Dear Ms. Swift

Dear Ms. Swift,

Today I stayed home from work with a bug (why is it that I fear coronavirus when my symptoms aren't the same and I haven't been to China?!) and decided to watch your documentary Miss Americana.

Thank you.

You and I go way back, though of course we've never met. I have a seventeen year old daughter, and when she entered her Taylor Swift phase I didn't mind. Driving my daughter to play dates and rock climbing, she sat in the back seat cheerfully singing "why you gotta be so mean?" and I didn't mind singing along. It wasn't long before I knew all of your songs as well as she did, and we had some wonderful, enthusiastic kitchen dance parties as we made dinner.

When you came to Seattle for the 1989 tour, I scraped together the cash for the cheap seats, and gave my daughter tickets for Christmas - the "big" gift, the one I hid behind the tree, and wrapped in a big box to trick her so she wouldn't know what it was. She screamed in glee, and I got a huge hug. A few months later, my daughter, myself, and a handful of our mother and daughter friends went to the concert. My daughter wore cat eye makeup (painstakingly applied with the help of friends) for the first time. I sat near her, watching her dance and laugh with her friends, delighted that I could participate in her happiness, but I have to confess, the moms had a really great time, too. *I* had a great time. Your lyrics resonated, and I felt a little silly because I know that I'm not your target audience, but I related to every word.

I love your music, and I'm grateful for the role you've played in my life with my daughter.

Ms. Swift, you're not alone. I too grew up in a world where I was told to be good, to be nice, to smile and look pretty. I too have had uncomfortable conversations with my father about politics and my need to speak my truth. (I count you lucky that your father hugged you afterwards. That's progress, in my mind.)

When I watched you become political and find your voice, I felt maternal love for you. (By the way, your mom seems like an amazing person.  Like her, I'm a breast cancer survivor; like her, I'm feel a fierce love for my wonderful daughter.)

We are in troubled times, and we need clear voices. Politically, we need as many people as we can speaking up for what is true, right, and good.

This, Ms. Swift, is where you are most interesting.

You said that you wanted to be good, and that somebody told you how to be good.

I have a different idea of goodness than I used to.

Be good - but not by being quiet, by looking conventionally pretty, but by speaking your truth. It seems like someone told you a long time ago that being fearless meant striving for Grammys, or that speaking about your relationships was your truth. Those things ARE true, as your fans attest. But they are not the only truth.

You are a grown woman, and your truth is rich, nuanced, and needed by the world.

I think that to be good does not mean what you and I were taught to mean.

To be good means to be deeply authentic, to be honest with ourselves and the world. To be good, is to make the world a better place. To be good is to refuse to back down, to be brave. Sometimes, being good means making people angry.

Your kitchen in Miss Americana, where you can be seen enjoying a simple meal with your dear friend, is full of color and texture. I think that you were taught not to have a hair out of place - you so often look so perfect! - but I thought that the magnets on the stove were perfect. They were joyful, personal, and there because you wanted them to be there. The world needs more of that.

I am so tired of doing what I'm told, of only wanting what I'm told to want. At fifty, my body has changed more than I want to admit; it is a relief to hear that the woman on the stage in sparkling short shorts was NOT the goal anyone should aspire to; I'm utterly convinced that your size 6 self is more beautiful, because you are fit and healthy and not afraid of occasional burritos.

I love that you're keeping your relationship private, that you're speaking up - not just in a "yay, PRIDE way" but in a deep and meaningful way - about LGBTQ rights, women's rights, equality. I look forward to hearing more about what you have to say.

You've always had a way with words. and you've always known how to touch our hearts and minds. Now that you've figured out some more of what you want to say, who you want to be, I think you're becoming more interesting, not less. Speak louder. Keep speaking up. You will continue to make a difference.

One more thing: I know that you and I live in different worlds (and I'm not talking about the distance between Seattle and Nashville or New York or London)...but please hear me out, because as much as I've learned from you and the parts of your journey you've chosen to share, I do have something to offer you, too, a gift of my own words.

At thirty, your life is just getting started, and you are in a position to change all of the rules, so if you don't like them, for the love of God, re-write them. Yes, Hollywood or the music industry has discarded talented women left and right, but honestly, at fifty, I want to hear some wonderful stories that have more nuance than a teenager can give me. At fifty, my life is just getting started, and I'm sure of this. My relationships are so much deeper than they were at thirty, and my taste is my taste and not what I think I'm supposed to like. Your life, Ms. Swift, is about to get way better than you ever imagined. It will have some bumps, of course. (My life has had cancer and divorce: I don't recommend this if you can avoid it.) But it will have joy that you've never imagined. You'll write more songs that please you, you'll treasure your dearest friends in a different way. I believe that part of your new version of goodness is refusing to allow women to be discarded the first time they gain weight, get a gray hair, or hit their thirtieth birthdays. You are not everyone. You can help set the tone for the rest of us, and when you succeed, we all succeed.

At fifty, I'm better than I was at thirty. I don't look better, but I AM better. Do not discard yourself so easily. You are just getting started.

I absolutely love your song The Man. "Yes, yes, yes" I thought when I first hear it, and now I sing along, embracing every lyric. But I'm looking forward to the day when I can be The Man by being The Woman. I'm looking forward to the day when you are compared not to Bing Crosby, but to the possibilities of the future.

Young girls, and middle aged ones, are watching you. All of those concerts filled with adolescent girls had moms in equal number standing next to them, and we grew to love you, too. Talk to us. We're listening! We are dying of thirst for what is good, and right, and true, and we know it's not thigh gap that makes us happy; we know that we are more than our relationships.

I would be very surprised if you read this, but I hope you do. You have wonderful gifts to share, and with your documentary I began to hope that we have just begun to hear your best work, to see the goodness that you have to share with the world.

With gratitude,
Kristina