40-31: 40 things* I’ve loved in 40 years
*i.e. not people!
I’m now 40 years old. Wild. I’ve been so consumed by work in the past fortnight that there’s been no spare time to write, and yet I have so many things to say about so many things! As usual.
The only appropriate response is a listicle of epic proportions. I’ve been trying to narrow down the 40 things* I’ve loved in my 40 years of life. The best way to define “things” in the context of this listicle is: cultural artefacts - books, films, music, TV shows. I had a few games in there initially but they dropped off after I had an epiphany that games consume me, they don’t nourish me. What I wanted from this list was cultural artefacts that have given me comfort, escape, hope, joy, a sense of belonging, a thread of connection with other human beings and/or the world.
So here is my list. I’m unsure what adventure this is going to lead us on… also this is going to be long. Novel-length. Most likely no one will ever read it.
40. Emily Dickinson
If you read Part IV of Willa’s tale, you already know I’m a forever fan of Emily Dickinson’s 421st poem, A Charm Invests a Face. But she is so much more than one poem. She would 100% be on my dream dinner party guest list. Although I suspect she’d make for very awkward company. I discovered her at university – during my second degree when I was studying literature. I was taken as much by her story (that of an eccentric recluse who was discovered and rose to fame posthumously) as I was by her words. But as I age her poems are becoming clearer to me. Here are two more of my faves:
254
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
536
The heart asks pleasure first,
And then, excuse from pain;
And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering;
And then, go to sleep;
And then, if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor,
The liberty to die.
39. Anne McCaffrey
My well-loved and ratty version.
I’ve spoken about her before, too. McCaffrey is a sci-fi and fantasy author from the 80s most famous for her Dragonriders of Pern series. I never actually read those (it felt like there were hundreds, it was too overwhelming.) I have two favourite stories of hers:
1. The Crystal Singer — about a failed intergalactic music student (Killashandra) with perfect pitch who happens to have the specific skillset required for the most dangerous and lucrative career in the universe: crystal singing. She moves to the mysterious planet Ballybran and discovers a natural talent for cutting black crystal, which is humanity’s most valuable and rare resource because it enables instant communication across space. Killashandra becomes fabulously rich and falls in love etc. The catch? Frequent exposure to black crystal prolongs your life and erodes your memory and empathy. The very things that make Killashandra human.
2. The Rowan — a child of 4 is discovered to have the mental abilities required to attain the status of ‘Prime’ when she broadcasts her anguish at the tragic loss of her parents into the minds of everyone on her home planet. She is raised an orphan, destined to become one of the most powerful humans in the universe — capable of using telekinesis to propel spacecraft from galaxy to galaxy — but at heart she’s just a lonely, traumatised girl, searching for connection across the cosmos.
Two stories about uniquely special and powerful women who just want to be loved? Take from that what you will, keyboard therapists.
38. Alicia Keys
I’ve come to realise in making this list that it’s very hard to beat the emotional connection you have to music you listened to as a teenager. Probably because the chemicals inside your brain that are making everything so hard are also making your experiences more intense? Or maybe that was just me. Alicia Keys… I listened to nothing else but her for months on end. We used to have an old TV and pool table in our basement and I would hang out down there watching MTV, cueing up shots, waiting for Fallin’ to come on. It was the combination of her style, her beauty, her talent. The unforgettable sheen of her lip gloss. Her eyeliner. Her cornrows. She was the coolest person I’d ever seen.
Always interesting to note, when looking back at these formative albums, which songs spoke to me the most. From Alicia: Troubles, The Life, Caged Bird. So this listicle is just going to document how messed up I was as a teen, I guess.
37. Collective Soul
The influence of my Dad on my musical taste is going to become increasingly apparent as we work our way down this list. I remember listening to Collective Soul’s classic 1995 album on a very Kiwi road trip with the fam. Winding roads plus She Gathers Rain plus the relatively minor worries of a 10-year-old were a magical combo. There are no skips on that album, but I was also deeply attached to their 2000 effort, Blender. The cover makes them look like a boy band… maybe that’s why I was into it? I loved Perfect Day with Elton John. Felt like they were singing to me.
36. Clueless
Another one from 1995. Like all my friends, I wanted to be Cher Horowitz. I wanted the hair, the wardrobe, the attitude. The bright future. The cluelessness paired with the illusion of emotional growth. The happy ending with Paul Rudd. All of it.
35. Celine Dion
My queen, Celine. I used to dream that I was an incredible unpolished diamond of a singer, and Celine would hear about my potential and come down to New Zealand to be my singing teacher and shape me into a star. Those dreams withered to dust one day when I was belting out It’s All Coming Back to Me Now in our car on (another) family road trip and my brother turned to me, disgust etched into every line of his face, and said, “can you shut up?”
34. Frozen II (documentary series + film)
One of the most exciting thing about becoming a mum was having an excuse to watch Disney films again, and I have made the most of it. There’s a 6-part documentary series about the making of the highly anticipated sequel to Frozen and I think I was moved to tears in every episode? Music + narrative is my kryptonite.
33. The Backstreet Boys
Was Nick Carter my first love? I’m afraid so. Did I kiss a poster of him goodnight, every night, for way too long? Yes. Did my friends cut out pictures of him from magazines and bring them to school for me? Mmmmhmmm. Did I used to pretend to meditate to the strains of Just to be Close to You? Yes. Did I earn the nickname Courteenybopper because of all this? For sure. Has any of this aged particularly well? Sigh. I don’t need to answer that.
32. Train
I still remember the first time I heard Drops of Jupiter on the radio, I thought, “what is this and when can I listen to it again?” It’s so difficult to imagine—now that we’re deep in the streaming era—a time when we couldn’t just have any song we wanted piped into our brains on demand. Maybe it was the thrill of hearing it on the radio, or combing the racks in the music store searching for the CD. Maybe it was poring over the lyrics and liner notes as I listened. Train was my entry point to alt country. Once again: music + narrative.
My love for Train extended past that one mega hit. They ended up being my first solo concert — my sister and I went together when were 17, parentless. I wore bootleg jeans with one of those giant white Britney-era faux leather belts slung low across my hips. They played the Palais Theatre in St Kilda in Melbourne. Pat Monaghan was aura-farming. I saw them again a year later supporting Live. My two favourite bands playing the same gig on the 14th of December, the day of my 18th birthday. It definitely felt like some kind of gift from the universe — a cosmic congratulations on making it to adulthood. I was front row, barrier. Pat waved at me.
31. Encanto
As mentioned earlier, I love Disney. I’ve watched Encanto at least 15 times with my kids. I cry every time. Every. Time. It’s the “miracle is you,” message. A grandma realising that the simple existence of her unique and beautiful grandkids is the miracle she’s been searching for all along? And the heroine being the one whose magic is her ability to see her family as they truly are, and love them enough to hold them together against all odds? Come at me, childhood trauma.