punk rock & pom poms

12/11/2023

sometimes i think my life didn’t start until 16. nothing crazy happened, i didn't spend my teens having wild nights of wasted youth. it was actually pretty boring, until that summer. sweet 16, the 10th summer spent at my family’s cabin in the northwoods of wisconsin, far far away from the unimportant troubles of everyday life. i wish i remembered why, but some force within me knew it was time to get spotify premium. i bet i was bored from having no one to hang out with and fed up with not being able to listen to the songs i wanted to on demand. you know, the important things. i convinced my mother, flying on her brandy old-fashioned high, to let me use her credit card to set up an account, assuring her this would make her life easier and that I would take care of the confusing setup jargon. the sun was blazing down with no interception from clouds and the lake was too enticing to fight my pleas, so she said yes. those trips were always spent during the beginning of july and always surrounded by people. not just any people, these families that would crash in the various bedrooms were my parents found family. one couple had known my parents since they were all optimistic 23 year olds trying to make it in chicago in the 90s. when you’re a kid and your parents push you onto the playground with their friends’ kids, everyone new is a friend and every new friend is an exciting new adventure. when you get older, and your interests, fears, and body changes, getting pushed together with other kids feels more like a nightmare. especially when your options are seven 6th graders and your dorky brother. no one here wants to talk about the latest dance team drama, read my romantic dystopian books while tanning, or do literally anything but fish. what was once an escape from real life became a trap of anxiety and boredom. all i wanted to do that summer was wander the yard alone, which was about to be made more enjoyable with the tunes i wanted on demand. i didn’t even pick my profile picture for my new account before I had the urge to look up a song i heard in a trailer for a netflix show. maybe that’s what got me thinking about spotify? something about the song was so mesmerizing to me after just a minute long clip. as soon as i played it, it felt like a battle cry calling out to me. the way the singer screamed her words, demanding herself to be known as the “cherry bomb.” i had never heard such seduction over fast-paced drums and electric guitar. i was swaying in a hammock when i wanted to be headbanging for the first time in my life. the cherry bomb’s voice echoed out and faded too soon. with this newfound freedom, i wanted more from the runaways. even their name was perfect; so simple, but intriguing and a bit scandalous.

after a few more tastes of this picture of dangerous, adventurous teen life, i noticed what else was recommended to me. the clash, the ramones, sex pistols, names i recognized just from immersing myself in pop culture regularly but had never given time to. the clash is actually my dad’s favorite band. i had listened to a few songs as a kid (and made one musical.ly lip syncing london calling) and really liked them, but pop stars were always on the radio and my friends were interested in the far less weird music of ariana grande. suddenly i was listening to “london calling” and heavy, dark guitar riffs were more interesting than synthetic pop. somewhere, hiding in a dark corner within me, that same little girl who had to hide her interest in rock n’ roll after an incident with a skull and crossbones birthday cake and a love for wearing all black didn’t feel so alone anymore. she told me that i should try listening to sex pistols next. the words “i wanna be anarchy!” bounced around and echoed within me. i realized i was the only one left outside, still on that hammock, time had ceased to exist. while everyone else was crossing the lake to the sandbar, i felt a surge of energy that brought me to my feet and to the dock. it sounds stupid if you weren’t there, but i felt reborn. after this afternoon i could listen to whatever music i wanted to. and what i wanted was to listen to punk. so i was dancing on the dock. my feet were prancing around rapidly, partially due to the heat but mostly from my awakening to the funky, upbeat sounds of the clash and the unrefined, thundering, rebellious noise of the runaways and the sex pistols. headbanging freely in the sticky summer sun. for that little girl who always wanted to.

when it became too late to still be celebrating independence and my family had returned home, i brought my new obsession back home with me. i was the only one with my own car and there was nothing to do in my small town so ‘going for a drive’ with friends was a frequent pastime. these friends that i’ve had since middle school were no strangers to my odd, but quick, phases, but this one really made their heads turn. when i put my playlist on shuffle, my heart raced and my cheeks started sizzling in fearful anticipation of their reaction to the raspy wrath of “anarchy in the uk.” my heart sank when i saw the judgemental looks on their faces, even though i think i expected it, which only made it hurt worse to know i was right.

i’ve been friends with these girls since our early dance days, when being the understudy again and who would get their pointe shoes next were our biggest worries. other people who did sports as a child might not understand that dance is more than an after school activity. when you dance, it’s what you are. we weren’t kicking a silly ball around a field, we were a force. dance was all i thought about and it consumed every aspect of my life. quite literally as i had classes every day until late high school. that’s not to say it was always kind to me, but when it was good…it’s the greatest, most pure thrill on earth. it’s a devastating concoction of your passions, imagination, and physical limitations. you are creating a story with your body and therefore have to put every bit of emotion, even those that you don’t quite know how to access as an adolescent, on display and projecting through every movement. my first year on the high school dance team, we were dancing to “bleeding love” and because we had to learn how to emote a devastating, consuming love our teacher asked if we had ever been in love before. my teammate, also 15, answered that yes, she had. the teacher told her no, she hadn’t, she’s only 15, so we must pretend. pretend your heart is being ripped out of your chest from love while doing cardio with intense precision of body placement for three minutes straight. it’s the most beautiful thing ever created.

to the other girls at my school they were my “dance friends,” but also my closest friends. they understood the confusing, grueling dance world, and it was less scary knowing we were in it together. but people change. people grow apart. most people would begin the hunt for new friends by a certain point, but a devotion to the dance team kept me, and them, keeping up the friends act. i couldn’t just give up the only thing that made me feel alive and like i had a purpose in this confusing world. we were branches of the same tree, bonded together by this formidable force, but destined to grow on opposite ends of the trunk.

they just didn’t get it. not like my parents' friends got it. i wished to go back to the kayak, with the waves sloshing against the sides and mist flying through my hair, crisped and curled from the lake water. the bank was filled with coors lights, in one cup holder a yeti with some tequila-based concoction and my phone blasting sex pistols in the other. i pushed closer to the sandbar where the parents were waiting patiently and wading about the water, the music and their curiosity growing louder. mr. trainer, a known lover and connoisseur of rock n roll, came to get his beverage from my delivery service.

“what’s that you’re listening to?” as he takes his cup and gestures to my cupholder/speaker.

“the sex pistols,” i say laughing coyly, muttering the first part because it feels wrong to say such a dirty word out loud. but I’m rebellious now. i crept my hands towards the grocery bag of silver cans and indulged in this emerging confidence.

“you are just the coolest.” i feel like i’ve won an award for a contest i didn’t enter.

i told my dad i had started listening to the clash too since the day before, he shook his fists in excitement like he just witnessed the bears score a touchdown and yelled “yes! awesome!” the rest of the parents started to gather around me, grabbing a beer and complimenting my taste in music. i was always more interested in the laidback way the adults would hang out, and it helped that i always found approval with them. most new years eves were spent with this same crew and for most of those i was at the adults table, listening to all the moms’ hot gossip and learning how to play rummy. i had enough sensibility to know that video games were lame and seeming more mature gets you a glass of wine at dinner. i sit in the kayak and let the waves rock me as i watch my parents converse so effortlessly with their friends, as they’ve done for the past twenty something years. it was like they had all memorized the same script. they’re comfortable, peaceful, even when they’re rowdy.

i catch the girls in my car snickering at their phones and flashing knowing glances at each other. the first of many i would catch them doing over the years after i said something especially ‘liv.’ it was always about more than an odd taste in music. friends don’t have to have every interest in common, i’ve since learned that it’s even healthy to occasionally disagree. but to a 16 year old whose world is her friends, i watched my world crumble before me and sting my delicate heart most days of the week, with every dirty look and non-invitation a piece of me was chipped away. the only thing to help the scars scab is time. in time you grow.

the rest of junior year, my taste in music, wardrobe, thoughts, and eyeliner got progressively darker. but i liked it. i slipped deeper into the rock music history quicksand, happily drowning if it led me to more band tees, questionable style, and better music. for once standing out felt like a warm blanket, wrapping me in the comfort of absurdity. around the time i discovered this new music, dance classes were on a brief hiatus because of the pandemic, so i guess i was just searching for something to sink my teeth into to fill the void left by dancing. i’ve always been a person driven by passion, so it’s possible dance just took over the majority of that passionate energy. by this point i was having too much fun jumping from one obsession to another and eccentricity was more enticing than conformity. eventually i was back on the sidelines with the rest of the dance team, shaking my shimmery pom poms and doing kicklines, but it felt different now. i felt more like myself after finding something to be truly passionate about, but it also felt like i was hiding some kind of secret. like i was living a double life. by day i was a punk rocker with dark eyeliner and a bad attitude and by friday night lights i was the spirited, girly, glittery version of myself. i was a wolf in a sheep’s sequins dress. this fantasy always backfired because my friends knew who i truly was, and not that i wanted to pretend to be something i’m not, i just could’ve done without the judgment.

although it wasn’t always easy, my rotted brain knew that being ‘the weird one’ would someday benefit me. partly because movies always favored the outcast, and because of the adults’ approval. knowing there was a circle of people in my corner no matter what made me feel secure and optimistic about all the people that would one day appreciate me for me. unlike some of my high school friends, the moms didn’t bullshit me. they, in all their wisdom, would always tell me that my time would come and i would find my people one day. i never believed them.

my best friend, callie, always made the rocky feel steady. i met her freshman year of high school on the junior varsity poms and dance team and we quickly became close companions. when i was going through my transformation, she liked my ripped tights, my growing cd collection, how i wanted to be a writer so i could make a tv show about life in dance filled with our inside jokes, and unearthed a confidence i forgot i had, one i only felt when i was dancing on stage but hadn’t felt in a long time. we just got each other. around her i was just like any other girl: deeply obsessed with twilight with an uncanny ability to connect any problem in our life to sexism. listening to the music i liked felt like being with callie. whether i was pretty, could land my turns, felt dumb, or fat, none of it mattered. it was so relieving to finally find something i could pour my heart into that brought me only joy, not the conditional, inconsistent joy of dance. to callie, and to my playlists, i could just be me. my presence was bountiful enough and i didn’t have to try so hard to be interesting. unlike with my dance team friends, i didn’t leave any interaction feeling like my insides got scooped out and the bloody trails i left behind were being gawked at. i spent hours that could add up to days sobbing over these girls that stopped caring about me that i lost sight of the people that actually cared about me. no matter how much work i did on myself or if i was genuinely starting to enjoy my own company, i still cared what they thought about me and it destroyed me every time they made me feel like a freak again. my obsession with needing everyone, especially people i suspect don’t like me, to like me has chiseled away at me for so long i sometimes forget to ask myself 1) do i even enjoy that person’s presence? and 2) why don't i just talk to the people i love that actually love me too?

“we are so similar, but we lead such different lives,” casey said to me while i was complaining about my sorority house mom. casey, an art major obsessed with philosophical books and hellbent on marrying the lead singer of the 1975, is a soulmate i've discovered at college. casey met me after my awkward phases, so she just knows me as another cool girl with great style and a bubbly demeanor. we really are so similar! we went through reinventions that a lot of people didn’t like in high school, we like rock music, dancing for fun, high fashion, nyc in the 90s, and bagels. sometimes i wish there was a way for her to step inside my mind and see those pivotal high school moments where i would catch my friends in a lie, or those adrenaline rushed performances where my blood turned to electricity and i was on top of the world for a few minutes. it’s odd thinking about how she’ll never know the tribulations i went through trying to feel comfortable with the things that, to her, are just the things i like. but i guess that's what growing up is, doing what it takes to make it through the awkward phases until you find your people. her sex pistols and sidelines moments will just be stories to me too. but how wonderful it is to find people you can comfortably tell those stories to.

sometimes my appearance feels like a shell and there’s a goblin (my personality and interests) hiding in the shadows inside. it gets me to socially acceptable places, like with the dance team or a sorority, respectable friends, fairly frequent compliments. deep down i’ll always be that poms girl in a punk phase with shitty friends judging her every move. then i get a text from casey or callie, and i snap right out of it. i’ve found people that make me feel, maybe not normal, but comfortable. i feel how i imagine my parents feel at those dinner parties and card games with their friends. at 20, i can see the light at the end of the tunnel and messages scrawled on its walls telling me that there’s more to life than people and passions that make you feel inferior. and looking back, what ever was the big deal? after all, it's just music. it was just a little bit of eyeliner, a little bit 'edgy' outfits. what felt monumental as a teenager is just some silly, fun, but important blip of my past that adds up to who i am today. my parents’ friends are just as excited as my actual parents that i’ve built a life for myself and found friends while staying true to myself. after all that self discovery, i’m left wondering, if i can comfortably have odd interests, what’s stopping me from having normal ones?

at some point, burning through new obsessions becomes tiring. i’m not 16 anymore, i know what i like and i don’t need to be the most esoteric girl at the library. you’re going to spin yourself silly if you try to. although it was a toxic, turbulent relationship, there is no world where i’ll ever stop loving dance. it’s a place to channel my creativity, it’s where i can process emotions, i can feel most human when I’m creating something with my body. i still dance occasionally, but now to the songs i feel represent myself at the moment. and i guess i always could have, it just took a while to find something that sparked my interest in a memorable way. life is sometimes like playlists, it’s more fun when you mix sex pistols and taylor swift.

xoxo

*To my girls, if you’re reading this just know there is so much more that went wrong with us than my odd taste in music, mostly due to my own faults. So many things I said and did so wrong that I feel terribly guilty about now. This is just a dramatic retelling mostly from my 16/17 year old perspective. Everything was the end of the world to me, I was a bit of a dramatic. You were such an important part of my life and I’ll love you and our time together (especially at DCN) forever. I don’t blame you for anything. If you want me to change or remove anything, text me <3.