The Beautiful One

The first anniversary of Prince Rogers Nelson’s passing is approaching, and I’ve been surprisingly filled with all sorts of anxiety and sadness. Disbelief still holds the first-place position, though. When I learned Prince had passed, regret moved in like a dark cloud and hasn’t really left me.

I missed Prince’s run in Vegas. I missed when he came to Chicago a few years ago because I refused to justify the expense of the ticket. There isn’t a lot on my bucket list, but seeing Prince perform live was right up there at the top. However, I do take a bit of comfort in the memory of an evening spent under a wondrous cloud of funk, rock, and soul provided by The Purple Experience with the one and only Dr. Fink on keyboards. Oh man, what a great night!

And then Prince was dead.

Grieving a stranger is maybe a by-product of this invasive society we live in that is fueled by social media and twenty-four-hour reality programming. But in so many ways artists aren’t really strangers, are they? When I was growing up, wars had been waged on who was doper: Michael or Prince. I was team Prince 1,000,000%. Don’t get me wrong, I was shocked when Mike passed, but Michael Jackson’s music never reached the fibers of my being the way Prince’s music does.

Artists give pieces of themselves in every work they create. And Prince gave it all while keeping every hair in place and never smudging his guy-liner. The man was just so cool…and beautiful. I wish I had chronicled my style transformations so I could do side-by-side comparisons with Prince’s latest music video, but I just hated to take pictures. You’ll have to take my word for it. Teenage me was dope.

I’ve tried to live without regrets, but it seems like my “I wish I had’s” are primarily associated with The Artist.

Every single day I try my damnedest to say Yes and treat myself more. To honor me in a way that only I can. Maybe there really is something to this turning forty and self-esteem getting about a gazillion espresso shots thing, but yeah. I’m trying everything that gets me excited, and that’s quite a lot of stuff.

A moment with the King of Cool

Back at the end of February, I was in Minneapolis for an impromptu anniversary get away. Twenty years of not-quite marital bliss (we don’t count the year-plus we were separated and divorced) warranted a gift like no other: A trip to Paisley Park!

When I say I was nervous, it’s only because I don’t have a word to more succinctly describe the Moses-caliber swarm of butterflies in my belly as the minutes drew closer to our tour time. While I was threatening to blow chunks in the car, my husband laughed. Like seriously laughed at me for freaking out. This is what he said to me: “I don’t think Prince would want you acting like this. He was a cool guy and wants you to be you because your you is cool.”

My me turned out to be spastic during the tour, singing and dancing along to the music that floated above our heads mixed in with cinnamon and lavender while fighting my tears, but God was it one of the best times of my life. I wish I could have taken pictures inside, but the only area where photos are allowed is just outside the gift shop, where I needed one of everything and cried as the ladies rang me up while Prince’s Super Bowl performance played in the background.

Others have made or will make a powerful impact in their fields of expression, but no one can be Prince. 

Just like no one can be you.

Be authentically you. I dare you.

Blessings y’all!