Some of Us Have to Be Seasoned

meditations on being a late bloomer + Cleo Sol

For the past five years, my concept of time has been so scattered and non-linear that my age feels more like a suggestion than an actual fact. Looking at photos of my mother when she was my age (and had a 10-year-old daughter, a 21-year-old daughter, and a two-year-old granddaughter) is such a disconcerting sensation. I haven’t expected myself to mirror her life trajectory, but my lifestyle feels far less adultlike than hers. This is a reality I share with many people in my generation but the choice to take a far more unconventional and uncertain path as a childless Bohemian, has made this reality more pronounced, especially in the current economic downfall where people like me who do not have the safeynet of a 9 to 5, are struggling to stay afloat. Here am I, approaching my late 30s in a few days, straining to graze my fingertips on dreams that seem to be more and more out of reach as time passes by — and it’s not for lack of effort. This month was the 10-year anniversary of my debut EP (which I hope nobody reading this will ever find). It was my first significant creative project I put into the world, and my response to the spiritual nudges that pushed me to use my gifts.

The same spiritual nudges that pushed me to create music have kept me on a path of expansive, multi-facted artistry for over a decade despite the costliness of putting quality work into the world and the lack of financial security it returns. Art in its purest form is typically at odds with the capitalist demands that require money to produce the work, and profit to sustain it. It makes sense, then, that so many of us are thirsty for the visibility that will allow us to break through these barriers and create revenue streams that will minimize the stressors that keep us stuck in survival mode and distracted from the work that fuels our passion.

Whether it’s 50 subscribers on Substack or the 20K followers on TikTok, numbers and analytics provide the validation some of us need to keep going. The creator economy, which has been steadily on the rise since the late aughts, has shifted the landscape for how artists can make money for their work. One of the biggest drawbacks of social media as a tool for artists is that it can very easily warp the value and impact of creative work. The engagement you get on a piece of content may momentarily provide you with a boost of confidence, but the tricky thing about social media validation is that it has become very easy to conflate it with affirmation. Validation is fleeting external approval, often from people you do not know. Affirmation is primarily rooted in an internal sense of purpose and artistic fulfillment, which can sometimes be reinforced by people in your community who support and encourage you. I have been externally validated many times — through a random cover I did that got over 75K streams, TikToks that have incited widespread discourse, having my short film selected for funding by a major TV executive, and even through this newsletter of 2K+ subscribers. But this validation has not significantly pushed the needle forward in my career — it did not result in me suddenly having all of my needs met, or being commissioned for paid creative work. If I ever found myself getting gassed up by these glimmers of validation, I’d quickly be humbled by the reality of my circumstances. Affirmation, however, has sustained me even when the validation has ceased.

I’ve found affirmation through divine guidance that has ensured all of the proper resources came into my life to turn an idea into reality when I had no idea how I was going to make it happen. I’ve been affirmed when someone has read a script I wrote and picked up on the themes and nuances I meticulously crafted, or when someone watches my short film and tells me that it got them to look at something in a different way. I’m affirmed through my community, who shows up for me and believes in me, even when I’m struggling to remember the value of my talent. Affirmation has kept me grounded and provided the necessary clarity when I feel lost, uncertain, or like I should give up— it’s the only reason I haven’t given up. Still, at almost 37 years old, in an era where validation is conflated with affirmation and good marketing/packaging takes precedence over crafting work that pushes boundaries and cannot be passively consumed at rapid speed, the lack of validation gets to me sometimes.

I find myself feeling resentful that being a passionate and intentional artist isn’t enough. I dread this unspoken expectation of putting myself on display to be perceived in hopes that maybe, someone will deem my work worthy of engaging with. At my worst, I find myself comparing myself to artists who are masterful at using their social media presence to get people to engage with work that is often centered on aesthetics, palatability, and digested in algorithm-beating formats. They say comparison is the thief of joy, and I’m not sure I agree. I don’t think these moments rob me of my capacity for joy, as much as they are a reflection of some unmet desire or deferred dream stirring up unprocessed emotions. I believe that comparison, along with envy and jealousy, are spiritual calls to come back to yourself and do the necessary shadow work of understanding what wounds from being overlooked, undervalued, and unheard need your care and attention.

Recently, I was consuming an astrology TikTok in the middle of the night (as I am wont to do when I’m in an existential crisis), about people who, like me, are Saturn dominant. Now, whether or not you believe in astrology is none of my business, but as for me? I’ve found that the more I learn about it beyond horoscopes (which are usually inaccurate if you don’t know your full chart), the more affirmed I feel. As a Saturn dominant, I’m deeply connected to a planet that governs structure, responsibility, discipline, long-term goals, ambition, limitations, restrictions, maturity, and experience. Saturn-dominant people tend to be late bloomers. It is rare that we pop off early in life or experience overnight success (if there is even such a thing). Our role is not to chase trends and virality, because our accomplishments will always be hard-earned. This video reminded me that some of us are called on to be seasoned. I was not meant to be a prodigy or wunderkind, I’m not a beneficiary of lucky girl syndrome, my social media presence is not so entertaining and dynamic that people tune into what I’m doing just off the strength of my magnetism. I have to sweat, I have to cry, I have to bleed for this work because what I’m striving to create will hopefully outlive any trend or digital platform. This does not mean I need to suffer so deeply in my work that I deprive myself of my needs— I’m not in the business of being a martyr. But, it does mean that my job is to build a muscle for enduring the difficult and uncomfortable parts of my process, and trusting that the steps I’m taking will lead me to where I’m meant to be.

A few days after watching this video, I was blessed to see Cleo Sol at Radio City. I cried off all of my mascara when she sang “Young Love”:

I know you wanna be someone
You need something more
'Cause you're trying to see yourself
Live the life you want

I was delivered during “Rose in the Dark”:

I'm a little stronger, baby
Took a little longer, maybe
Tell my younger self to enjoy the ride

Do you know, do you know, do you know that things get better?
Do you know, do you know, do you know?
I had to grow the rose in the dark

I wasn’t ready for the show to end when she was wrapping up with “Life Will Be”

So many days, you hid the truth
Prayin' for that moment and someone to believe in you
Get out your way, 'cause time won't wait for you
Live your life, live your life

I can see the sadness in your eyes
But I can see the magic in your life
But they don't know
That it took you your whole life to rediscover
You're only here to love and to be free

Oh, life will be
Just you believe in you

But I felt peace when she concluded with “Why Don’t You?”

Why don't you just let go
And quiet down your ego
Don't complain about finance
I know your daddy weren't a real man
Go ahead and live your dreams
To me you're stronger than a whole team

I'm not perfect
So I try everyday and I grow a little bit
Read a little more so I can educate my kids
Reap for my soul and cleanse my spirit
Pray cause I'm ready for the bloom of the sea
Peace and serenity is all that I need

These lyrics felt like journal entries I had written myself. I realized how much my artistry has been in service of doing the necessary spiritual work to heal from my deep wounds of inferiority that sometimes pop back up when I’m not being validated. This spiritual wisdom could only come from an artist who intimately knows the pain of playing the long game. Cleo, a fellow Aries born a year before me, made her musical debut as a featured artist in 2008. It wasn’t until 2020 that she released her debut studio album. It took her over twelve years of what I’m sure was a non-linear path towards becoming a once-in-a-generation artist, so special that on the rare occasion she decides to perform in public, she sells out three nights at Radio City Music Hall. She did not arrive at this space in her career through being chronically online, or having a catchy tune go viral on TikTok — she did it through staying spiritually grounded on her artistic path. The power of her work lies in its resonance, born from a place of vulnerability, reflection, and expansion.

Her work is not begging to be seen or validated — it draws people in through empathy and spiritual attunement. This kind of alchemy is not something you can strategize or brand, it’s value is not beholden to the narrow confines of how people choose to consume art today. Cleo’s path is not unlike the paths of many of the women artists I admire most. Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, and Zora Neale Hurston, who published their first novels when they were in their late 30s/early 40s. Kelela, who released her debut mixtape at 30 and Solange, who, sure, has benefited from nepotism but also spent over a decade creating dynamic music and visuals, stuck in sister’s shadow, only to finally receive broad critical acclaim with her 2016 album A Seat At The Table, when she was 30 years old. These women remind me that there are no shortcuts or cheat codes, just commitment, humility, patience, intentionality, consistency, and faith to carry you through. Shifting your mindset and practicing healthy detachment from outcomes is just as much a part of the artistic work as doing the work itself. The fear, anxiety, and insecurities that spur a need for validation, or make me feel like I’m getting too old, or that I’m not good enough, may never go away, and it could actually be a good thing that they don’t. By welcoming these uncomfortable emotions and allowing them into my process, I have the power to transmute them into something beautiful that is hopefully transcendent enough to inspire someone else to do the same.

💋 ✌🏾With love,

LaChelle

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