Constellation

Friends,

Tonight I welcome August. The coolness of the evening surprises me, and I wonder how June and July slipped through my fingers. (I suppose the same way that sunlight slips around clouds.) To be August means to be on the cusp of autumn. And on the cusp of another school year.

School! Yes, school. I have been rather quiet publicly the last year as I find my bearings. (Does one ever find one’s bearings?) But yes, I am a student once again. A year ago Luke and I uprooted ourselves from our beloved corner of Vermont to return to Massachusetts so that I could begin the Master of Divinity program at Harvard Divinity School. It has been a long time coming. I studied Religion in undergrad (vehemently dismissing a musical path until I could dismiss it no longer), and knew in my depths that one day that I would find myself in seminary. But I always thought I would be, like, 50. Surprise!

During covid, when the world stopped, and musicians across the world held their breath (literally, figuratively) I climbed a mountain. By the time I came down, I knew it was time to go to seminary. I promptly ignored the Knowing for weeks. It was terrifying. But one’s Knowing can be rather insistent. (Have you noticed?) And so within weeks of Luke and myself buying a magical 8.5 acres on Abenaki land in SW Vermont, dreaming of building a wee cabin amongst the trees, I accepted a place at Harvard Divinity School.

The “Yes, and…” rule of theater and comedy teaches me that two truths can be part of the same story. Accepting one truth doesn’t refute the other. I’m leaning into the magic of “Yes, and….” I’m accepting that I am not “just” a singer, a performer. My identity is far more complex, and my set of gifts reaches far wider than the singer box I’ve been trying to stuff myself into, forever trying to level-up with others. The thing is, we are never just one thing. We are all a constellation of stars: relationships, whims, energies, gifts, geographies, possibilities, ancestors, pasts, presents and futures.

So while I have been grieving the loss of my dream for a (certain iteration of a) performance career, feeling at sea as I watch the island that I’ve been circling and circling and circling drift into the horizon, another kind of Knowing is building in my gut. I’m entering a Season of Integration. A Season of “Yes, and…” A Season of Remembering my constellation of identities, gifts, curiosities. In pursuing a performance career these last years, I’ve shelved some pretty important things. It’s time re-member them, untangle them, revive what needs reviving, compost what needs composting. (Energy is neither created nor destroyed; only transformed.)

And you know the awesome part? My constellation is more expansive than I realized. It turns out that in my last decade of life my whims and talents and curiosities have only grown, shaped by the people and places who have met me, loved me, nurtured me. For instance, I wrote songs for two final class projects in the spring. Five of them. I wrote five songs. And they just kinda…burst out of me. (I still don’t claim a “songwriter” identity—I leave that to Luke—but I’m tickled to have done it.) I’ve been so focused on the brightest stars in my life—the ones only visible in the glaring lights of busy, city life—that I haven’t allowed myself to retreat into the deep dark and gaze at the whole sky.

So here I am, on the cusp of a new season. A season of remembering and integration, dreaming and listening. Performance will surely be a part of my constellation, always. But this season’s task is to retreat to the darkness so that I can see where that star falls in the larger constellation, alongside spirituality, my call to service and healing, maybe chaplaincy, definitely the earth, helping people find their voices (literally and metaphorically)…and what else?! What other stars are emerging, waiting to be birthed?

And so, with tenderness, I invite you to have a listen to my new songs. They may not totally land with you if you haven’t read the books they reference. And maybe you just won’t like them. But that’s ok. Our constellations don’t always align. But I’m honored if you care to catch a glimpse of mine.

Here’s to curiosity, courage, and following our Inner Knowing. Be well, dear ones.

With love, Stephanie

→ A word about the songs.

All music is original, recorded with humbling production and instrumental skills. Most of the texts are quotations or arrangements of texts from the books referenced. I tried to musically honor the context in which each author was writing, which took me down rabbit trails such as alternating meters in Renunciation, reflecting my experience of reading Weil; and obsessively re-learning Phrygian mode so that I could write a medieval Spanish monastic work song. Massive thanks to the authors for their prophetic words. Thanks, also, to Schubert for inspiring my spinning song, Regina Spektor whose influence definitely comes through in the Butler piece, and Ives for inspiring the very last notes of that same song, which echo an unwinding carousel.