Stripped (Down To The Bone)
Depeche Mode, live music + the art of unbecoming
My first legit mushroom trip (a story for another time) was perfectly paired with seeing Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds perform live at the Rose Bowl one gloomy Saturday night.
There was this exquisite moment when a fan in the audience called out, “Some nights you save me!” To which Nick Cave stopped singing, looked into that person’s soul, and choked up as he replied, “Some nights YOU save ME.”
Sometimes when we’re in the throes of unbecoming, live music is the only salve to soothe the unknown of who we’re becoming.
I still remember the moment, the line, the feeling—while in the agony and ecstasy of my on-again, off-again Big Breakup over 20 years ago—being at an Alanis Morissette concert when Alanis achingly wailed, “When staying with you means abandoning me,” and I realized I needed to go cold turkey with Mr. Wrong if I ever hoped to move on. (I did. Thank YOU, Alanis!)
Right now, I’m in that uncomfortable place of unbecoming where my plate is emptier than it is full. I’ve let go of the last vine (my safe, secure job and the stability of knowing exactly what my day-to-day looks like). And while so far, I’ve been Jane of the jungle, howling as I boldly swing forward, in deep trust and knowing that my next vine is within grasp… I haven’t quite caught it yet. And that? Makes this control freak radically uneasy.
Which makes last night’s date night to watch my favorite band Depeche Mode’s new concert film Depeche Mode: M feel divinely timed.
What began as a fun night out with my husband, in reclining seats eating tableside wings and swigging cocktails, turned into a deeply soulful experience that shook both of us to our core.
For context, there have been many nights (and days) that Depeche Mode has saved me. From getting over my first love breakup at the end of high school to reclaiming myself after my mother’s death while shaking my booty for hours along with the band at the Hollywood Bowl in 2017 to honoring Andy “Fletch” Fletcher’s passing while celebrating life with the rest of the band on the final night of their Memento Mori tour nearly two years ago now in Los Angeles… their music been the soundtrack to my life. And every time I experience them live, I am transformed. Healed. Saved.
Last night was no exception.
I seat-danced, whisper-sang, and quiet clapped throughout the entire concert film. I also giggled, wept, and surrendered to my current state of unbecoming.
In the end, my husband and I both left the theater feeling more alive and aligned than when we’d entered two hours earlier.
My greatest takeaway? That I cannot force a timeline on my personal unbecoming. I am blessed—for the very first time in my life—to have space, time, security, and support to not rush what’s next for me. So why am I trying to fast-track my evolution? If I’m honest, I know the answer.
Because The Quiet. Slow Down. Softness. Spaciousness. Make me uncomfortable.
If I’m brutally honest, slowing down scares the shit out of me.
I’ve always been a hustler. A functional workhorse, with ambition and drive. That go-go-go has given me confidence and pride.
If I’m REALLY honest? I worry about my mental state in The Quiet.
Having experienced bouts of anxiety and depression, I’ve always preferred the frenetic energy of anxiety to the slow, blue energy of depression.
Yet here I am. Facing The Quiet. Slow. Soft. Spacious.
Not yet knowing how I relate to or find value here. But I’m willing to learn. And so I sit, not with a million things on my To Do list. But with a simple mantra to embrace the unknown. Get comfortably uncomfortable in The Quiet.
For how long? To quote the band, it’s just a question of time.