Honey No. 16
Feat. crying at shows, the everlasting power of a crush, and songs for just because
Ever since the pandemic, I have become a person who weeps at public performances. The hum of a crowd, the heat of the lights, the incomparable energy of experiencing something en masse- all things that now bowl me over in their power and fragility. Music, in particular, has a habit of opening these flood gates. Not all shows do this to me- I made it through Waxahatchee, my first post-lockdown concert in 2021, without a hitch. Angel Olsen at the Greek was simply a Fun Time. But when Alison and I saw Moses Sumney on Halloween of 2021 we grasped for each others hands and sobbed like babies. There was so much grief in both of our bodies- grief for our collective isolation during lockdown, grief for these artists-singers, musicians, lighting designers, et al.-who were unable to share their vision for months and months and months, and finally and endlessly grief for ourselves as performers. To see a stage! To see lights! To see someone getting to be back up there who isn’t you, not yet.
As I’ve mentioned- I’m not over it!- I moved to Los Angeles three years ago, on April 1, 2021. Before the pandemic I was living in Chicago, touring the country with Second City, and performing improv and writing sketch with my best friends in the weeks when I was home. I don’t think of these times as my glory days, or as a peak that I’ll never get back to, or anything like that- it was so fun! And there will be more! But I do want to note, for my body and my sanity, that my rhythm was markedly different before the pandemic, as so many of ours were. I was on a stage at least one night a week, if not seven. I was in a tempo that I have kept up since childhood; performing is how I knew myself. My move to LA is impossible to disentangle from the jarring halt of the pandemic- I didn’t know Chicago post-, and I didn’t know LA pre-. There is no better or worse in this scenario, just a stark before and after. A homesickness for a more familiar time, and a painful knowledge that there is simply no going back.
On Thursday, Jesse and I went to see Mitski perform- he had gotten me tickets for my birthday in January and it had been so fun to look forward to going to an event on one of our rare shared nights off. The night of the concert, I was coming off of an intense three weeks- I had been covering a full-time nanny position for a tiny baby in a family that was going through an big transition, and was dealing with some *personal matters* that meant when I wasn’t at work, I was checking in on my people. I’d been waiting on some bigger voiceover checks that would take some of the pressure off, but in the meantime was saying yes to extra minutes, hours, days of a job that was rapidly burning me out. I knew that I was going to be wobbly going into the night- my eyes filled with tired tears as soon as I took my first bite of dinner and deeply exhaled- but that was ok with me. Sometimes music is for processing! And date nights are for checking in.
The crowd at Mitski was solidly stacked with Gen Z fans, which was maybe heightened because the show was right by USC, but also I think that they just love her in general. It was sweet to see them and I also felt a bit like an old zombie surrounded by lambs; I was haggard, I was raw, and I was struggling to keep my eyes open as I watched them all pose for solo photo shoots. When Mitski came onto the stage, the audience of 6,000+ cheered and swooned. I love the feeling of getting to be back in these rooms, to remember that all of this- from the pre-show drink, to the uber, to the night out with strangers- was impossible not too long ago. But as Gen Z screamed their well wishes to their idol on the stage, I couldn’t stop looking at each of the musicians accompanying her just beyond the spotlight’s reach. Each of them grooving under the lights, feeling the joy of doing their Thing, experiencing the magic that happens when one tune is joined by many. And of course, most of all, admiring the fact that they got to be up on that stage as so many twenty-somethings hollered YES!! MOTHER!!
As if she could sense that I was a woman on the verge, Mitski started singing her ode to soulless work: Working for The Knife.
I cry at the start of every movie…
My eyes immediately fill with tears.
I guess ‘cause I wish I was making things too…
I am openly weeping.
But I’m working for the knife.
The entire Gen Z audience goes woooo.
And here’s the thing- I hope it is woo for them. I hope it’s woo for me too! I hope I can continue to hold these challenging money-job chapters lightly and reserve some strength and energy for my own work too. I hope the balance, the non-linear, ever-changing balance, continues to tip more and more in the favor of doing more of my art for more of my money. The nannying job ended on Friday. That night I got 10 hours of sleep, my period (…), and a voiceover check that let me breathe deeply. Yesterday I got a $68 massage at YOLO Foot Spa, scrubbed my house top to bottom, did 4 loads of laundry and felt like a new woman. There will be more shitty jobs (hopefully fewer and further between), but there will also be ones I love. There was a before the pandemic, but there is also an after. Maybe one that’s so great we can’t even imagine. Who knows! But we- I- have got to leave space for the possibility.
How We Survive
Hannah Rehak is another OG Honeypot contributor, and wonderful Chicago person who is now in New York! For more things Hannah, check out her website at hannahrehak.com.
A year and a half ago I was in the deep throes of a crush. I wrote an essay about it and asked two incredibly talented friends to add a score and animation. According to my emails, the short we made was all finished by January 2023.
At the time, I wanted to share How We Survive only once the crush was over, or once the world was better, or maybe once it didn’t feel so possible that I’d be caught in my feelings before I was ready to answer for them.
I should have known better. As it turns out, crushes have a way of laying dormant rather than disappearing completely, the world is still what it is, and I am pretty sure I was caught in my feelings many, many times over.
But the reason I’m now sharing How We Survive has less to do with those revelations and more to do with the fact that The Honeypot is back! And with it, some courage on my end inspired by Olivia and a renewed taste for emotional exhibitionism.
I hope you enjoy it.
How We Survive by Hannah Rehak
Music by Patrick Budde, Animation by Will Sonheim
That’s a wrap on March, my friends! Happy Easter to those who celebrate, and Happy Almost April Fools to all. Today I’m taking a clowning class (!) and hoping that it will feel like a gift for my performer self! At the very least, it’s an opportunity for bravery points. At the very most, who knows!
I’m excited and nervous and I’ll keep you posted :)
xx Olivia