CHAPTERS: Alexa Wilding

Every (life) chapter has at least one memorable moment, sentence, or story.

and

May 07, 2024

Every (life) chapter has at least one memorable moment, sentence, or story. What are yours? In Chapters, I ask creative people to reflect on the stories of their lives and respond to any of the below prompts (in whatever way they wish).

In the latest installment, we hear from

Alexa Wilding

—devoted writer, musician, and mother—who shares musings on the creative life, art and literary favorites, and resonant memories.

Alexa’s Chapters

I. Slow Story

Every couple of months, I take the train down to Manhattan to see my oncologist for my check-up. I also make sure to get an overpriced latte from one of the bakeries on Madison Avenue, a new book from the Corner Bookstore, and to visit Balthus's "Nude in Front of a Mantel," my favorite painting at the Met. As far as I'm concerned, these rituals are as non-negotiable as my labs, breast exam, and a most undignified shot in my rear that keeps the cancer away. I was diagnosed with early breast cancer in 2022, four years after my son Lou's second bout with brain cancer. While none of this has been easy, I've learned that one must counter hard things with rituals that bring pleasure and joy, like trying to find my Balthus girl. I've been visiting her since I was a child, yet I still get lost pushing through the darkness of the Medieval Wing. I'm always amazed when I finally see the bright light from the Robert Lehman galleries, and there she is. Standing at her feet with my sore backside, my heart racing beneath my reconstructed breast, I usually cry a little, mostly out of gratitude. I'm still here, and so is she! I slow down, I find my breath. Renewed in her presence, I push my way back through the angels and Madonnas, the little chapel and pews. I limp back out into the world, returning to my ever-unfolding story.

II. Love Story

I found this old copy of writer and Zen practitioner Natalie Goldberg's classic book, Writing Down the Bones, at Magpie Books in Catskill. It was a particularly grey day, my kids were driving me crazy, I hadn't got enough work done. I picked it up at random, opening to a paragraph that spoke right to my restless writer's heart:

"To begin writing from our pain eventually engenders compassion for our small and groping lives. Out of this broken state there comes a tenderness for the cement below our feet, the dried grass crackling in a terrible wind. We can touch the things around us we once thought ugly and see their special detail, the peeling paint and gray shadows as they are—simply what they are: not bad, just part of the life around us—and love this life because it is ours and in the moment there is nothing better."

III. Color Story

I found this old purple-tinted press shot from my second album, 2012's Coral Dust, and it made me think of the Purple Lady. Around that time, I had gone to a swimming hole in New Jersey with my bandmate, Tim, and there was a very old woman there, dressed entirely in purple, even her hair was purple! She must have walked over from the purple house we'd passed on the way or driven the purple VW bug parked by the picnic tables. Whatever the case, I watched as she stripped down to her purple bathing suit, free and at ease in her ancient body. We swam together, me and Tim and the Purple Lady, circling each other as the sun slowly turned to purple, too. Tim and I talked about that day for years. Who was she? I used to think the Purple Lady's secret was that she gave zero fucks, but now I think she actually gave enough fucks to live her life exactly as she wanted. I'd like to live like that, too.

IV. Sob Story

I never know when to tell a new friend or acquaintance that my son, Lou and I are both cancer survivors. This is both the caregiver's and survivor's dilemma. We don't want to be known for the terrible things we've endured, but it's impossible to really know us without knowing the whole story. I used to have all kinds of jokes prepared to make the other person feel better. Like how, yes, for a while, my life felt like a stack of Pema Chodron books! When Things Fall Apart. The Places That Scare You. Until a new friend stopped me in the middle of my Buddhist stand-up routine and shared her favorite Pema quote: "You are the sky. Everything else—it's just the weather." What a gift that quote has been, it makes me loosen my grip on it all.

V. Funny Story

Here's a story! Back in my singer-songwriter days, I needed money, so I agreed to be in someone else's music video for 300 bucks. After waiting all day in a freezing loft in Bushwick, feeling like a total loser, all ego ("What about my career? What was I doing in someone else's music video!"), it was time for my shot. "Ok," the director said, "So, you're going to walk along this line, and when you get to the end, Tony up there on the ladder, see Tony? He's going to pour this bucket of water over your head, but you just keep walking, okay?" Tony did just that, and I just kept walking. I never took myself too seriously again!

VI. Their Story

Whenever I'm feeling lost or far from my writing and music, I watch Steven Sebring's documentary about Patti Smith: Dream of Life. Patti left the spotlight for many years to raise her children, that chapter of her life ending with the deaths of her husband, her brother, friends such as Robert Mapplethorpe. Allen Ginsburg advised her: "Let go of the spirit of the departed and continue your life's celebration." And she did just that, returning in middle age to New York, to her music, with her two kids in tow. Sometimes, it all feels like too much, and we need to be reminded that it's never too late to begin the next chapter of your story to continue your life's celebration. How did others do it, and how can I do it, too?

VII. Your Story

When I question why on earth I'm writing memoir or songs when the world is a mess, who cares anyway, I remember the poem "Why Bother" by Sean Thomas Doughtery:

Because right now there is someone

Out there with

a wound in the exact shape

of your words.

Well, there's my reason! As Ram Dass says, we're all just walking each other home. Sometimes, it's me, my Balthus Girl, the Purple Lady, and the gangs all here. One foot in front of the other, we just. keep. going.

VIII. Alexa’s Story

Alexa Wilding (she/her) is a writer, musician, and twin mama. After a decade-long career as a singer-songwriter, she received her MFA from The Writer's Foundry in Brooklyn, NY. Her work has appeared in Departures, Suleika Jaouad’s The Isolation Journals, Parents, and Cup of Jo. She writes a newsletter on Substack called Resilience.

Thank you, Alexa!

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