They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and it’s taken me a solid decade to finally write this letter. This is a long-overdue thank you note that’s been 25 years in the making. Let me share my story.
My journey with the Indigo Girls began in my teenage years. I would crank up their music on the way to cross-country meets, bouncing along on worn vinyl seats through the winding backroads of Pennsylvania. On the return trips, I’d be exhausted, muddy, and sweaty, but their harmonies were a comfort. With my trusty Walkman—complete with buttons that clicked satisfyingly—I would replay my favorite tracks. Emily and Amy sang about superficial friendships, something I was all too familiar with. Their words reassured me that I would eventually find true friends. I believed them wholeheartedly. They sang about love, resilience, and the beauty of nature—topics not often covered by female artists of the late ’80s and early ’90s. While the charts were filled with songs like “Cold Hearted” and “I Think We’re Alone Now,” the Indigo Girls offered a different narrative—one that was empowering and sincere.
I genuinely believe their music helped me navigate the rocky terrain of adolescence. They opened a window of possibility, showing me that I could emerge from those turbulent years as a strong woman.
Fast forward seven years. My father passed away unexpectedly at the age of 48. Just as I had graduated from college, my world came crashing down. I was alone and terrified, feeling like joy was a distant memory. In the wake of my loss, I returned home to support my mother. I found myself doing chores, living in a fog of grief that lasted over a year. During this time, I turned to the Indigo Girls again, particularly their album Swamp Ophelia. I was lost in my sorrow until I heard “The Wood Song.” As I climbed the stairs with a basket of laundry, the lyrics struck me with profound clarity:
“But the wood is tired, and the wood is old,
And we’ll make it fine, if the weather holds.
But if the weather holds, we’ll have missed the point.
That’s where I need to go.”
Those words wrapped around me like a lifeline amid my sadness. It was a moment of awakening; for the first time in months, I felt alive again.
Fast forward another 15 years. I’m now a mother of two and a dedicated teacher. On the brink of turning 40, I found myself at a concert for the Indigo Girls at Higher Ground in Burlington, Vermont. I had seen them perform before, but this experience felt different. I was close enough to see their smiles and the passion in their performances. Their music was a powerful mix of joy and grit, and it reminded me of all the lessons they had imparted over the years: to live passionately and authentically.
Just two years later, I was taking a cross-country road trip with my family. As we drove westward, I cranked up “Get Out the Map” and “Closer to Fine,” belting out the lyrics with my daughters. My youngest, only 8, turned to me and said, “I love the Indigo Girls.” I smiled and replied, “I do too, sweetheart. I do too.” One day, I’ll share the full story of my journey with her—the concerts, the lyrics, and the moments that shaped me.
So, thank you, Emily and Amy. Your artistry has profoundly enriched my life. It may have taken me 25 years to express this gratitude, but it’s clear that, like your music, this note has only gotten better with time.
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In summary, the Indigo Girls have not only provided a soundtrack to my life but have also taught me invaluable lessons about resilience, authenticity, and the beauty of connection. Their influence continues to resonate, shaping not just my journey but also the next generation.
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