Let’s get the hard part over with: talking about pain makes people uncomfortable. And talking about chronic pain makes people really uncomfortable. Chaz Cardigan’s A Year In Glassland isn’t a record about pain; it’s a record about being a person who has pain.
Read MoreThis past fall, A R I Z O N A headed out on the Live For A Night Tour - their first headlining tour since 2019 - and I had the pleasure of photographing the Los Angeles and San Diego shows (10/26/23 at The Wiltern, and 10/27/23 at the House of Blues, respectively) for Substream. Then, in December, I caught their home-away-from-hometown show at The Van Buren in Phoenix (12/16/23), which I also shot for Substream. But… with all three AZ shows, I certainly wasn’t done going through photos when my galleries went live… and that brings us here, where I’ll be sharing some photos I haven’t shared yet, and talking about my editing process.
Read MoreWhen I headed to Phoenix, AZ last month for A R I Z O N A (more on that later), I knew I wanted to take advantage of the desert scenery and do a creative photoshoot with my friend Jordan White, frontwoman of Jane N’ The Jungle. My internet pal Kelly (a Phoenix native, though she was out of town that weekend) suggested heading to South Mountain Park, and Jordan knew just where to go.
Jordan brought a few outfits with her and I was particularly excited about two items: a leopard print hat with a gold chain, and a black jacket covered in fringe. Both made their way into plenty of the photos.
Most of my photography is concerts, which means I need to freeze action, usually in low light. That means: cranking my ISO (translation: potential for grainy photos) and opening up my aperture (translation: potential for out-of-focus photos) so that I don’t have to slow down my shutter speed (which would create the potential for blurry photos). Shooting in bright sunlight is … well, pretty different. Especially when you’re posing someone for portraits - they’re more still so there’s no worry about needing to freeze action with a certain shutter speed.
We had a GORGEOUS day at South Mountain Park - sunny with clear skies around. I actually took these first few shots with flash - a technique I want to play around with more. Lighting my subject with flash means the background will be better exposed. (You ever take a photo of someone outside and the sky just looks blown out, all white? Using flash can prevent that.)
We went for some wider shots next, to show more of the desert around us. Jordan was a great model to work with - she was comfortable in front of the camera and took direction well when I suggested little adjustments to her poses.
I wanted to create images that JNTJ might use on Instagram, so I worked with Jordan to settle on a visual aesthetic that felt right. The promo for their last single, “Cut Me Open”, was high-contrast and largely black and white, so I knew I wanted to do some black and white shots. Take a look at the images below - presented first in color, then in black and white. See how different they feel?
I’d also brought my prism, and wanted to take some closer shots with my aperture all the way at f/1.4. This did make it trickier to nail focus - but it gave a gorgeous blur to the background, and more importantly, made the glass of the prism itself disappear. This way, you see the light reflected by the prism (aka, the cool prism effect) without seeing the prism itself.
While the look below - with the pink/purple tint - wasn’t ultimately Jordan’s favorite, I did want to include a few photos with this look, because it is something that feels very representative of my style as a photographer.
I wanted a few wider shots involving the prism - and I’m obsessed with how the first shot shows the prism reflecting an outline of Jordan holding the hat. The entire time I shot with the prism, I kept rotating it and moving it around - in photos 2 and 3, Jordan is in almost the same pose, but the light hits her face and hair in a different way, giving a different emphasis to the images. Oh, and again - take a look at this photoset in color, then in black and white; what do the images evoke in each variation?
That fringed jacket Jordan’s rocking in the photos above was simply begging for an epic, “walk down the lonely desert road” shot like this (and a moody image like this begged to be in black and white).
And because I love a cactus… here’s Jordan next to a beautiful, giant saguaro cactus. (In my mind, a saguaro was like, 6 or 7 feet tall. Mayyybe 8 feet… apparently, they average around 40 feet tall!)
I don’t often turn the camera around on myself - but I had fun doing it this time and letting Jordan take a few photos of me. Maybe I’ll have to get my picture taken more often. For the photos of myself, I went with a “warm desert sun” vibe. (Wait, can we talk about the light hitting my pink hair?)
And of course, I had to pose next to the big cactus, too.
I grabbed some photos of the scenery, too. I don’t do much landscape photography - but it was fun thinking about what to capture and what story I wanted to tell without a person in the frame. I’d definitely love to come back to South Mountain Park or anywhere else in Arizona, really - so many cool photo opps.
Back in July, I took the train down to Anaheim to see Family Thief, a singer-songwriter I’ve been listening to for a decade (no, really: he put out a split EP with Forever Came Calling in 2013 that I loved from the first time I heard it). He was playing the side room at the House of Blues, and one of the opening acts was a band called Cinders.
Cinders are from Salt Lake City. They’re an indie band and one of my first thoughts was that they were weird. Weird in a Walk The Moon way: when Cinders take the stage, they’re throwing a party - and you’re invited. Yes, you. What, you don’t know the words? No worries: you will soon enough. They hold up signs to help you sing along. Safe to say, I was hooked, so when I saw they’d be coming to Los Angeles (or if we’re being technical, West Hollywood) in early September I reached out to set up a portrait shoot. (Unfortunately, I ended up missing the actual show due to a migraine attack - ugh. Next time!)
I met Montana (vocals/guitar), Adrian (bass), and Brad (drums) behind the Troubadour, where they all got ready and we chatted a bit. Montana, Adrian, and Brad all told me they do well with a lot of direction and cues - so with that in mind, we headed to our first shooting location: a staircase right out back.
I had a lot of fun posing Cinders. They took direction really well but they also let their personalities shine through - and I appreciated that they wanted to keep some of the “silly” photos I got where they all goofed off. I love those moments (like Brad showing off his socks in the final photo in the grid below) - they feel like the best way to really give a window into who an artist is.
Next, we headed to a park right across the street (and, I came to realize, right on the border of WeHo and Beverly Hills). There were a lot of park benches and trees, which I thought would make for good posing opportunities.
We weren’t the only ones who had come to the park: as we were situated on somewhat of an incline, several skateboarders rolled past and photobombed. Just after the skateboarders passed, some of the members of Sub-Radio walked by, and Cinders uh… gave some greetings.
Before we wrapped, I had time to take a few more photos of each member individually. The light on this day was a little tougher than I’d anticipated - so I was super glad I’d thought to use flash (seriously, daytime outdoor flash = my favorite tool for portraits right now).
I really enjoyed doing this shoot with Cinders - and I’m really hoping they come back to the LA area soon so I’ll get a chance to photograph them live!
Last Friday, I got an invite to see Gavin Magnus - a musician and viral content creator (he’s big on TikTok and Instagram as well as YouTube - where he’s been making videos for over six years!) perform at The Noise Nest. The Noise Nest is a recording studio located in Hollywood - and I can never pass up a chance to nerd out at a recording studio!
The Noise Nest was hosting a UFC viewing event, and Gavin was performing. It was his first performance since signing to Big Noise Music Group. I arrived just after 7pm, where I met up with Gavin and his manager to take a few portraits.
I started off by having him pose in front of this wall - I was digging the greenery and how it contrasted with the color of the wall itself. We took a few photos horizontal - but I ended up switching to vertical pretty quickly.
I love these vertical shots. It’s no surprise considering his history creating content and entertaining people - but Gavin was great at working the camera.
Adjacent to the first wall was… this wall with the Big Noise logo! I couldn’t miss this photo op.
I didn’t even think about this till I was editing later - but Gavin was wearing a black shirt, posing against a black background. I had brought my flash and even set it up - but didn’t end up using it. I’m not really sure why? I really like how the colors in these photos ended up though so I think it worked as-is!
When it came to editing these, I flipped through some old pre-sets I’d created - settling on one I’d used for an indoor portrait shoot a few years ago, and adjusting slightly. I did have to change the settings a bit when it came to the photos in front of the Big Noise logo; I decided I’d rather have my images look consistent, than stick to having the settings be consistent.
Gavin put on a short-but-sweet, highly energetic performance - including a new song that’ll be coming out soon. He’s definitely an artist to keep your eye on. I’m pretty excited to hear what he does next - and hope to shoot with him again soon!
I mentioned in my last post that I’d taken some portraits of Chase Petra. Well, here those are!
I took an early bus so I had time for two important tasks before the show: one, pick up some extra AA batteries for my flash; two, scout out some potential locations for portraits. I wanted locations with interesting backgrounds and good light, so I snapped some photos on my phone of spots I wanted to hit. When I met up with Hunter (lead vocals, guitar in Chase Petra), our first spot was in front of a Thai restaurant across from the venue. It wasn’t somewhere I’d originally scouted - but this mosaic background was something I couldn’t say no to.
Up next, we headed to a mural I’d spotted when walking around. Part of the mural was shaded and part was hit by direct sunlight; I played around with my flash to get the correct exposure for my subject (Hunter). Later, in editing, I still had some careful work to do to get things just right. I wanted to make sure to show detail in the white dress Hunter was wearing, while not underexposing everything else.
The last spot Hunter and I went to was an ivy-covered wall around the corner from the venue. I grabbed some shots of her sitting, and switched out my lens to my 50mm/1.4 for the close-ups. I liked both color and black-and-white for these shots; if you look closely, you’ll notice that I didn’t just turn the color image to black-and-white. I wanted a higher-contrast image for black-and-white, with darker blacks and a sharper feel; I wanted the color version to feel softer and almost pastel.
While Hunter went to soundcheck with the rest of the band, I headed to the pizza place next to the venue to grab some dinner. It was a nice vegan slice (the tomato sauce was really fresh and flavorful) - but I honestly wish I’d gotten another slice. I was still a little hungry after!
I reconvened with Hunter and Chase Petra guitarist Genevieve a little while later and we headed to what ended up being my favorite spot: a bank down the block. The reflections in the windows proved tricky to edit; I cleaned them up where I felt the images in the reflections were distracting, but in some cases I left them be. We shot at two different sides of the building to experiment with the light.
As we were about to head back to the venue, I grabbed these last few shots, trying to take advantage of the golden hour light. I like the contrast and simplicity of the black-and-white, but the light really shines in the color shots.
I’ve been in Los Angeles for seven and a half weeks now, and still every time I walk around my own neighborhood, or a new part of the city, I get this crazy realization that I actually live here. I’m having so much fun learning my way around my neighborhood, trying new vegan restaurants, meeting new people, and spending time with friends.
The first show I photographed since the move was on July 7: Sam MacPherson and Ruel at the Shrine, next to the USC campus (fun fact: I almost went to USC! It’s wild to think how differently my life could’ve turned out if I had - but hey, here I am anyway!). I had previously been to the Shrine a decade ago, while on tour with PETA and Steve Aoki - I definitely had some flashbacks while waiting in line! Just over a week later, I headed to The Echo in Echo Park. I’d been to The Echoplex years ago (on another tour with PETA, I caught a show there on a night off) but never to The Echo itself.
I arrived early to take portraits of Chase Petra (blog post with those photos coming soon!); with plenty of time to go before doors, I grabbed some pizza next door to the venue (it was super good - really nice, fresh tasting tomato sauce - but I wished I’d ordered a second slice!), and spent some time wandering around a bookstore and a thrift shop and talking to the other folks waiting for the show.
The Echo does not have a photo pit, and the lighting was also… not great. The show was sold-out, too. So my still-pretty-new camera and I were in for a challenge. Chase Petra was up first; I started near the corner of stage left, before making my way around to the other side and then back again. I increased my ISO and played around with shutter speed, and ultimately decided to do the whole photo set in black and white. This way, all my focus could go to capturing the moments I wanted to capture - even if the colors of the lights weren’t flattering. a
By the way, Chase Petra may have been the first act of the night - but that didn’t stop the crowd from cheering for an encore.
Sydney Sprague was up next. I didn’t take as many photos of her set; the crowd was intense (in the best way!), and I needed a breather and also some water. So, after I got a few shots, I filled up my water bottle and sat down to watch the rest of her set.
Finally, Pool Kids closed out the night and holy shit, I knew they would rock, but they put on such a good show. I’d known Andy Anaya since the days of You Blew It! (RIP, btw), and it was great to see him again. (It’s so fun for me to catch up with people as they ask about the move and how I’m liking LA - honestly, I’m thriving and couldn’t be happier that I’m here). Pool Kids put on the kind of show that it didn’t matter if you knew their songs or not; you’d be having a blast either way because that energy was off the walls. (As were the crowdsurfers.)
At shows like this without a barricade, I usually shoot the first three songs or so; depending on the room and depending on the photos I captured in the first three songs, I may go in for a few more shots. Pool Kids had everyone pull out their phones to light up the room towards the end of the set, and you know I had to get a photo of that.
I wanted to share two, non-photo related things I really enjoyed about this show:
The crowd went OFF for all three artists! You know how most shows, the crowd goes OFF for the headliner, but not so much for the openers? (Or there are the rare shows where the crowd goes OFF for one of the openers, but doesn’t seem to care about the headlining act?) That was not the case here. The energy was on 10 all night.
Gender diversity in ALL THREE ARTISTS! When I started photographing shows and interviewing artists in 2011, it was a Big Deal to me if there was ONE single woman on stage in a three-act show. Have I mentioned that Genevieve, the guitarist of Chase Petra, absolutely SHREDDED? Because she did, and that was SO COOL. I saw so little representation of women on stages when I started out, and it makes me so, so happy to see that happening more now. Here’s to even more in the future.
Too loud; too quiet. Too sensitive; too harsh. Too anxious and restless; too depressed and lazy. Too this, too that – too much, too much, too much. I’ve been called all of these things, and it’s true - I am A Lot. It turns out I have ADHD, but I didn’t learn this until not quite 2 years ago – so for the first three decades of my life, I was plagued by the knowledge that I was, indeed, Too Much.
I was drawn to Walk The Moon’s music because everything about it, like everything about me, screamed “too much.” With Walk The Moon, “too much” wasn’t a bad thing – it was celebrated. Here, there was no being stuck in your head with worry – here, you’re pulled out of your head and into your body to enjoy, life, feel the moment. Their music makes me feel like I’m on top of the world, even in life’s dark moments.
Walk The Moon recently announced their hibernation, and I’ve been feeling sentimental as I think about so many wonderful memories I have around them and their music. How they’ve made me feel like I could fly when I wasn’t sure I could walk. How they’ve made me feel like being “too much” isn’t a problem – it’s something to celebrate. Below, read through some of my favorite Walk The Moon memories.
Sometime in the fall of 2014 – I’m driving through the suburban NJ town I grew up in with the radio on (my car at the time didn’t have a working CD player, nor did it have a place to plug in an aux cord – so radio it was), and I hear “Shut Up and Dance” for the first time. Wait a minute – Walk The Moon, isn’t that the band with that “Anna Sun” song? I look it up when I get home – it is. I listen to Talking Is Hard on repeat; it’s catchy, it’s upbeat, but I’m not sure I get it.
April 2015 – I get an email with a last-minute confirmation: I have a ticket and photo pass to photograph Walk The Moon at Terminal 5 in New York City! I had no idea what a treat I was in for when I walked into the venue that night. As a photographer, I love the vibrant lights on stage; as a writer and a human, I love the stories vocalist Nick Petricca tells between songs. In particular, the meditation before “I Can Lift A Car” grabs me – it gives me a sense of ecstatic joy and makes me feel powerful, like I could do anything. I get it now: I walk out carrying with me a sense of peace and magical energy, and a comfort that it’s okay to be weird. I walk out a Walk The Moon fan for life.
January 2016 – I’m packing my bags to leave for tour – four months on the road, driving across the country and back again - and as I’m getting ready, I make a “driving” playlist on Spotify. I choose songs I knew I’d never skip, songs that could fit any mood. I put the entirety of Walk The Moon and Talking Is Hard on there, and wonder if my tour mates are familiar.
May 2016 – We’re in Long Beach, California and tour is nearly over. I’m driving the van and by chance, just as I turn onto the Pacific Coast Highway – craning my neck, wondering when I’ll get a glimpse of the ocean – “Anna Sun” comes on. I hadn’t queued it up, but I guess Spotify’s randomization is on my side; everything is beautiful and everything is perfect.
June 2016 – My brother and I are traveling through Thailand together; he’s just finished teaching English, and I’ve just finished my spring tour. I’m fascinated by how different everything is from anything I’ve ever seen; overwhelmed in the most positive way at the realization of just how far from home I am. We ride a moped from Kanchanaburi to Erawan falls; we stop to eat som tam (papaya salad) that’s impossibly spicy. I listen to “Anna Sun” as we watch the sunset over the water in Koh Samui. On an overnight bus traveling to yet another town, I fall asleep listening to “Iscariot.”
September 2017 – It’s here, it’s here, it’s here. Walk The Moon releases “One Foot”, the first taste of What If Nothing – and my first time hearing new Walk The Moon music as a diehard fan. I read the press release and I’m already enthralled at the concept of this album. I watch the video and decide I need to visit Joshua Tree someday. I send the video to my boss, a big Talking Heads fan; “I like Walk The Moon!”, he tells me.
October 2017 – I feel a ball of nerves building as I email Walk The Moon’s publicist: I’d like to write a review of What If Nothing; would it be possible to receive an advance copy? She responds promptly that she’ll send me the advance the week before the album release; I agree to publish my review the week of release.
November 2017 – On a Friday, I arrive in Dallas, Texas for a conference, where I meet an internet friend for lunch. When I get to my hotel room, I see an exciting email: the advance copy of What If Nothing is waiting for me in my inbox. I listen while I get ready for the night’s networking event; I tear up when I hear “Tiger Teeth.” I listen again and take notes for my review. On Saturday, I listen again in between conference events, and begin drafting my review. On Sunday, life takes me on an unexpected ride and I’m back in Deep Ellum, getting a tattoo for an album that won’t be released for six more days. On Sunday night, I cry again to “Tiger Teeth.” On Monday, I finish my review while stuck in the Minneapolis airport on my way home.
January 2018 – It’s a frigid day in New York and I’m bundled up in my winter coat as I make the short walk from Penn Station to the Hammerstein Ballroom. Once inside, I head downstairs to the bathroom, where I make friends with a few girls who are doing their face paint. I ask if they mind if I take some photos; they agree, and we exchange Instagram handles. I head up towards the photo pit where I see some friends. I knew the show would be special, and it’s just as magical as I’d hoped.
Later in January 2018 – I’m so proud of the photos from the Hammerstein Ballroom show; I debate ordering a canvas or maybe a framed print with my favorite photo of the evening. Instead, I order this custom woven blanket.
April 2018 – Anxiety is hitting me hard. I try and I try but I can’t keep from ruminating; I think of Nick’s passion for yoga, and wonder if it would help me. I start seeing a therapist and I begin practicing yoga at home – once or twice a week at first. I have no idea if it’s helping, but I keep doing it.
June 2018 – Walk The Moon is on tour opening for 30 Seconds To Mars. At the last minute, I buy a pair of tickets to the show at Madison Square Garden, in the nosebleeds; no one wanted to come with me. I force myself to stay off my phone, save for a quick photo and video of the band; the thought of facing the truth (and the heartbreak that’d surely instill) made me sick. I leave after their set to get dinner from a vegan restaurant I like. The next day, they’re playing at PNC Bank Arts Center in Holmdel, New Jersey. I’d bought a (more expensive) ticket for that one, just a few rows from the stage. I was spiraling, sick at the truth in front of me, and had a panic attack when I got to my seat – sobbing, crying, hyperventilating. One of the ushers brings me a water bottle and some paper towels to use as tissues. When Walk The Moon comes on, I feel like I can breathe again. I’m able to pull myself out of my head and into my body, as Nick would say.
September 2018 – My heart is broken. It had been slowly chipped at for nearly a year and finally, there it was – smashed, shattered, beaten into smithereens. I listen to What If Nothing on repeat, in hopes I can make some sense of the sadness in my heart and the unknown ahead of me. I wonder if I’ll ever get through this pain, if I’ll ever be the same.
Later in September 2018 – I haven’t been able to sleep in a week; every muscle in my body is tense. I make myself dinner and it’s a toss-up whether I can eat more than a bite or two. I decide that I need to make yoga more of a routine and commit to doing it a few times a week.
October 2018 – A friend is hosting a Halloween Party; I decide to dress up as “Walk The Moon”. I wore a “Walk The Moon-inspired” outfit, copied Nick’s face paint from the “Anna Sun” video, and carried around a cardboard “moon” on a dog leash. My friend pulls me aside shortly after I arrive to ask how I’m doing; I tell her the angry version of the story. The sadness lays deeper inside me. I eat pizza, cookies, chips (thank god I have an appetite, at least). My costume is a hit.
December 2018 – I find myself at an ecstatic dance party in Amsterdam. The whole concept of ecstatic dance seems very WTM-esque, if you will; I put on some face paint before I go. A very, very handsome man starts dancing with me; I can’t bear the thought of dancing with anyone that isn’t that one, and I leave the event in tears. I get fries on my way back to my hostel; I never cry about that one again.
January 2019 – I’m learning to breathe again, starting to see some light. I commit to doing yoga every day. With oddly perfect timing, Walk The Moon releases “Timebomb”: “when your heart opens, it’s like I’m ready to fall again.” I’m able to see that I’ll get there, too.
February 2019 – I drive to New Haven, Connecticut, where I meet up with an internet friend to do our face paint. We sit in a Starbucks near the venue and discuss what might be on the set list. They play “Tiger Teeth”; I cry through the whole song. My friend tells me she’s going to stay late to try and meet the members of the band, and invites me to join her. We wait outside the venue when I realize I don’t have anything for them to sign (my ticket was digital). Another fan is there with her boyfriend; he had printed out his ticket, and happily gives it to me. I ask Eli what I’d have to do to hear “Iscariot” live (he tells me: “go to a show in 2013”; I laugh and groan). We wait a long while to meet Nick; my feet are freezing in my boots. I tell Nick that I cried during “Tiger Teeth”; he puts his hand on my heart and says, “thank you for sharing that.”
Later in February 2019 – I’m on a roll with my writing and photography career! I take a half-day from my day job, and take the train into New York City to head to a record label office where I’ll interview two artists I’m really excited about. While waiting on the subway platform, I listen to Talking Is Hard. And I dance. I’m dancing on the subway platform again; my heart is healing.
April 2020 – Nick goes Live on Instagram and asks for requests. I comment “The Liftaway”; he plays the intro and first few lines. Okay, it’s not the full song – but it’s enough to get me excited.
November 2021 – Out of nowhere, my knee pain gets bad. I go to orthopedic urgent care in the suburbs, then get an MRI downtown. Heights comes out; I listen for the first time on the way to my follow-up appointment with the orthopedist. I’m scared; I don’t know if it’s worse to hear “you need surgery” or “you’re not a candidate for surgery.” This album helps me make sense of the unknown, and feel okay with it.
November 2022 – Walk The Moon are on tour celebrating the tenth anniversary of their self-titled album; they livestream the show in New York. I live in Philadelphia now, and I’m struggling hard with frequent migraine attacks, orthostatic intolerance, and intense fatigue; I can’t even dream of making the trip to be there in person, but I watch the livestream while eating Chinese food on my couch. I get up and dance a few times. They play “The Liftaway” (the whole song!), and I shriek in excitement.
Later in November 2022 – It’s Thanksgiving Day; I’m in Los Angeles for the holiday. I start my day by taking a yoga class on the beach in Santa Monica. Making small talk with the gentleman next to me, I mention Walk The Moon and Nick’s studio, Kundalini Yoga By The Sea. I tell him about how meditative a Walk The Moon show is; we talk also about EDM and how a rave can be its own form of meditation. After class, I drive in my rental car up the Pacific Coast Highway and blast “Anna Sun” – on purpose this time, and it’s just as magical.
June 2023 – I move to Los Angeles; two days after I land, I borrow my brother’s car and – again – drive up the Pacific Coast Highway blasting Walk The Moon. My dog is snug in his carrier next to me. I can’t believe how beautiful the view it is, and how close it is – because I live here now.
July 2023 – Walk The Moon announces their hibernation. I’m deeply sad – this band has given so much to me, and it aches to know there won’t be a tour or new record any time soon. I’m grateful, though, for all they’ve given me. I make an Instagram post; shortly after, full of words to say, I begin writing this blog post.
As I pull out my phone to write this blog, I'm in an Uber coming home from seeing A R I Z O N A at the Mann. It's Thursday, May 11; the time on the driver's clock reads 9:27 (my phone says it's only 9:22), and as I clutch the shirt and hoodie I purchased, I think back to the night I've had. I'm deliriously happy – it's spilling out of me - and I've had the time of my life.
This entire week has been awful. Nothing has been going my way, and on Wednesday, I had the worst headache pain I'd had in a while. The pain was blinding, burning nerve pain that radiated from the base of my skull up along my scalp. Heating pads, stretches, muscle relaxers – nothing was helping. Why does my head hurt so badly? I flashed back to winter and felt sick, reliving the trauma. A bad nightmare rearing its ugly head, my mind spiraled: Have I gone through all this physical therapy and trialed all these medications for nothing? Will I ever find true relief? Will this ever end?
When I woke up the morning of the show, my head felt fine, but my mind was stuck in the same dark place: will going to the show worsen my pain? Will it be too much activity, too much sound and light, too much time on my feet? Will my heart race uncontrollably, will I have to sit down or risk nearly passing out? Will I regret going to see A R I Z O N A? I had seen the band once before, in 2019, at The Filmore in Philadelphia. They were headlining that night, and I interviewed them before the show (in 2020, I got interviewed about that). I'd been thinking about that show ever since – how much fun I'd had, how it made me fall in love with A R I Z O N A's music even more – and despite my fears of feeling unwell, I knew I couldn't miss this one.
Walking towards the entrance and through the gate, I could feel my heartbeat getting faster and my body nudging me to sit down. As I climbed the stairs, I could feel my heart racing, beating faster than it had recently (I'm on medication for this – what's going on?). I quickly ate a salt packet and drank a Gatorade; as soon as I could catch my breath, I went to the merch booth and bought an A R I Z O N A shirt. Making my way to the crowd, I was happy to find a spot that wasn't too packed. God, I need to lie down. I laid down on the turf for a few minutes, praying my heart would slow enough that I could comfortably stand to enjoy the show. I prayed I'd be able to be on my feet, that my body would cooperate.
After Julia Wolf's set, I made my way closer to the stage. It's here; it's happening. I'm about to see A R I Z O N A again. Zach, Nate, and David took the stage, opening with "Freaking Out," and I found myself thinking back to the summer of 2020 when I'd first written about the song. At that time, I'd been plagued by debilitating "sleep issues" that seemed to have no answer. And in 2022, as I went to visit after visit with a sleep specialist and did two sleep studies, the mystery around my insomnia only grew. I feared that I was crazy, that my inability to get a restful night of sleep was my fault somehow. Now, I'm pretty close to an answer (no, it's not "anxiety"), I've finally learned what I need to do to fix my sleep, and I feel fucking free. I lost myself in "Freaking Out," feeling so connected to the music that I couldn't tell if there were five people or five thousand around me – all that mattered was the song being performed just a few feet before me.
I guess you could say I was practicing mindfulness. But the thing about mindfulness is that when you're in pain, it is really hard. Because pain – especially bad headache pain – takes over everything. It messes with your mind, and you can't enjoy the moment; all you can do, think, and feel, is pain. I was desperate and willing to try anything. I tried drug after drug – four different migraine preventatives, three different triptans, two rounds of steroids, a short course of an anti-convulsant, and plenty of NSAIDs – and got nowhere. In January, after 53 days of being at a constant level 9 pain (I'm saving "level 10" for pain that knocks me unconscious), I got nerve blocks – numbing medications injected into my scalp. The next day – day 54 – I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the worst was over. Only it wasn't quite over. Soon enough, my pain was back up to a level 8, and I was finding it impossible to hold out hope that things might get better, that I might finally find relief.
It was February 8; I wondered if I should give up, if it were time to accept that this pain was my life. Is it even worth it to try anything else? Is the heartbreak of another method of relief failing even worth the potential that it might help? I wanted to get better, but I could barely get through each day. I dreamed of going to shows but could hardly wash the dishes or cook dinner. It all seemed so out of reach. And then, on February 8, A R I Z O N A released "Moving On." The timing was perfect – "We'll be alright if we just keep moving on, keep moving on, keep moving on," Zach chanted in the chorus. Okay – I'll keep trying. If I keep trying, if I keep moving on, I'll be alright. The next day, February 9, I had my first physical therapy visit – I was given some stretches to practice daily and felt immediate relief from my pain. There was surely a long road ahead, but maybe things were finally looking up.
Cut to three months later, at the show: a few songs into A R I Z O N A's set, I realized I didn't have a headache. I reveled in the moment and thanked whatever spiritual being was looking out for me. I looked up at the stage, recognizing the opening notes of "Moving On," and the lights shining on Zach, Nate, and David shone like a clarion call directly to me: there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and it's right in front of my face. The performance of "Moving On" could've lasted three and a half minutes or an entire lifetime, a lifetime I continued to soak into over the following few songs.
When the band began playing "Still Alive," my chest burned so heavily with relief, I thought I was hearing things; after all, this was a song I'd turned to many times when I needed a reminder that I could get through this, and the timing felt like it was made just for me. Now, it felt like a celebration. From November till March, I was just existing. The pain in my head and neck was so bad, I was a shell of myself. I'd cry to myself at night: I miss living my life. This pain has taken over everything. I want my life back. And now, thanks to a new migraine preventative - Ajovy, the fifth one I've tried - and continued physical therapy, I'm getting my life back. I'm here, I'm alive, and I'm listening to one of my favorite bands play one of my favorite songs. "Still Alive" is a proclamation of triumph through adversity; if the members of A R I Z O N A can get through the experiences that inspired the song, I can get through this. As they played "Cross Your Mind," I thought back to the first time I'd heard that song in 2018. I was fixated on someone that didn't even matter. I was a year out from knee surgery, and I took for granted that I could exercise, go to a concert, and go grocery shopping without pain. Now, I don't take any of that for granted because I know how easily it can be taken away from me.
After toasting to their new album release – just a few hours away – Zach told the crowd they'd be playing a new song. There's something so special about your first exposure to a song being hearing it live – I couldn't believe I was so lucky. Introducing "Graveyard," Zach explained that the new album, A R I Z O N A, is about "perspective" - and at that moment, I felt I had all I needed. The sun had set, and a refreshing breeze was coming in as he sang of a place fit for kings and queens. The song filled the blood in my veins, and I was completely entranced. A R I Z O N A is more than a band and this night is more than a concert – this is everything.
Sitting in that Uber on my way home, my feet were sore from standing in impractical shoes. But… I was able to stand for the show – something that wouldn't have been possible a few months ago when my orthostatic intolerance was untreated. And… I didn't have a headache by the time I got home. It's Friday evening as I finish writing this, and I don't have a headache now either. This doesn't mean I'm cured – but it does mean I'm getting better. And realizing that I really, truly am getting better feels all the sweeter now because of what an amazing time I had last night.
There is none. There is no silver lining, no greater lesson to be learned, no “reason this all happened.” There may be an underlying cause to be found, a triggering event that gets identified, an explanation that ties everything together - but there is no metaphysical point that this pain had to happen.
107 of the last 123 days – including today – have been “headache days.” My chronic migraine attacks started a few months prior, and starting on November 28, I had a new type of headache (in addition to regular migraine attacks). A migraine attack would start and then end. But this new headache (maybe also migraine, but a different type of attack? I don’t know) – a sharp, hot, burning pain – has been relentless.
On New Year’s Eve, my head didn’t hurt but my neck was killing me. A few weeks later - after two failed rounds of steroids and three days of an anti-convulsant that did not help – I got a nerve block. And very shortly after that, I felt better – so much better, in fact, and without any side effects save for some numbness (which I’d take over the intractable pain any day), that I was beyond disappointed I’d had to wait so long for that kind of relief. Unfortunately, the pain slowly began to climb back up, albeit not quite getting to the constant level it was pre-nerve block. A few weeks after that, I had my first physical therapy session and learned some stretches for my neck. I felt some relief almost instantly; each time I do the stretches, my neck relaxes and so does the pain in my head. This is encouraging – but again, it makes me so mad that I had to wait so long to feel this relief, that nobody thought of it any sooner.
Feeling numb post nerve-block
When we read the story of someone’s pain – whether acute or chronic, whether due to an accident, injury, or illness – we want there to be a happy ending. We want to keep reading and find out that they get better – that they find out what caused the pain in the first place and they are able to be cured, or at the very least, manage it so well that it causes them no trouble, save for perhaps daily medications. With more dramatic pain – pain that seems to come out of nowhere, pain that is life altering, pain that impacts your ability to function, pain that doesn’t end – we want there to be a silver lining. There should be a lesson learned from all of this, they should be grateful, in a way, to go through all this pain because look at what they learned because of it! Look at how much better their life is now! Look at all of the healthcare they received!
This never-ending headache has forced me to advocate for myself with medical professions, to use my best written and verbal communication skills. Sometimes doctors still won’t listen, but in some cases, that self-advocacy has worked and gotten me testing, appointments, a new method of relief to try (I’m writing this six hours after my second nerve block). But using precious spoons to come up with a perfectly-worded message to send to my provider on MyChart, to debate whether a MyChart message or voicemail would be more effective, to determine which pieces of information are necessary to bring up at my appointment – that only leaves me with even fewer spoons to actually live my life.
I am not brave or a martyr for continuing to work, do the laundry, cook and wash dishes. I have no choice. I have to work to pay the bills, and while sometimes chores can be put off for a day or two or takeout can be ordered so I can avoid cooking – things still have to get done, and there is no one here to do it for me. I am not complaining; I am stating the reality I am in. This pain has forced me to make decisions about prioritizing and learn what actually matters – it turns out I don’t really care if the sink is full of dishes for a whole day, but I will be devastated if I miss a FaceTime catchup session with a friend. Gasp! But you socialize – you see friends, go out to dinner, have people over to your apartment! You can’t possibly be in that much pain! Yes – I have seen friends, and I have taken an Uber both ways instead of walking less than 10 minutes to and from the train because that walk would eat up the very last of my spoons – and only make my pain worse. And I have cancelled, rescheduled, or rearranged plans more times than I can count. I’ve missed out on concerts I’d been looking forward to for months with no time left to sell a ticket and get my money back.
I am long done trying to be positive for the sake of other people’s comfort. Do I have optimism and hope that thing will get better, that my daily pain will go down, that I will find effective ways to manage my pain and be able to get closer to my previous activity level? Cautiously, yes – each time I do my neck exercises, each day I take Nurtec, I am hopeful that I am a little closer to at least getting back to “baseline” – to how I was before November 28. But some days are still hard. I’ll lay down on the couch and realize my water glass is nearly empty, but my muscles are tired and my head hurts and I’ve just gotten comfortable with heat/ice. Do I get up now and risk making the pain worse? No, I lie here and wait until I’m thirsty enough that it’s worth moving. It’s getting late and my last dose of whatever pain reliever has worn off, my heating pad is back to room temperature, and I delay bedtime because of the pain – hoping that if I wait another 10, 20, 30 minutes or more it’ll hurt less and I will fall asleep easier.
Would it have gone away sooner if I had rested more? Taken off work even when I had important projects? Gone to the ER? Been willing to continue taking a medicine that gave me awful side effects (well that’s just part of the deal, don’t you know – some of these medicines have side effects and you should be grateful there is any medication available for you at all!)? Fought even harder for myself, done an extra yoga class, skipped a yoga class, scheduled extra sessions with my therapist, avoided all caffeine and artificial sweeteners?
I’ve decided that I am done with wondering all of that. Pain drains you of your energy. To simply exist in pain is exhausting – not to mention having to advocate for yourself to healthcare professionals, to continue trying to improve other things in your life, to answer endless questions from well-meaning but clueless folks wanting to know have you tried this? What about that? You should avoid this, stop that, it can cause a migraine attack.
I have tried a lot of those things, the things people always like to suggest. Like… a lot of them. And at a certain point hearing more “suggestions” just feels exhausting when all I want to hear is that there is no point to this pain. That I don’t deserve this, that they believe me and believe my suffering, and that they hope things start to improve but understand it could take a really long time.
