, and opening up new possibilities.

“But there are hundreds of ways
To get through the days
There are hundreds of ways
Now you just find one.”
– Conor Oberst, Hundreds of Ways

My aunt once asked me what I put my faith in, if not God. I told her I put my faith in people. “Good Luck with that,” she said. But that’s where faith lives for me—in our capacity for wonder and creation, in our curiosity and imagination. I know I wouldn’t have made it through my youth without being an artist, and I wouldn’t be alive now without believing in others, in all of us. That conviction, and the abilities art fostered to hold conflicting ideas, process ambiguity and open myself to collaboration, contradiction and the messy nature of things—that saved me. I wouldn’t be alive without saying yes to people and feeling the joy of what we can do together.

Be easy.

Thanks to Jacob, Amy, Jake, Jayne, Jeremey, Dianne, Alexis, Carly, Laura, Blake, Hannah, Mason, Heidi, Lisa, Russ, Eric, Rachel, Tanner, Emily, Christina, Foster, Nick, Andrea, Ben, Kyle, Molly, Leslie, Jamie, Betz, Erik, Erik, Erik, Ali, Tom, Dom, Mike, Mischa, Stephen, Colin, Alexei, Stephen, Joe, Bobby, Graham, Lindsy, Scott, K. Alex, Gigi, Susannah, Jay, Joey, Pete, Janey, Christian, Johnny, Molly, Jeremy, Chastity, Will, Brian, Sam, Chantal, Sarah, Levi, Seth, Brent, Tim, Bethany and Jenny ... for letting me create, and helping you create, things we enjoy and find meaningful. Thanks for making life interesting.

“Man, sometimes it takes you a long time to sound like yourself.” – Miles Davis

It takes a lifetime to become ourselves, which is what I get to pursue now. It takes the support and connection of others I have found, or who have found me—friends who walk similar paths, who go to meetings, who say the Serenity Prayer, who are making it work because they work it. It takes all the people named here, as well as all the people not named who have shaped the way and lit the path knowingly or unknowingly. I am so grateful for you, your love and what is to come. Be in touch.

What’s next?

Carl Atiya Swanson is a Dissonance Board Member.