Who I am (doesn't) hate who I've been.

In a culture obsessed with transformations, it's tempting to divide myself into before and after. But I kind of love who I've been...mistakes and all.

Hi. I’m Katie. This newsletter is a place for the woo curious to explore spirituality, culture, and humanity in an intersectional way. Here’s what I’m thinking about this week…

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Of all the quibbles that I have with my religious upbringing, one of the biggest ones is the DEARTH of quality music that I was exposed to as a kid.

Due to my limited diet of the local Christian radio station, for the first part of my life, I truly thought that songs about God written by middle aged white dudes who leaned way too heavily on cowboy metaphors were the absolute pinnacle of music.

Needless to say, I now know that this is very, very untrue.

In the late ‘90s, puberty and the snippets of pop music that I caught on my white Sony boombox after my parents went to sleep made it glaringly obvious that I had no idea what music I actually liked.

But when I heard Relient K for the first time in 2001?

I knew that I liked that.

It took many Google searches to find this image of a Relient K shirt that I owned. A long-legged turtle on stilts chasing a piece of pizza? This was pretty much my aesthetic from 2003-2009.

Relient K was my gateway drug to my college pop punk princess phase of Hellogoodbye, Jimmy Eat World, Paramore and the Rocket Summer. It was perfect for this youth group attending Jesus freak who wanted to rock out but would clutch her power bead bracelets in horror if she heard an allusion to premarital sex or, worse, a swear.

Relient K was good clean fun. They made endearingly cheesy puns. They sang about wearing pink tuxes to the prom. And all of it was backed up by catchy guitar riffs and studded with the smooth vocals of Matt Thiessen, the dreamy lead singer who was cute enough to crush on but normal enough to actually be attainable. To put it simply, he was youth group hot.

Matt T is in the center. Can’t you just see him sipping orange soda on a moldy youth room couch and making it look GOOD?

As I marched through my teen years, Relient K’s albums had a permanent place in the 6-slot CD changer in my green Ford Escort. Nearly every drive to school of my junior year was set to the soundtrack of their 2004 release Mhmm, especially one song in particular.

I’ve always been a typical Taurus in the sense that I get obSESSed with certain songs and will play them over and over again, and 16-year-old Katie was no exception: I could not stop listening to the tenth track on the album, entitled “Who I am Hates Who I’ve Been.”

Despite the angsty title, musically speaking, the song is downright chipper: its infectious guitar licks, ambling piano lines and tight harmonies were perfect for scream-singing along to while cruising on the highway to my part-time job at Wendy’s.

So when the lyrics hit listeners with a heavy dose of Jesus? I sang along without a second thought. It was hard not to.

Damn, did I base Quiet Tarot’s aesthetic on Relient K’s album art unknowingly?!

Relient K was masterful at the art of sneaking Biblical ideals into highly-consumable songs, sort of like a cool mom who wears ironic T-shirts and somehow works broccoli into a decadent dish of mac and cheese without you noticing. And “Who I am Hates Who I’ve Been” is sort of like their pièce de résistance of the subgenre of music that I term “subtle Christian overtones.” Palatable Punk Jesus!

One of the biggest tenants of modern evangelicalism is the idea that, once you pledge your life to Christ, you are reborn and subsequently reject the former self. In fact, the before picture is almost painful to look upon: you were once lost, but now, you are found. Where you were before? Yeah, it’s embarrassing to talk about.

In “Who I Am Hates Who I’ve Been,” Relient K took this concept and turned it into an earworm. But when you really listen to the lyrics, the shameful overtones are unmistakable :

I'm sorry for the person I became
I'm sorry that it took so long for me to change
I'm ready to try and never become that way again
'Cause who I am hates who I've been
Who I am hates who I've been.

Yikes. When you subtract the chipper soundtrack, it’s downright bleak.

Recently, I listened to this song on a cold, gray Friday afternoon on my way home from work, and I realized two things:

1. Despite the passage of a decade, I still know every single word.

2. I don’t hate who I’ve been.

I think it’s safe to say that a lot of theories of enlightenment involve professing regret for the former self and the things we did “before we knew better.” I see this in the woosphere as well: well-meaning healers subtly sneak self-hatred into their offerings by promising transformations that tell you that who you’ve been has a really low vibration…but with their help, you can step into your highest self!

But whether you’re ascribing to a religious doctrine or attempting to tap into your higher self, the sentiment is the same: who you were before was pitiful, misguided and unaware. Who you are now is going to be so much better. Best to not even think about the first part.

Here’s the thing. My past is studded with some stellar mistakes. I got married. It didn’t work out. I chose to work with people who didn’t respect me. I said stupid things and lost friends. I made major life decisions for ridiculous reasons (I still wish I had gone to college somewhere besides the state I grew up in). I stayed in bad situations for way, way longer than I should have.

But do I hate who I’ve been? The real question, for me, is how could I?

It would be easy to hate who I was in college: a scared, shy girl who struggled to make friends and find an identity beyond the one religion fed to her.

But I don’t: I cherish her vulnerability, her analytic nature, and her skepticism.

Circa 2007. I spent two summers working at a Christian camp for middle schoolers. I still remember that Volcom hoodie.

It would be easy to hate who I was when I got married: a headstrong young woman who was convinced that marriage was It with a capital I and that relationships were meant to be rushed down the aisle.

But I don’t: I admire her optimism and her open heart.

It would be REALLY easy to hate who I was when I chose to leave my marriage five years later: a broken, anxiety-riddled woman with rejection sensitivity.

But I don’t: I celebrate her strength to make a decision that was so very difficult, her honesty and her willingness to start over.

To me, part of living a spiritually-connected life is to embrace all of our humanity, even the former selves that we’ve shed. It is easy to kick the husks of who we’ve been off to the side, to try to hide them under the rug in shame, or to pulverize them into a fine dust that we hope blows away in the first strong wind.

But what is more difficult (yet more rewarding) is to send gratitude to who we’ve been because it helped us become who we are.

So, Relient K hits a lot of the right notes for me—while writing this, I listened to this entire album and can honestly say that, save for some problematic views on women, it still slaps—but when it comes to how I see who I once was?

No mood ring necessary to know that I’ve got nothin’ but love for who I’ve been.

What do you think? Forward motion only, or do you prefer to see things from end to end? Bonus points if you humor me in the comments by getting any of the Relient K song references I just made.

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✨Cards for Humanity: Death✨

Whether you’re into tarot or not, here’s a few things to consider about this weird thing called life.

The first thing I always tell people about the 13th card in the deck: drawing this major arcana card does not mean someone is going to die! Firstly, its actual meaning is more metaphorical, and secondly, if you are placing that much power in little slips of paper, we’ve gotta have a conversation about personal agency.

In the tarot, Death speaks of the inevitability of change. The grim reaper astride a horse advances towards a group of people, all of whom react differently to his presence. Some, like the child, are curious and surprised. Others, like the powerful royal figure, beg for his grace in hopes of avoiding a dismal outcome. And some, like the maiden, avert their gaze, hoping that Death will simply pass them by.

But the fallen figure underneath the horse is the real focus of this card: no matter how we react when the Universe tells us that it’s time to change, it’s gonna happen, whether you like it or not.

Sometimes, this interpretation of Death rubs me the wrong way…what about that personal agency I mentioned earlier?! Truthfully, there are some things in life that we simply cannot talk our way out of or avoid. Shit happens. But what we can control is how we react to these moments of release.

Death isn’t just about endings. The sun rises in the background between the two pillars that first appear in the imagery of the High Priestess, symbolizing a continual lesson on finding the space between the extremes. To do so requires some things to end in order to make way for what is dawning.

Do we abandon all of the lessons we’ve learned up to this moment? Absolutely not…they are an integral part of who we’ve becoming. Rather, what’s being shed is an ego that was built up around things that no longer serve us.

Though it seems counterintuitive, Death should feel liberating. When we see the cloaked figure ride in on the white horse, we know that the Universe has the purest of intentions as it brings something to an end. Like the innocent child, we should welcome what’s next with curiosity and wonder.

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✨Prompts | Death✨

Meditate. Journal. Pull some cards.

☀️ Where am I being asked to surrender control in my life?

☀️ What lessons from the past are echoed in my current situation?

☀️ What parts of my ego can I let go of?

☀️ How can I face endings with a sense of curiosity, not regret?

A painting / a song / a poem to represent Death.

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✨Weekly Mantra✨

Write it down. Say it out loud. Share it with a friend.

I love who I have been and who I am becoming.

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I’m taking the next week off to enjoy my time in sunny St. Croix with my partner. See you back here on the 28th.

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