They say the journey to good intentions is often paved with delays. For over a decade, I’ve thought about writing this letter, and it’s finally time to bring these sentiments to life. This is a thank you that has been 25 years in the making, and I’d like to share my story.
I discovered the Indigo Girls during my teenage years. Their music accompanied me on long rides to cross-country meets, bumping along Pennsylvania’s backroads, or during the exhausting return trips, my clothes muddy and my energy drained. I would listen to their tapes on my Walkman, where the buttons clicked with each press, rewinding just to relive a cherished melody. Emily and Amy’s harmonies spoke to me, addressing false friendships I had experienced and reassuring me that I would eventually find genuine connections. Their words became a beacon of hope during my formative years.
Their songs celebrated themes of nature, honesty, courage, and real friendship—topics that were rarely explored by female artists during the ’80s and early ’90s. While the mainstream music scene was dominated by superficial messages, the Indigo Girls delivered powerful, articulate lyrics that resonated with authenticity. They helped me navigate the complexities of adolescence, offering a glimpse of the strong woman I aspired to be.
Fast-forward seven years: my world was shattered by the sudden loss of my father at 48. Having just graduated from college and feeling invincible, I was thrown into a dark void when I received the news early one morning, alone on the other side of the country. I returned home, enveloped in grief, trying to support my mother while facing the gaping hole in my heart. I resented the world around me, unable to find solace.
In the midst of this turmoil, I bought Swamp Ophelia. Although I was lost in grief, one day, as I climbed the stairs with a basket of laundry, I heard “The Wood Song.” The lyrics reached me deeply:
“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 became a life raft amidst my sadness, flooding me with feelings I thought were lost. For the first time in months, I felt hope, and I sat on the stairs, enveloped by the music. I knew then that I would heal.
Fifteen years later, as a parent to two daughters and balancing a teaching career with writing, I ventured out for a night at Higher Ground in Burlington, Vermont, to see the Indigo Girls again, just shy of my 40th birthday. Their performance was a vibrant explosion of passion and unity. These women, now older, exemplified a life lived fully and fearlessly. They embodied the qualities of strength and authenticity, reminding me that embracing one’s passion is essential. The concert was a gift for my soul.
Two years later, on a cross-country drive with my family, I played “Get Out the Map” and “Closer to Fine” at full volume, singing with abandon. My youngest daughter, only 8, looked at me and said, “I love the Indigo Girls.” To which I replied, “So do I, sweetie. So do I.” I reminisced about my teenage years and knew that one day I would share the stories of the concert and the staircase, continuing the circle of growth from girlhood to womanhood.
Thank you, Emily and Amy. Your artistry has profoundly impacted my life. Though it took me 25 years to express my gratitude, like fine wine, this note has only gotten better with time—just as you both have.