tag:emilyhurd.com,2005:/blogs/the-kindness-of-being-uncaring?p=23The Kindness of Being Uncaring2024-03-25T19:59:24-05:00Emily Hurdfalsetag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73723712024-03-25T19:59:24-05:002024-03-29T01:59:31-05:00Soup Days<p>Well, we've all got Covid in our house. We're fine, but beat. Resting and eating soup. I'll get back to blogging when we're out of the woods. Stay healthy, Reader, See you next Monday. -Em</p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73690292024-03-18T20:06:13-05:002024-03-29T01:49:34-05:00Create Selfishly<p><span class="text-big">Early morning songwriting felt especially needed this week.<span> </span>Sometimes I shock myself with the words that come out of my mouth.<span> </span>It’s before the sun comes up—and before my mind switches on—that my feelings can easily find their way to the surface.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Turns out I’ve been holding on to more hard feelings than my waking mind wants me to admit.<span> </span>Yesterday’s song was especially dark. Deliciously dark. I wrote it quickly and smiled like crazy when I finished it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">And then old ‘people pleaser’ Emily reared her ugly head, and I instantly felt guilty for making something other people won’t like. Damn…that girl.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, it will be lifelong challenge for me not to care what others think of me.<span> </span>Even in the quiet corners of my home when I’m all alone, I still wonder whether others will like or not like what I'm making.<span> </span>It’s a lame and exhausting way to live. <span> </span>Fortunately, every year that passes, it gets a little easier not to care about the potential judgement of others.<span> </span>And it’s only in the past 5 years that I’ve really discovered how to identify when I’m doing it so I can let go more quickly.<span> </span></span></p><p><span class="text-big">This week was a reminder: be selfish, for your creativity’s sake.<span> </span>Let’s not waste a minute of our creative energy this week on wondering if what we make is likable: if we like it, that’s all that matters.<span> </span>I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</span></p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/22c67e2f531ac1a32e688e21a4df12b0d3aa73b1/original/piano.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" height="3024" width="4032" /><p><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73655332024-03-11T20:21:47-05:002024-03-29T01:50:42-05:00Tiny Adventures<p><span class="text-big"><span>Between the restaurant, songwriting, and home, it’s been a week of hard work. And today I just spent 5 hours pressure washing around the house. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p><span class="text-big"><span>I’m bushed. But happy. It feels good to be sore.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p><span class="text-big"><span>In the middle of the work week, the kids decided we needed more adventure in our weekday lives. So we all loaded in the back of the truck and explored a local park, threw the frisbee, and watched the geese. Sometimes I forget how much of my hometown I still must explore.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p><span class="text-big"><span>Reader, if you too find yourself mired in the day-to-day grind, feeling helpless as you scroll through your newsfeed, don’t forget the power of small adventures. Those little get-a-ways up the street can help reset us in a way that restores our peace of mind, or at least make us better able to cope with what life deals us. I’m going to incorporate more of them into my life this week. I hope you can as well. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p><span class="text-big"><span>Wishing you tiny surprises and glimmers of hope this week. They're out there. See you next Monday. -Em</span></span></p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/1b156de702d35a36e7559fe0b3a07fa6a1565a06/original/adventure.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" height="4032" width="3024" /><p><span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73617232024-03-04T17:03:42-06:002024-03-29T01:52:02-05:00The Beauty of Broken Plans<p><span class="text-big">I headed to the U.P. this past weekend for a little writing sabbatical with my family.<span> </span>I was hoping to spend the bulk of my time outside in the snow with the kids, but with this extreme March weather, there wasn’t much snow.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Bummed out, I decided to pivot.<span> </span>Instead, we walked through the woods and came up with games we never would have played if everything had gone according to plan.<span> </span>And I even got in some music time with my cousins where I learned how to jam out on the melodica.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, I write a lot about the beauty of plans changing, and this week is no exception.<span> </span>I don’t know about you, but the majority of my life plans have changed.<span> </span>Almost every one of them.<span> </span>Yes, there’s a hell of a lot disappointment when things don’t work out the way they should in my head.<span> </span>But then it gives way to something else.<span> </span>In my darkest days, it’s nice to be reminded that—as long as I’m open and make it a mission to give and receive good things—there will always be light on the horizon.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Let’s give generously to ourselves and others this week. <span> </span>See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/18c35aaf767f7e8373aa5973d535c71ae7b62afe/original/kids-in-woods.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" height="1538" width="1179" /><p><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73578102024-02-26T20:19:32-06:002024-03-29T01:52:43-05:00Don't Wait To Be Happy<p><span class="text-big">I've started a new kind of writing project with a friend of mine. We spent the weekend brainstorming (and also drinking a new concoction we invented: gin, ginger beer, and carrot juice. I highly recommend it). Writing with her was the most alive I've felt in a long time. That "lightning in your veins" feeling is special. It makes you feel unstoppable. </span></p><div> </div><div><span class="text-big">Unless you stop to think about it. And if your brain tells you that you're not good enough to do it, then "I'm so happy" becomes "I'm no good" almost instantly.</span></div><div> </div><div><span class="text-big">I nearly let myself go dark about the project. Imposter syndrome started kicking in something fierce. But then I stopped to think about what my daughter would do. She's been taking skating lessons recently. She often says that she's not "good" yet, but she's not waiting around until she's good to be happy. She falls on the ice and gets back up again and delights in the whole clumsy experience. </span></div><div> </div><div><span class="text-big">As usual, I find myself learning from my kids.</span></div><div> </div><div><span class="text-big">Reader, we don't have to wait to enjoy our endeavors until we're good at them. We can enjoy being beginners. We can enjoy being mediocre. We can enjoy every awkward step along the way. This week, let's remember life is for joy, at every stage in the game. Leap with glee in the direction of your passion. Wishing you happiness at whatever place you're at in your journey this week. See you next Monday. -Em</span></div><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/a5942a0f666b2f30654bd0c6a230a4d9cade32c4/original/jo-skating.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" height="4032" width="3024" />Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73537522024-02-19T12:23:40-06:002024-03-29T01:55:26-05:00Guilt Begone<p><span class="text-big">It’s taken the majority of my life, but I’ve come to the revelation that nothing good in life comes from being hard on ourselves.<span> </span>Literally nothing.<span> </span></span></p><p><span class="text-big">This week, I failed at everything I tried to accomplish when I was putting emotional pressure on myself. <span> </span>For example, I’m in an on-line music recording class, and it frankly isn’t going well.<span> </span>Not because of the class, but because of me.<span> </span>I’ve been mentally flogging myself through the whole experience.<span> </span>So it’s no wonder I’m not “progressing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">In contrast, when I try to accomplish a task by seeking joy, it’s almost always successful.<span> </span>At my restaurant, we had another amazing wine dinner. And it’s because the entire event was put forth by trying to feel and create joy for my team and our guests.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">I think I tend to have more success at the restaurant than I do in my music career lately because my relationship with my restaurant is to lift it up, whereas my relationship with myself is to put down.<span> </span>That can’t be good. Time for a new inner dialogue.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, if you’re also the kind of person with an inner voice that makes you feel bad, let’s try to quiet it down, ok?<span> </span>We’re not here for that. <span> </span>This week, let's seek the same joy for ourselves that we do for others, and see what magic comes from it.<span> </span>I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</span></p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/ac40b0027778fdf28f91590c748e778a67df2088/original/wine-dinner.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73503452024-02-12T16:33:57-06:002024-03-29T01:58:08-05:00The Dining Room of Life<p><span class="text-big">I was up early on Wednesday morning.<span> </span>I had a lot to do to get ready for my birthday open mic at the restaurant, including baking myself a cake.<span> </span>As I was walking through the dining room with a bowl of chocolate frosting, a kind-faced woman asked me if I was the owner.<span> </span>I said yes, and I got to chatting with her and her father. Her name is Linda. I could tell that these people were kindred spirits. We talked about the open mic and Norway and Rockford. After 10 minutes of what felt like catching up with old friends, she mentioned that her wife—Melissa—would love the place.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">And her wife is Melissa Etheridge. Shockwaves ran through my body. <span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Even more unbelievable: Linda came back for the open mic.<span> </span>It was already a magical night of music and poetry and community.<span> </span>But then Linda not only got on stage to contribute to the night, but she also called her wife, and I got to talk to Melissa Etheridge on the phone.<span> </span>I honestly don’t remember much of what was said.<span> </span>But she talked briefly about the law of attraction, and now I’m even more of a fan, if that’s possible. Best birthday ever.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Even if I hadn’t talked to Melissa, it always restores my faith in the universe when I meet someone that feels like I’ve known forever, and Linda is just that. I ended up spending another night with Linda and our friends and family, and it’s like I reconnected with a long-lost cousin.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, the moral of my week is this: keep your head up when you’re walking through the dining room of life.<span> </span>You never know when you might meet a kindred spirit.<span> </span>I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</span><o:p></o:p></p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/e88d70792416d348711f9fcbf777a46c9ea73770/original/linda.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73465022024-02-05T18:57:29-06:002024-03-29T01:59:30-05:00Repurpose Yourself<p><span class="text-big">Yesterday was my birthday, and it also happened to be the Grammys. I pulled out my high school prom dress and called a few girlfriends (who also pulled out their prom dresses), and we got together in my basement and made an insane, cornball night of it.<span> </span></span></p><p><span class="text-big">It’s funny to think that the initial purpose of that dress was for me to feel confident at an awkward dance with my boyfriend when I was 17.<span> </span>And yesterday, its purpose was to squeeze around my old body while I drank champagne and danced around with women.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">I’ve been thinking a lot about purpose and how important it is to let the purpose—of ourselves, our creations, and truly everything—change. My hands that once played concerts every week in Chicago are spending the bulk of their time raising kids and a restaurant in Rockford, Illinois.<span> </span>But as long as my hands can still serve a purpose, they should.<span> </span>Our meaning and the meaning of the world around us is forever moving.<span> </span>No one is here to serve just one purpose, and there’s no need to fear when our purpose morphs.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Last night, Tracy Chapman’s song “Fast Car”—which she wrote decades ago to express herself—was repurposed by Luke Combs. <span> </span>Her quiet creation from years ago is once again an anthem. <span> </span>I loved watching it take on a different life.<span> </span>Reader, as we go through our week, let’s not forget the power of changing purpose. There’s freedom in allowing ourselves and our things to take on new meaning. I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/516838a13e101bb0b3d209f290bd755e0cb3fdb0/original/dresses.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span></p><p><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73425422024-01-29T20:10:30-06:002024-02-05T18:51:41-06:00Use The Good Plates & Shake Your Knockers<p><span class="text-big">This week, we have a lot of birthdays in my family, including my Grandma Ruth’s. She lived to be 96, and she had an incredible sense of humor.<span> </span>I learned a lot from her. She was classy and refined; we always ate on her good plates. And she also got a kick out of shaking her knockers at the kitchen table on Saturday mornings while drinking Cherry Kijafa out of a coffee cup.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Because that’s the beauty of life: you get to be everything—elegant and bawdy—all at once.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">This has been a challenging week for me. <span> </span>I’m more stressed than I’ve been in a bit. And it’s only tonight that I realize the problem: I’m limiting myself to one feeling.<span> </span>I need to channel my Grandma Ruth.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Yes, I’m sad about so much in the world, and I’m still mourning the loss of a friend. But I’m also happy with my little family. <span> </span>I miss playing concerts, but I’m also fulfilled by watching my restaurant team flourish.<span> </span>I’m cruel and kind and breezy and rigid and heartless and a great big softy, all at once.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, it can feel like dissonance to have a lot of these wildly different feelings at the same time.<span> </span>But we don’t have to be just one thing or have just one feeling.<span> </span>This week, I’m going to let myself have a little more freedom to be all over the place. And I invite you to do the same. You can be an upbeat person who’s feeling down.<span> </span>You can be a serious person who needs to be a goof ball.<span> </span>You can be a health nut who likes to binge on corn nuts (she types as she crunches on corn nuts). Let's just do what we need to do this week and embrace our spectrums.<span> </span>I’ll see you next Monday. -Em </span></p><p><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/7ac8303904225f3350c4cfedadadd6102192bd72/original/ruth.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span></p><p><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73381932024-01-22T15:57:22-06:002024-02-05T18:48:34-06:00The Ingrid Effect<p><span class="text-big">For the first time in my life, I’m throwing myself a birthday party.<span> </span>Because life is short.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">And you’re invited to it.<span> </span>It’s happening at my restaurant—The Norwegian—on February 7<sup>th</sup> from 6 pm to 9 pm.<span> </span>It’ll take place during our Open Mic, and the cost of admission is an unopened hygiene item (shampoo, conditioner, soap, etc) to donate to local charities that need those supplies. The bar will be open and bar snacks will be free. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">I’m also going to bake myself a cake. Because life is short.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, I lost a dear friend last week, and I’m still trying to find words.<span> </span>Her name was Ingrid Graudins.<span> </span>She happened to be a very gifted songwriter and singer, but I just knew her as my pal who did everything with depth.<span> </span>She listened with depth.<span> </span>She spoke with depth. She cared with depth.<span> </span>And so I guess it makes sense that I’m missing her deeply.<span> </span></span></p><p><span class="text-big">But I’m channeling my grief and my love for Ingrid into action.<span> </span>I’m taking every chance I can to love and celebrate and work for others, and also for myself. I invite you to do the same. Whatever you do this week, may you do it with love, and with the depth of Ingrid.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Because—as her death has painfully reminded me—life is short.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/9dccdca795f2569ca6d92a44078f924908b824db/original/ingrid.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73345552024-01-15T20:48:56-06:002024-02-12T19:26:24-06:00Give Yourself Space From Your Creations<p><span class="text-big">Tonight, there’s a -35 wind chill in Rockford, Illinois.<span> </span>If you live in this region, I hope you’re safe and warm.<span> </span></span></p><p><span class="text-big">I played my first show of 2024 yesterday at Anderson Gardens.<span> </span>It was -9 outside, and I wasn’t looking forward to loading up in the cold. But the venue was full of kind people, and I was playing in the sunshine, and by the end of the show, I was almost sweating.<span> </span>And I was happier than I’ve been in a long time.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Because it was a three-hour gig, I dusted off some of my older songs to fill out the set. I don’t usually play the old tunes; they historically make me cringe.<span> </span>But yesterday, they did the opposite.<span> </span>I loved them again.<span> </span>They didn’t sound bad to me at all.<span> </span>And I had a revelation: they were always good tunes…I just needed to give myself some space from them to see them in a good light again.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, if there’s something you’ve made or are working on that’s making you feel the blehs, don’t forget the power of walking away from it for a while.<span> </span>Sometimes we need to see our creations at a different time and in a different place (and apparently at a much colder temperature) to appreciate them again. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Wishing you a week of warmth.<span> </span>Be kind to your mind.<span> </span>See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/26fcde2b9c6cb98af838349d2a94decb517d5a8c/original/truck.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73312292024-01-09T21:11:30-06:002024-02-05T18:57:41-06:00Train Rides<p><span class="text-big">Our family got back Sunday from a train trip to Glenwood Springs.<span> </span>Taking the Amtrak was a breathtaking way to see the Rockies, and as nice as it was to get to where we were heading, my favorite part of the trip was the ride</span></p><p><span class="text-big">It was a nice metaphor to start 2024.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, in life, we spend a lot of time setting goals about what we want to do and where we want to end up.<span> </span>I just made my list for 2024, and I plan on sticking to it.<span> </span>But this train trip was a solid reminder that we don’t need to wait to enjoy life until we get where we’re going.<span> </span>I know it’s been said a million times in a million different ways, but it really is true: the journey is the thing.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Enjoy the ride this week.<span> </span>See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/771ba829b0e790fe57a08b17b53de9c4ceef03ce/original/train.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73268382024-01-01T15:46:52-06:002024-01-01T15:46:52-06:00Raise Your Hand<p><span class="text-big">Happy New Year, Reader!<span> </span>It was a bumpy finish, but I made it through 2023.<span> </span>If you’re reading this, then you made it through, too.<span> </span>Cheers to all of us for persisting and living to see another year begin.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Two days ago, we took the kids to see the Harlem Globetrotters.<span> </span>My son is a basketball freak, and we got seats close to the court.<span> </span>Before the game started, the players called out to the crowd, asking who was the biggest superfan.<span> </span>My son raised his hand and started jumping up and down.<span> </span>They saw him, called him onto the court, gave him a signed jersey, let him try to make a free throw shot, then they all hit the griddy at half court.<span> </span>It was a big, magical day for him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">And all because he raised his hand.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, my son inspired me. As we head into 2024, I’m leaving behind everything in my life that has kept me from raising my hand, and I invite you to do the same.<span> </span>Life is too short not to jump up and down at every opportunity that comes our way.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">I’m happily typing on a plane bound to Denver where my little family and I are taking a train to Glenwood Springs. I’ve got a notebook to finish up some songs.<span> </span>The kids are reading Berenstain Bears, and my husband and mother are snoring away.<span> </span>It’s a peaceful start to 2024.<span> </span>I’ll tell you all about it next Monday.<span> </span>Wishing you a courageous start to a new year. -Em</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/d43e7eea91ccac253108a24c06bed6eac12fbc64/original/john.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73211172023-12-18T20:21:17-06:002024-02-05T18:49:33-06:00War And Peace<p><span class="text-big">My restaurant’s Snømarket is OVER.<span> </span>It was our hardest one yet.<span> </span>I spent all weekend buying, skinning, and curing salmon. After a late night breaking down a hundred pounds of it, I woke up on Saturday with fish scales in my ears.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Not glamorous. Not easy.<span> </span>But worth every fishy minute.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, when I started a restaurant 5 years ago, I never thought I would fight so hard for it in so many bizarre ways. <span> </span>But here I am, fighting for my team, my community, my way of life, and I have such a sense of purpose.<span> </span>I’ve never slept more peacefully.<span> </span>It feels amazing to believe in something that isn’t me and want to work for it.<span> </span>War and peace feel like they go hand in hand tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">I won’t be writing next week because it’s Christmas.<span> </span>But please know that I’m wishing you a peaceful holiday, and also something to fight for.<span> </span>Merry Christmas! -Em</span></p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/27d94ee921b7072d297957d4d82e5ec1e4d4c3de/original/sn-market.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73178622023-12-11T19:36:18-06:002024-02-05T18:49:48-06:00The Creativity Cup<p><span class="text-big">I spent the weekend getting our winter market set up at my restaurant.<span> </span>If you’re free and live in the area, please stop by.<span> </span>All the details are on the homepage of the website: </span><a class="no-pjax" href="http://www.thenorwegian.com"><span class="text-big">www.thenorwegian.com</span></a><span class="text-big">.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">With all the work to do at Snømarket, I didn’t have much time to write music this week.<span> </span>I was mentally prepared to be tanked: songwriting has been a lifeline for me this year, and I miss it when I don’t play for a few days. But for the first time in a long time, I didn’t miss it. Largely because my creativity cup got filled by building and making signs for the market.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, I was reminded this week: if you can’t have artistic fulfilment in one area of your life, you can still be fulfilled in others. The hungry creator in each of us can flourish in other mediums.<span> </span>If the holidays leave you a little short on time for the things you love to do, try to put your love into the things you have to do.<span> </span>You may have more ways to express yourself than you realize.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Wishing you a week of pouring yourself into whatever project lies ahead.<span> </span>See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p> </p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/2f0a59efd3c76d33490f67f495cecdfa4f532453/original/snomarket-set-up.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73146842023-12-05T05:53:25-06:002024-02-05T18:50:04-06:00The Return Of The Passion<p><span class="text-big">Last night, with a million other things to do, I drove to Chicago to record some of the songs I've written this year. I met my old friend John Abbey for a down and dirty recording session, just me and the piano. I needed to be able to hear myself play in a safe space so I could figure out what kind of album I wanted to make. </span></p><p><span class="text-big">Besides, there are few places I love more than this studio at the top of warehouse.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">This year, I want to make something different with my songs. I want to push myself out of my comfort zone. To work hard for a sound that feels authentic. And to have fun doing to it. My restaurant is running pretty smoothly without me, and the kids are old enough to get through a day or two without me, so I figure this is the time. Merry early Christmas to me: I'm giving myself another passion project. </span></p><p><span class="text-big">I'm looking forward to a year full of hard work and feeling awkward. But at least I won't have regrets. Reader, if you're passionate about something, I hope you're feeding it at every chance you get. Life is just too short not to. May we all die knowing that we spent it shooting for our personal stars. See you next Monday. -Em</span><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/a8aac5f776a10bfe21b228e7f26e6b18f9ffd2e4/original/piano.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73101592023-11-27T20:31:30-06:002023-12-11T19:38:04-06:00The Plunge<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-huge">My cousins and I took the plunge into Lake Superior on Friday. We've been doing this every Thanksgiving weekend for about 35 years. It doesn't get easier, but it's always refreshing when it's over. Icy cold baths are supposedly good for your health.</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"> </div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-huge">My family likes to make the joke that jumping in the lake will make us live forever. But the truth is, we jump into the lake every year because we all know we won't live forever. And we want to seize the day while we can.</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"> </div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-huge">Reader, I'm coming off Thanksgiving week feeling calm, and I owe it largely to the plunge. I lived to the fullest in that moment, and I feel joyful peace because of it. If there are plunges you can take in your life this week, I recommend it. Life is just too damn short not to live in the present and dive in.</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"> </div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-huge">See you next Monday. -Em</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"> </div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/3d1642ad60f7fde3478a0759f3c5acb39cb43351/original/dip.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span></div>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73065252023-11-20T19:13:50-06:002024-02-05T18:50:23-06:00Thanksgiving For Control Freaks<p><span class="text-big">The family and I are up north in the Upper Peninsula to make repairs on my mom's cabin and to spend Thanksgiving together. I write this tonight next to a warm hearth with my kids making gingerbread houses behind me, and even though the world at large is on fire, in here it's comically wholesome.</span></p><div> </div><div><span class="text-big">I've been looking forward to this work weekend for a long time. It sounds counterintuitive, but I relax when I have a woodworking project to tackle. Measuring, cutting, and building with a cup of coffee (gathering sawdust next to me) is nostalgic. I absolutely love the feeling of watching something come together. </span></div><div> </div><div><span class="text-big">Plus let's be honest: I love the control.</span></div><div> </div><div><span class="text-big">I'm a control freak. (Shocking). And I've read a few books about how not to be a control freak. But I've made peace with the fact that I'll always be one. At work, at home, and out in the world, I feel helpless because there are countless moving parts that are out of my control. But when I have a project? I'm as cool as a cucumber. There's nothing that brings peace to a control freak like taking a project from start to finish and watching it turn out the way you'd hoped. </span></div><div> </div><div><span class="text-big">Reader, I have a lot to be grateful for this Thanksgiving. But mostly just grateful for another year of life. Getting older is nice. I've made so much peace with who I am. At this stage in my life, I realize life is less about becoming better, and more about becoming comfortable with who we are. </span></div><div> </div><div><span class="text-big">Whether you're a control freak or easy going, an introvert or an extrovert, a lover of white meat, dark meat, or no meat, I wish you a Thanksgiving of peace and acceptance with knowing who you are and loving what you love. See you next Monday. -Em</span></div><div><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/321a69237141ba512cc0915d1b68a6c3e8038e09/original/us.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span></div>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/73032212023-11-13T16:48:10-06:002024-01-18T02:00:44-06:00Mixed Nuts<p><span class="text-big">I learned how to get brave enough to perform my songs in public by playing open mic nights in Chicago, Boston, and a few other cities.<span> </span>Lately, I’ve been thinking that we don’t have many opportunities for folks to try playing their songs in Rockford, Illinois, and maybe my restaurant could host an open mic.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">I talked to our staff about it.<span> </span>Logistically we didn’t have what we needed to pull it off.<span> </span>Our sound system is dated and small. We don’t have many nice instruments. And we wouldn’t be able to offer food from the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">But I figured I could just put out some mixed nuts and see what happened.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">And that’s what we did. This past Wednesday, 7 brave souls showed up to our open mic.<span> </span>It felt magical.<span> </span>A 10 year-old named Georgia closed the night, and she brought the house down. </span></p><p><span class="text-big">And all it took was an open door, an open mind, and mixed nuts.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, I’m reminded of this a lot, and I’ll say it again: there’s no need to wait for things to be perfect to do something.<span> </span>Conditions will never be just right.<span> </span>Sometimes you’ve just got to try with what you have.<span> </span>Start somewhere, then keep growing. <span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Just be sure to start.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Wishing you a scrappy week of playing your strengths and filling in the rest. See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/9c5ff6a06f1bce810cc9723dd92a467e28efd977/original/georgia.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72997452023-11-06T20:43:21-06:002024-02-05T18:50:39-06:00Recording Night!<p><span class="text-big">No blog tonight. I'm recording at King Size Sound Labs for a dear friend. More from me next Monday. Keep fighting the good fight this week, Reader. -Em</span><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/7256d5a1b1726c14e01a4d277a5dec836c26a1ee/original/king-size.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72962212023-10-30T18:41:36-05:002024-02-05T18:50:54-06:00Because It's Fun<p><span class="text-big">Tomorrow is Halloween.<span> </span>I’m going as Elton John.<span> </span>My daughter is going as Wednesday Addams.<span> </span>And my son is going as a Porsche 964. My husband has been spending the last few months in our garage, using the diode laser cutter and CAD software to make my son’s costume something special.<span> </span>The car fits him like a glove, and it transforms perfectly. It also lights up and plays the Autobots soundtrack.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Our level of nerdery knows no bounds.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">When I asked my husband why he was going to all the trouble, he just said, “Because it’s fun.” It was such a sweet and playful response, and it got me thinking about how important it is for adults to create…just because it’s fun. It reminded me. <i> Art doesn't need to make sense. </i> I was inspired enough to pull out my ukulele and write a few completely nonsense songs.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, if it’s been a while since you’ve made something for no other reason than that it’s fun, I highly recommend it.<span> </span>The lightness I have in my heart this week is a sensation I haven’t felt in a long time.<span> </span>Wishing you a playful heart, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">P.S.<span> </span>If you’re interested in picking up the ukulele, here’s a fun article for beginner ukulele players.<span> </span>The part I contributed is at the bottom. </span><a class="no-pjax" href="Tomorrow%20is%20Halloween.%20%20I%E2%80%99m%20going%20as%20Elton%20John.%20%20My%20daughter%20is%20going%20as%20Wednesday%20Addams.%20%20And%20my%20son%20is%20going%20as%20a%20Porsche%20964.%20My%20husband%20has%20been%20spending%20the%20last%20few%20months%20in%20our%20garage,%20using%20the%20diode%20laser%20cutter%20and%20CAD%20software%20to%20make%20my%20son%E2%80%99s%20costume%20something%20special.%20%20The%20car%20fits%20like%20a%20glove,%20and%20it%20transforms%20perfectly.%20It%20also%20lights%20up%20and%20plays%20the%20Autobots%20soundtrack.%20%20Our%20level%20of%20nerdery%20knows%20no%20bounds.%20%20When%20I%20asked%20my%20husband%20why%20he%20was%20going%20to%20all%20the%20trouble,%20he%20just%20said,%20%E2%80%9CBecause%20it%E2%80%99s%20fun.%E2%80%9D%20It%20was%20such%20a%20sweet%20and%20playful%20response,%20and%20it%20got%20me%20thinking%20about%20how%20important%20it%20is%20for%20adults%20to%20create%E2%80%A6just%20because%20it%E2%80%99s%20fun.%20%20I%20was%20inspired%20enough%20to%20pull%20out%20my%20ukulele%20and%20write%20a%20few%20completely%20nonsense%20songs.%20%20Reader,%20if%20it%E2%80%99s%20been%20a%20while%20since%20you%E2%80%99ve%20made%20something%20for%20no%20other%20reason%20than%20that%20it%E2%80%99s%20fun,%20I%20highly%20recommend%20it.%20%20The%20lightness%20I%20have%20in%20my%20heart%20this%20week%20is%20a%20sensation%20I%20haven%E2%80%99t%20felt%20in%20a%20long%20time.%20%20Wishing%20you%20a%20playful%20heart,%20and%20I%E2%80%99ll%20see%20you%20next%20Monday.%20-Em%20%20P.S.%20%20If%20you%E2%80%99re%20interested%20in%20picking%20up%20the%20ukulele,%20here%E2%80%99s%20a%20fun%20article%20for%20beginner%20ukulele%20players.%20%20The%20part%20I%20contributed%20is%20at%20the%20bottom.%20https://ukulele.io/ukulele-tips-for-beginners/" data-link-type="url"><span class="text-big">https://ukulele.io/ukulele-tips-for-beginners/</span></a></p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/bf14c56be5f0092cf4e67264318e626ee08c0360/original/john.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72923862023-10-23T18:56:04-05:002024-02-05T18:51:07-06:00Be Not For Everyone<p><span class="text-big">I just got home from my annual solo songwriting sabbatical. This year, I went up to Wisconsin to write songs in my friends' old boat house. It has no heat or running water, but it had an electrical outlet for me to plug in my instruments. I bundled up and planted myself in what is easily the most idyllic place to write I could've ever imagined. </span></p><p><span class="text-big">While I was there, I wrote one song that I'm really proud of because it feels so true, and also several bits and pieces of melodies and lyrics. As I was writing, it struck me how few people will probably enjoy my new music. It sounds dated, even though I just wrote it. It's never going to end up on any radio, and it might only resonate with a small handful of people. But I love it so much, so what does it matter what other people think?</span></p><p><span class="text-big"><i>I'm not everyone's cup of tea, nor are they mine.</i></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, I don't know if you need to be reminded of this, but we are not alive to be appealing to everyone. As a recovering people-pleaser, I struggle with this. But the moral of my week is that--while it's important to be kind and loving to each other--we do not have to be liked. I'm coming home from this year's sabbatical resolved to be unapologetically myself.</span><br><br><span class="text-big">Be true to what calls to you this week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</span><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/3ad69857ed67fb4b9513cc9672f883f5914fa8a1/original/gl.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72886222023-10-16T16:25:52-05:002023-10-16T16:25:53-05:00Bloody Keys<p><span class="text-big">On Saturday night, I played a benefit concert for Habitat for Humanity.<span> </span>I felt like the show was going pretty well.<span> </span>About halfway through the set, I looked down and saw that the piano keys were covered with blood: the cuts on my fingers from cooking in my restaurant had opened up while I was playing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">I’ve never felt so rock and roll.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">But the rest of my set was pretty bumpy. <span> </span>I was already having a tough week, and seeing the bloody keys really threw me off my game. Still I held it together as best I could. Despite the circumstances, I kept going.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, the past few weeks have been difficult ones, and the gruesome piano episode really drove home the point that we often have to keep going even when we’re not at our best, when we’re hurting, when we’re scared. There were people at that concert that intimidated me. <span> </span>I was underdressed.<span> </span>I was carrying the weight of the week’s problems on my face. And I was bleeding all over the place.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">But I made it.<span> </span>And you can too.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">I sometimes think about the expression that it’s always darkest before the dawn, and if that’s true, I’m holding out for one hell of a dawn. If you too are having to push through the odds this week, know that you’re not alone, and that there is a lady with a pair of bloody hands out there that believes you can get through it.<span> </span>I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/1813302fe77f48da5d4fe0df16b266f716d443fe/original/bloody-keys.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72852332023-10-09T20:18:25-05:002023-10-16T09:50:34-05:00U.P.<p><span class="text-big">No blog tonight. Our little family just got home from an annual camping trip on Lake Superior. I don't say this often, but I could use some love/prayers/vibes sent my way, Reader. We came home to some tough news. Sending love back to you. Until next Monday…</span><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/e5ec385221e7a68a08976f991a01c2a8235b142a/original/lake.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72818072023-10-02T16:11:37-05:002023-10-02T16:11:38-05:00Get It Over With<p><span class="text-big">My whole life, I’ve been a “get it over with” kind of person.<span> </span>That soggy coleslaw my parents put on the plate? Gulp it down first and get it over with.<span> </span>That homework that I knew I was gonna fail? Scribble down anything and get it over with. That job of cleaning the toilets?<span> </span>Breathe through the mouth and get it over with.<span> </span></span></p><p><span class="text-big">I spend a lot of my days just getting things over with.<span> </span>Even the days I’m not working. On Sunday, I had a free day with the kids.<span> </span>They wanted to go to the local pumpkin patch.<span> </span>I don’t mind the pumpkin patch, but there are some parts I historically just want to get over with. Namely, the corn silo: a giant silo with a bunch of feed corn at the bottom for kids to dig in.<span> </span>It’s a madhouse in there, and I always come home with corn in my underpants.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Begrudgingly, I sat down in the corn and prepared myself to hate every minute.<span> </span>I thought about all the kernels I’d find in my nether regions later in the day. I thought about how annoyed I was at the kid’s parent who let him throw fistfuls of corn at my face. I thought about how unsanitary the whole place was and wondered if it was the same corn I sat in last year.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">And then something just changed.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">A pulsing satisfaction coursed through my body. The corn felt like a massage.<span> </span>I felt like I was being rubbed down, and I felt like stress was being lifted.<span> </span>I was enjoying every minute of feeling my skin being pushed upon.<span> </span>It was amazing.<span> </span>The kids saw the shift in my face and couldn’t get over it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">We stayed in there for almost 30 minutes, reveling in my newfound discovery.<span> </span>The children had to drag me out.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, not every job can be done with joy.<span> </span>But this week, I was reminded that not every job needs to be a damn chore.<span> </span>Some of them may as well be approached with a little more lightness in the heart.<span> </span>We can enjoy ourselves while we’re in the thick of things.<span> </span>Being a hard ass isn’t gonna make the job any better anyway. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Wishing you a week of surprises in the mundane.<span> </span>See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/d1b39a873ce0931b0522cf2037be6d7582632f13/original/corn.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72786382023-09-25T20:23:24-05:002024-02-05T18:51:25-06:00Unrecognizable Love<p><span class="text-big">This morning I had to re-pierce my 6 year-old daughter’s ears. <span> </span>She bellowed as I shoved the earring through her bloody lobe.<span> </span>We were both crying. When the job was done, she looked at me like I was her arch enemy.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Love doesn’t always look like love.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">I’ve been thinking about that concept a lot. There is so much love that goes unnoticed, unrecognized, or just plain misunderstood in our lives.<span> </span>I remember feeling like my dad didn’t love me all that much because he worked all the time.<span> </span>It’s only now as an adult that I can see how working hard was the greatest love he could give.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, sometimes I get to feeling bleak. But this week wasn’t one of those times.<span> </span>This week, I felt to my core just how much love is out there.<span> </span>A lot of it is disguised. But with a twist of the mind and little pause in reaction, I’ve begun to see it more and more frequently.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">I leave you with this picture of my daughter threatening me with an axe (don’t worry…we’re all fine here). Remember to look for the unrecognizable love this week, and I’ll see you on Monday. -Em</span></p><p><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/0736da1ba12fb53420072c4d2c88961cf0879c97/original/axw.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72753372023-09-18T19:17:48-05:002024-02-05T18:51:41-06:00It's A Marshmallow World<p><span class="text-big">Becoming a parent has come with a lot of surprises.<span> </span>Some good, some bad.<span> </span>This week, I was surprised again, and it damn near brought me to tears.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Both kids were home sick with Covid. They got bored quickly and hauled out the legos, then started roasting marshmallows in the fireplace.<span> </span>I don’t think they brushed their hair or teeth for a few days. They looked pretty mangy as they ran all over the house, singing loudly off key and making a mess of their rooms.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">I started to hear a familiar voice in my head. “<i>Clean up after yourself.<span> </span>Wash your hands. Quiet down.</i>”<span> </span>The voice was stern as hell, and just as I was about to use it, I stopped. Which was odd.<span> </span>(I usually chide without thinking.)<span> </span>But this time, it struck me: I’ve been developing that voice for decades.<span> </span>It was brought about by shame.<span> </span>Shame for my own unkempt hair as a child. Shame for my own messy bedroom.<span> </span>Shame for my own off-pitch voice.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">And so instead of lashing out at the kids that reminded me of my younger self, I took the opportunity to heal a little bit of the child in me that was still broken and embarrassed.<span> </span>I took a deep breath. Then I softened my tone and joined my kids in torching the marshmallows.<span> </span>And I talked to them the way I wish I would’ve talked to myself back then.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, having kids has given me an opportunity to revisit a lot of old pain, but I don’t think we need to have kids to do it.<span> </span>We've all been hard on ourselves, and I'd wager that a lot of us haven't recovered.<span> </span>If you’re carrying around shame from the past, try going easy on yourself this week. <span> </span>It’s cathartic.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Wishing you a week of healing and humor. See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/8d238e0891d664b19e48fbcf29f61ecbba93c7b7/original/johanna.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72716272023-09-11T12:16:13-05:002024-02-19T12:31:33-06:00Basics<p><span class="text-big">I took my restaurant team to a llama ranch outside of Galena last week. About 20 of them were able to make it over the course of the trip.<span> </span>Today, I’m beat.<span> </span>My vertigo is still making the world spin, and I feel like I could nap forever.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">But I’m happy. </span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">One of the biggest take-aways from the trip is that money didn’t buy the best parts.<span> </span>The nice meals and hot tubs were no match for hiking up random hills and finding our own swimming holes in the Apple River.<span> </span></span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">At a time when everything we read makes us feel like we need more and better versions of what we already have, it was sweet to remember that making memories costs nothing but the willingness to show up and make them.<span> </span>Our team made some unforgettable memories, just by getting back in touch with the basics of nature and friendship.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Because I love making resolutions beyond the New Year’s kind, this week, I’m making a resolution not to let my means play a part in my happiness.<span> </span>I can want money and do my best to earn it, but I won’t let the lack of it stop me from enjoying my life.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Wishing you a week of seeking out and appreciating the basics too, Reader.<span> </span>See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p> </p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/36a3d42f1fa8f35b2fe167f6f2aecb3a3206a8a5/original/river.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><o:p></o:p><p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72643622023-08-27T20:15:39-05:002023-09-11T12:16:30-05:00Damn Good People<p><span class="text-big">I’ve got a show on the docks at Prairie Street tomorrow.<span> </span>If you’ve got some time to swing by, I’d love to see you.<span> </span></span><o:p></o:p><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">This week, the weather was hot, and everything that could go wrong, did. I felt lost in most realms of my life. I wanted to give up every day.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">And in a lot of ways, I did.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">But my household, my restaurant, my family, and my songwriting career didn’t fall apart when I did.<span> </span>Because the people around me kept it together.<span> </span>In all walks of my life, they rose to every occasion. I tear up just typing about them.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, you don’t have to have your act together all the time if you’ve got a few good people in your corner. <span> </span>If you’ve got ‘em, you’ve got it all.<span> </span>If you don’t have any, start making a couple new friends.<span> </span>There is little more valuable in this life than a handful of people who have your back.<span> </span>I’m going to sleep beyond grateful that I’m not alone in this life.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Speaking of good people. Next week, I’ll be off grid: I’m taking my restaurant staff on a vacation.<span> </span>They deserve a special treat every now and then for how wonderful they are. I won’t be able to blog while I’m away, but hopefully I’ll have a lot to write about in a few weeks. <span> </span>See you then. -Em</span></p><p><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72606712023-08-21T20:30:14-05:002023-08-21T20:30:15-05:00Openness<p><span class="text-big">I took my daughter to a Brandi Carlile concert on Thursday.<span> </span>The show was at a stadium, in Madison; there were thousands of people there. I love Brandi, but I wasn’t looking forward to a stadium concert. Giant crowds have historically freaked out this introvert. Still, my daughter has always wanted to see a big show, and for her sake, I made the sacrifice.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">It ended up being one of the highlights of my year.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Listening to a musician I love in a sea of people, I felt deeply calm and hysterically excited at the same time. We sang and screamed her songs along with her in unison.<span> </span>I loved feeling very small and also a part of something very enormous.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, in keeping with the theme of the summer, I’m learning the power of being open.<span> </span>Including being open to the fact that I’ve changed. <span> </span>Open is something I’ve never been, and experiencing openness for the first time is like taking my first deep breath.<span> </span>Maybe ever. It took four decades of life, but I’m happy to finally be here. <span> </span></span></p><p><span class="text-big">Wishing you a week of being open, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/00b6f696ed218d91956234cac7c4d6e17fe4b91a/original/me-and-jo.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72570572023-08-14T20:37:07-05:002023-09-30T11:45:21-05:00Outgrowings<p><span class="text-big">Vertigo continues to plague me, but it didn’t stop me from heading into Chicago last night with my buddy Dave to catch a concert.<span> </span>My friend Gerald Dowd was releasing his first album, and I didn’t want to miss it.<span> </span>The show was great, and I’m still on a high today despite the cold rainy weather. What a night.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Today, I worked from home. My kids start school next week, and I told them we needed to go through their things to see what they’ve outgrown.<span> </span>We ended up with a pile of clothes and toys to give to Good Will. When we finished, my daughter said:</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">“Mom, why don’t adults have to clean out their things?”</span></p><p><span class="text-big">“Because we’re done growing,” I said.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">I shuttered at my own words. </span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, I never thought I’d be a mother. It wasn’t on my life “to do” list.<span> </span>But now that I am one, I’m usually shocked by the revelations that come with the job. <span> </span>Today it hit me hard: we may not be physically growing anymore, but we’re still outgrowing old mindsets, old habits, and even old language.<span> </span>I’ve thrown out more of those than I ever thought possible.<span> </span></span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">And this afternoon, I symbolically chucked a couple old dresses in the Good Will box, just as a reminder.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">As the summer comes to an end, let's remember that we grown-ups are never done growing.<span> </span>If you have some feelings in your life that you’ve outgrown, feel free to join me in donating them to the sky.<span> Wishing you a week of celebrating </span>your outgrowings, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</span><o:p></o:p></p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/884ba7442705b39df09b00b9eda72d85619e6321/original/lake.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72537412023-08-07T19:47:51-05:002023-08-07T19:47:52-05:00Change It<p><span class="text-big">Vertigo came back last Monday night, and the world hasn’t stopped spinning since then. My computer screen is doing circles as I type.<span> </span>What a wild experience; please forgive the typos.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">My cousins gave me a couple of tickets to see Bon Iver in Madison on Saturday night.<span> </span>I haven’t seen that band live in years. The concert was magical on a lot of levels: beautiful night, incredible sound, mesmerizing lights, and good company.<span> </span>But there was something striking about the show.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Bon Iver sounded nothing like Bon Iver.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">At least not the Bon Iver I know.<span> </span>The band has completely changed their style over the years.<span> </span>The last time I saw them, the band played relatively acoustic tunes with pretty sparse arrangements.<span> </span>The band I saw on Saturday had complex harmonies and instrumentation.<span> </span>Their songs were relatable but somehow more mature.<span> </span>Every minute was like discovering a whole new band.<span> </span></span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Because it was.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, I was reminded on Saturday night that we absolutely should continue to change.<span> </span>Nothing stays the same, and we shouldn’t either. If you want to change the way you sing, change it. If you want to change the way you think, change it.<span> </span>If you want to change the way you live, create, spend time, change it change it change it. The right people will be there cheering you along the way.<span> </span>Go in the direction of your heart this week, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/d9dad206d4cd37f10f90fb425d8aaa3977f57bd0/original/bon-iver.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72497032023-07-30T21:45:53-05:002023-08-01T02:08:47-05:00Enjoy The Options<p><span class="text-big">The heat was oppressive this week. I felt helpless. But I made sun tea.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">The power went out in my house multiple times. I was too weak to carry our generator out of the garage. But I paid bills by candlelight.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">I had tickets to go to a concert on Saturday night with friends. It got rained out. But we went home and listened to the band's record on our porch.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">It was my son's birthday this week, and the cake flopped. I couldn't fix the frosting. But I learned how to cover it with sheets of fondant. </span></p><p><span class="text-big">Yeah, these tiny events seem like small wins. But they're big for me. Because I didn't used to be this way.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, for the majority of my life, when life has gotten hard, my initial reaction has been to run. To hide. To bitch and moan. The older I get, the more I'm embracing my circumstances and trying to enjoy my options. I leave you with a picture my son took this week. Sometimes, when the peaches are too damn high in the tree, it's a nice to excuse to put your kid on your shoulders. Wishing you a week of appreciating your options, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p> </p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/b8fb9a584a576ce08edaf3e16ba21ccbfffad7b8/original/jo-and-me.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72467532023-07-24T21:44:17-05:002023-07-30T21:05:14-05:00Smell The Lilies<p><span class="text-big">No blog tonight. I'm taking the night to write music and smell the lilies with the kids. These summer days are flying, and I hope you're able to catch a few too. -Em</span></p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/af0d9334756e46e4bdd5d3ef716d34899f39a089/original/jo.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72434232023-07-17T21:22:54-05:002023-07-17T21:22:54-05:00Repurposing<p><span class="text-big">One of the staff members at my restaurant had a baby 2 months ago, and this was her first week back at work. She let me know that one of her biggest concerns was how she was going to have time to pump breast milk during service.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">I told her we’d of course make time for her, but I honestly wasn’t sure where she could pump or nurse that would be convenient.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Enter the mushroom tent.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">I bought a giant mushroom growing tent in 2020 when we were trying to grow Lion’s Mane mushrooms to sell at our restaurant’s indoor market.<span> </span>It’s been sitting empty in the basement for 2 years.<span> </span>So I spent some time fixing it up into a family nursing station.<span> </span>It was an oddly satisfying thing to watch the tent completely shift purposes.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, I learned a valuable lesson this week: allowing our belongings to serve a new purpose is bold and practical and magical all at once.<span> </span>The same goes for ourselves. I think sometimes we initially resist letting our own purpose change, just because change itself is so uncomfortable and we like to hold firm to what previously made us feel worthwhile. But bringing new life and meaning is just so thrilling, and I'm looking forward to seeing what else I can repurpose in my world.</span></p><p><span class="text-big"><span> </span>Wishing you a week of thinking outside the box and enjoying how things change.<span> </span>See you next Monday. -Em</span><o:p></o:p></p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/8348d04984576fa0c4e43dbfd0ecf8c6715aef7e/original/nursing-station.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72397752023-07-10T20:29:33-05:002023-07-30T21:05:14-05:00Copy Cats<p><span class="text-big">When I was studying music at Columbia in 2002, one of my professors told me the best way to “make it” as a songwriter was to listen to the songwriters who are popular, and then try to write like them.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">When I was living in Nashville in 2007, all the reps from the Music Row told me the best way to “make it” was to listen to popular country music, and then try to write like songs like that.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Now here I am in 2023, and the A & R company I work with told me the best way to “make it” when pitching songs to TV and film is to listen to popular singer-songwriters, and then try to sound similar.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Perhaps the lesson here is that I should heed the advice of people who’ve earned money in the music industry and just copy what’s in style.<span> </span>But the more I think about it, I’d rather keep on being commercial unviable than write what’s already been written. “Making it” just doesn’t feel worth compromising originality.<span> </span>Never did, and it never will.<span> </span>I may never have much money in the bank, but I get to sleep at night knowing I’m being myself.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, there’s only one life.<span> </span>And this week, I hope you’re being the very best you that you can be.<span> </span>There’s no time to be someone else.<span> </span>I leave you with a picture from a concert I went to last night.<span> </span>The band is the James Hunter Six. They play old-timey original soul tunes to a reggae beat with a two-saxophone horn section. And they’re “making it.”<span> </span>Let’s just keep being ourselves, and let the chips fall where they may.<span> </span>See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/1ff20287f5dc0c217a667cae2925f011f3aa4082/original/james-hunter.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72365772023-07-03T21:28:56-05:002023-07-03T21:28:57-05:00Reflections Of The Way Life Used To Be<p><span class="text-big">When I was a kid, the beginning of July was the time I would head down the railroad tracks and hunt for wild black raspberries.<span> </span>I loved those berries then, and I love them now. Tonight, I went looking for them along the hedgerows near our house and came back with enough to cook with at my restaurant tomorrow.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">(If you live in Rockford, check the pastry case).</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Harvesting blackcaps was a great reminder that grown-ups need to grow back down sometimes. <span> </span>Getting in touch with my inner child and taking life less seriously has made this week a good one for me. <span> </span>I picked wild lilies. I read poetry out loud. I danced in the car. <span> </span>I wore sparkly dresses, and I drank orange juice from the container. They’re dumb, simple pleasures, but they made me feel alive.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">The reason for blogging for the last 15 years is because I enjoy the process of reflecting on the week and collecting my thoughts. And I share it on-line because I believe in the synchronicity of things, and I wonder if anybody else can relate. If that’s the case and you’re here relating to any of this, I wish you a week of reflecting on who you’ve been and letting your inner child run wild. See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/b7678aaf467c3b1d713e24e7298f501dc8cb4f0b/original/berries.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72329442023-06-26T19:33:26-05:002023-06-26T19:33:27-05:00Bicycle Dues<p><span class="text-big">I’m teaching my kids how to ride bicycles this summer. It’s almost as hard to watch as it is for them to learn. Because there’s nothing I can say to help.<span> </span>We all learn to ride bicycles the same way: </span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Eat dirt, bang up legs, scream, throw the bicycle, then pick it up and try again.<span> </span></span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">We all have to pay our dues to the damn bike before we get the hang of it. By the third day, both kids got the hang of it. They were cruising around the neighborhood with ease.<span> </span>It was a beautiful thing to behold.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, for the most part, I’m happy in life, but once in a while, my ego gets the better of me and I can feel disappointed about where I’m at.<span> </span>During those times, it’s nice to remember the bicycle metaphor: if I want to get farther, I’m going to need to put my head down and take a few more spills.<span> </span>With that in mind, I’m off to the piano for some songwriting.<span> </span>Wishing you a week of strength when you’re scared and fortitude when you feel like quitting.<span> </span>Hang in there! See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/8c18698810b45b24600fcace861e5ad9773c42c7/original/john.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72291902023-06-19T19:17:15-05:002023-06-19T19:17:15-05:00The Bass Is Rotten<p><span class="text-big">It was a unique week. And it's only now as I type, wreaking of putrid fish guts, that I understand the moral.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">When I got to my restaurant today, I went to the walk-in cooler to check on things after the weekend. Something smelled off. Really off. I asked a few of our chefs what it was. Turns out “it” was the bones and heads of giant sea bass that they wanted to turn into a fish stock. I felt strange about turning any of it into a consumable product with it all smelling the way it did. But the bones were only two days old, so I spent an hour rinsing them, lovingly removing gills, then putting the fish carcasses into stock pots to boil.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">As they simmered, the smell didn't improve. So I added lemon. Still they stunk. I added white wine. And they stunk. I added thyme, garlic, onion, fennel, dill, salt, pepper, and basil. Stink stank stunk. I tried spoonful after spoonful. And all I ended up with was a sour stomach. I threw it all out. </span></p><p><span class="text-big">In the end, I wasted my whole morning trying to improve something my gut told me was bad from the start.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, all week long, I largely ignored my gut and instead tried to outsmart it. I made some choices I knew were bad, working in directions I knew weren't right. And I also ignored some good choices because my cynical mind was too loud to allow me to believe they could be true. So this week, I'm learning from my mistakes and going with my gut. Because when your gut says the bass is rotten, the bass is rotten.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">I leave you with one of the bright spots of my week: trusting my gut when it told me to take the kids into nature this weekend. Here they are having the time of their lives on the beach in Milwaukee. Thank heavens I listened. Wishing you a week of believing in yourself and your instincts. See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/d11886715fc002ba9fa3eca345b8ea382437055a/original/kids.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72255002023-06-12T21:13:06-05:002023-06-12T21:13:06-05:00Show Tomorrow!<p><span class="text-big">I'm keeping it short tonight. I've got a show tomorrow night at Anderson Japanese Gardens in Rockford, and I've got to get a little practice in. If you're in town, stop by at 5:45! Also on the bill are the incredibly talented band, The Cactus Blossoms. </span></p><p><span class="text-big">Tonight, I'm full of gratitude. Because tomorrow, I get to play some songs I love outside in a beautiful park. I've written a hell of a lot of songs that I don't love, and I've played in a lot of lonely bars. And I'm thankful for every terrible tune I've written and for empty club along the way. Without them, I never would have gotten to where I am today. </span></p><p><span class="text-big">I'm mentally bookmarking this feeling for when times feel dark, remembering that--providing I don't give up--the light returns. Wishing you a wonderful week, Reader. See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p> </p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/732f26dfaa9d8ccbb6350b1166461fa3810501b3/original/em.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72217532023-06-05T20:36:17-05:002023-06-05T20:37:25-05:00Winks<p> </p><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;">
<p><span class="text-big">My dad could recite dirty limericks. It used to embarrass me when I was a kid. Now I think it's pretty cool. </span></p>
<p><span class="text-big">I hadn't thought of that in awhile, but then this week out of the blue, I stumbled upon a dirty limerick book in a used book store. I thumbed through the pages and found some of dad's classics. I found myself crying a little.</span></p>
<div><span class="text-big">(Who woulda thought "a man from Nantucket" could bring a grown woman to tears.)</span></div>
<div> </div>
<div><span class="text-big">Anyway, I bought the book as a reminder of the little wink from the universe in the middle of an otherwise ordinary day. </span></div>
<div> </div>
<div><span class="text-big">The week was filled with winks, too many to write down. Some were just strange coincidences, like having a phone conversation about hummingbirds and then suddenly seeing the first hummingbird of the year. Others were bigger and a bit more profound.</span></div>
<div> </div>
<div><span class="text-big">I love these moments. They make seemingly dull hours feel a little more magical. And I think the reason why I'm noticing them is that I've put my phone away more lately. I was rarely in a good mood when I was scrolling on my phone. Everything on-line made me mad or helpless. Without it, I get to experience more daily magic. And what else are days for?</span></div>
<div> </div>
<div><span class="text-big">Maybe it's just me, Reader. But dropping the phone and keeping myself open for winks has made me feel a lot more alive lately. If you need a spark, give it a whirl. Life has been nice these past few weeks. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</span></div>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/7f1d88cd3b8971ac991887acce7f66bbea6d8b08/original/limerick.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
</div>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72175682023-05-29T20:55:10-05:002023-06-05T20:28:10-05:00Happy Memorial Day<p><span class="text-big">No blog tonight. I'm spending some much needed time with friends and family. Wishing you a wonderful week ahead, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</span></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72137582023-05-22T19:47:45-05:002023-05-22T19:47:46-05:00Nature Doesn't Judge<p><span class="text-big">The kids and I planted a garden this week.<span> </span>Tomatoes, peppers, lettuce, brussels sprouts, rhubarb, strawberries, raspberries, and herbs are underway. Connecting our family to the land has been the unplanned theme of 2023. <span> </span>I’m loving every minute.<span> </span>When time feels like it’s going too quickly, heading outdoors has a way of slowing it back down.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">There’s a lot to love about being outside, but at the top of my list this week is that nature doesn’t judge. <span> </span>Come as you are.<span> </span>Broken, giddy, somber, silly, rich, poor, dirty, clean, you are welcome. It’s very freeing to feel without scrutiny.<span> </span>It’s the best I’ve felt in weeks.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, it dawned on me this week that one of the best gifts we can give ourselves and our families and strangers and the planet is not to scrutinize harshly. This is a damn hard feat for me: I was raised in a Christian church where shame and guilt came with the territory. But those emotions aren’t useful to me anymore. </span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">This week, I’m hoping to take a note from Mother Nature and try to accept and love people and things as they are. <span> </span>I’ve been trying it for a few days, and I haven’t missed guilt or shame even once.<span> </span>If you need a break from them too, try casting them aside. Life’s too short. Enjoy yourself this week, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/04c71beaadc60d8cd519a6e8c5701803bdece589/original/kids.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72095952023-05-15T18:55:01-05:002023-05-16T09:07:06-05:00Boss Brain<p><span class="text-big">I think too much.<span> The </span>mind is a bastard.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">I even think too much about thinking too much.<span> </span>The chatter in my head has been louder than usual these days. On Friday morning, it was deafening. <span> </span>I could barely focus on my work because I was distracted by thinking about my work. </span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">For me, there’s only one way to stop my mind from spinning (that doesn’t involve good drugs and alcohol), and that’s taking deep breaths and listening to my gut. <span> </span>Bizarre as it sounds, everything in my gut was saying “get me outta this house.”</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">I spontaneously rented a cabin for the night in Spring Green, Wisconsin. <span> </span>I packed up my kids and my mom and we hit the road.<span> </span>Once we got there, we rolled in prairies.<span> </span>We made bonfires.<span> </span>We slept in hammocks. <span> </span>We put together jigsaw puzzles. <span> </span></span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">And my thoughts were almost inaudible.</span></p><p><span class="text-big">Reader, I sometimes think the mind is the wrong team captain. It’s too loud, too stubborn, and too selfish to make the calls for the rest of the body. Lately, my mind has been pushing my body beyond its limits. And I’m ready to give it a leave-of-absence and let my heart steer this ship for a little while.<span> </span>As backward as this may seem, our mental health sometimes can’t be fixed by our minds.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p><span class="text-big">If you’re lost in your mind this week, consider that you’re wise in more ways than you think.<span> </span>I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><span class="text-big"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/45d4c799d7610c267b64a422f64ad7a074bb3f14/original/field.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72053152023-05-08T20:22:02-05:002023-05-08T20:22:02-05:00Calm In Storms<p><span class="text-big">Unpopular opinion: calamity provides focus. At least for me.</span></p><div><span class="text-big">I thought I was having bad week. We're having problems at the restaurant, and I've been anxious. Then late last night, I got a call from a friend: the daycare center up the street from my place just lost a lot of their staff, and 60 underprivileged kids have no way of eating until they can hire a new cook.</span></div><div> </div><div><span class="text-big">My spinning mind suddenly had a laser focus. Everything else got quiet except for one voice. </span></div><div> </div><div><span class="text-big"><i>Feed the kids.</i></span></div><div> </div><div><span class="text-big">Today, I put everything on hold, and went to help. For the few hours I was there, I was calm. My mind was present. I could breathe. We worked out a plan for their week. And I felt really good.</span></div><div> </div><div><span class="text-big">Reader, I wish it didn't take dire straits to bring about peace of mind. But that's what happened this week. It was good to be reminded that there are a lot bigger issues out there than the ones I'm facing, </span></div><div> </div><div><span class="text-big">I leave you with a picture of our woods tonight. Storms and calm are two sides of the same coin, just like everything else. Leave it to the woods to drive that point home. See you next Monday. -Em</span></div><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/9146fd1f2e252ff17b15d8d6fa378ade300c25be/original/ramps.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><div> </div>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/72010162023-05-01T20:24:14-05:002023-05-01T20:24:15-05:00Change of Scenery<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-big">Most Sunday mornings, my little family gets up and drinks coffee, listens to the records, and plans out our day in the kitchen. This Sunday morning was just about the same, except we did all of it in an unfinished attic. </span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"> </div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-big">Something about the change of scenery made Sunday morning coffee feel more special. The rest of our day felt magical, like anything was possible. We kept that vibe rolling and took the kids to the Shedd Aquarium. We walked around Chicago in the rain. We ate whole loaves of bread for lunch. We ended the night around the fire playing old board games.</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"> </div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-big">And I can't say any of that would have happened if we would have started our Sunday on the couch.</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"> </div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-big">Reader, this week, I was reminded that while routine is nice, we sometimes need to change our scenery in order to really appreciate what we have, to see all the possibilities around us. Shaking up our environment has a way of shaking us out of our comfort zone. Something as simple as sitting in an attic for coffee led to one of the best days I've had in months.</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"> </div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-big">If you too find yourself stuck lately, change your scenery, and see if anything new pans out. Wishing you courage and magic this week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"> </div><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/60f18295badb4f2df7a9535feb6479e065611d20/original/mark-and-jo.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71962402023-04-24T19:44:12-05:002023-04-24T19:44:12-05:00To The Bat Cave<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;">
<p><span class="text-big" style="color:rgb(34,34,34);">For the past several weeks, I've been on a mission to clear out the attic space above our garage. Most of the stuff up there hasn't moved in 30 years. I poured through memorabilia of great grandparents, grandparents, parents, and my younger self. I set aside the pictures and books, then I plan to donate and burn the rest: we had a bat infestation for a few years, and most items I rummaged through were covered in dead bats and guano.</span></p>
<p><span class="text-big">What can I say...I've always been a glamour girl.</span></p>
<p><span class="text-big">Anyway, as a person who already has a full dance card, it felt counterintuitive to add on another big job. But I'm playing the long game. Ever since I got married, the majority of my efforts have necessarily gone into the people around me. And I don't mind it. But I don't have many spare minutes for personal wellness. And even if it did, I wouldn't have a place to get the kind of wellness I crave.</span></p>
<p><span class="text-big">So that's why I'm creating myself a room. Just for me. Right now, it only has lumber in it. But in a year or two, it will have a piano and a couple chairs and a place for me to toil and write as much as I want. It feels selfish, but only because I've never done it before.</span></p>
<p><span class="text-big">Reader: I'm building myself a bat cave. </span></p>
<p><span class="text-big">If you're a fellow person who spends most of their days on others, let me tell you: even having a little project to work on that's just for me has done wonders for my mental health. Clearing out the last box in the attic, I felt instantly lighter and hopeful. As we go through our week, let's not forget to make room for ourselves and our thoughts. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</span></p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/5776a1a89cac50d218447be62e87fb7a4bc8a5ce/original/she-shed.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></div>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71919142023-04-17T14:56:49-05:002024-02-19T12:30:44-06:00When Life Gives You Walnut...<p>Man, did I ever need last night’s show in Chicago.<span> </span>What a great crowd of listeners. It was an honor to play with Emily White and Jared Rabin and to see so many familiar faces. After the week I had, the friendship felt even more special.<o:p></o:p></p><p>A lot of bizarre and frustrating things happened this week, culminating with a huge walnut tree falling down across our driveway.<span> </span>My husband was out of town. I couldn’t move it, and I still don’t know how to use a chainsaw.<span> </span>I panicked.<span> </span>My brain went to a dark spot. <i>Why does this bad stuff always happen?<span> </span></i><o:p></o:p></p><p>Then I took a few deep breaths. I started chuckling. Earlier in the week, I had been wishing for some lumber for a project I’m working on at home.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p>And the universe provided it.<span> </span>Albeit in an inconvenient-for-me way, but I got exactly what I needed.<o:p></o:p></p><p>Reader, the longer I live, the more I realize that the universe has a sense of humor, and I should too. The “bad stuff that always happens” is sometimes the good stuff in disguise. Relationships that don’t work, jobs that fall through, plans that change, problems that arise: they all have a way of getting us where we need to be.<o:p></o:p></p><p>Wishing you a week of humor and finding good in the bad.<span> </span>See you next Monday. -Em</p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/b01e2befe1b2a17091a23f8d78cbfedd7b3ce9c7/original/walnut.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><o:p></o:p></p><p><o:p></o:p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71873582023-04-10T19:46:41-05:002023-04-10T19:46:41-05:00Show This Sunday<p>No blog tonight: I'm practicing for a show at Golden Dagger. If you're free and in Chicago on Sunday night, I'll be opening the album release show for my friend Emily White, and I'd love to see you. Tickets are available at the link below. See you next Monday! -Em</p><p><a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.ticketweb.com/event/emily-white-cd-release-show-golden-dagger-tickets/13018175?pl=GoldenDagger" data-link-type="url">https://www.ticketweb.com/event/emily-white-cd-release-show-golden-dagger-tickets/13018175?pl=GoldenDagger</a></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71835692023-04-03T20:37:41-05:002023-04-03T20:37:41-05:00Tag Books<p>I just bought a few books from a used book store, and I've been tearing through them. I usually read with a pen in my teeth, so I can underline the parts I like. I also like to write in the margins when I make a mental connection. My high school English teacher used to call it "active reading." A few nights ago, my son caught me active reading, and he screamed at me. </p><div> </div><div>"Mom! You can't do that!"</div><div> </div><div>"Do what?" I said.</div><div> </div><div>"Make marks!"</div><div> </div><div>I laughed, then asked him to scribble all over in the margins, just to force him out of whatever preconceived rule he thought he was breaking. As he flipped through the rest of the book, he was surprised to see that other people had underlined parts ,too. The whole exercise blew his mind and cracked me up.</div><div> </div><div>Reader, it's odd that even at 7 years-old, we're afraid to touch something for fear that we'll mess it up. What else are we alive for if not to leave our mark here, maybe make a few mental connections with our fellow humans? As we go through our week, let's not forget to leave thoughtful marks in every way we can. Life is way too short to be afraid of messing it up.</div><div> </div><div>I leave you with this picture of the snowdrop flowers in our woods. Just because spring is so lacey and beautiful. See you next Monday. -Em</div><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/294b8d8bbe20e491fdd6ef024ca45e4dc4a07a46/original/snowdrops.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71795002023-03-27T19:28:41-05:002023-03-27T19:28:41-05:00Trust<p><span style="color:#222222;">Seeing the Northern Lights has been at the top of my bucket list for the majority of my life. And since I turned 40, I've been feeling extra pressure to see them. So in January, my husband and I traveled to the top of the Arctic Circle. It was an inconvenient (and expensive) trip, but we made it happen, and the lights were beautiful. </span><p></p></p><p><span style="color:#222222;">Fast forward three months. I've been buried at work. In keeping with my decision to escape to nature when I'm overwhelmed by work stress, I drove to the Upper Peninsula. It was an average Thursday night. But on my way there, I saw something in the sky near Wausau. </span><p></p><p></p></p><p><span style="color:#222222;">THE LIGHTS. And the further north I drove, the more vibrant they became. By the time I hit Bessemer, Michigan, the whole sky was a breathtaking mix of green and purple. The display was 10 times more beautiful than what we saw in Norway.</span><p></p></p><p><span style="color:#222222;"> </span><p></p><span style="color:#222222;">It was effortless on my part. And all it cost was a tank of gas.</span><p></p><p></p></p><p><span style="color:#222222;">Reader, seeing the aurora in Wisconsin on a Thursday may have been nothing but a coincidence, but it feels symbolic. The moral of my week is: maybe we need a little more faith that the things we want most will find us in time. I suppose that's an impractical and almost lazy mindset, but I see no harm in it, and so I'm giving it a whirl. Maybe we don't have to work so hard.</span><p></p><p></p></p><p><span style="color:#222222;">Wishing you a wonderful week of deciding what you want, and then practicing patience. See you next Monday. -Em</span></p><p><span style="color:#222222;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/4b357cd1ef68544d1b14d8a2547eb5507281dddb/original/lights.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span><p></p></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71751892023-03-20T15:31:40-05:002023-03-20T15:31:40-05:00SPRING CLEAN OF THE MIND<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;">
<p>Today, my daughter and I went to a local farm and held baby lambs. I sat in the hay. They chewed my shoelaces. I fed them garlic. They smelled my hair. I scratched their bellies.</p>
<p>And for just that one hour, everything felt alright.</p>
<div>Reader, I sometimes think our biggest problems stem from just having too much in our lives, which for me leads to a frustrated mind. As dirty as it was sitting in a barn with animals, I walked away feeling fresh. So with spring approaching in the coming weeks, I'm going to do some mental cleaning, allowing in only what I need. We'll see how long it lasts, but I'm going to do my best to stick with this one. My mind could use a deep clean. There's too much clutter in there lately. </div>
<div> </div>
<div>Wishing you a clear head and warm heart. See you next Monday. -Em</div><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/ca16b5a8569595bc55e63f228128a3bc8c487df3/original/lambs.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></div>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71709162023-03-13T22:26:44-05:002023-03-13T22:26:44-05:00Second Video Release<p>If you're somebody who keeps up pictures of people who have passed away, this one's for you. </p><p>(I sure miss you, Dad.)</p><p>Enjoy the video, Reader, and I'll see you next Monday.</p><p>-Em</p><div class="video-container size_xl justify_center" style=""><iframe data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="YBK89Sv1oFM" data-video-thumb-url="" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/YBK89Sv1oFM?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></div>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71663742023-03-06T19:49:45-06:002023-03-06T19:49:45-06:00Escape Artist<p>I ran away to the Upper Peninsula this week. It was a hard week at the restaurant; I thought some time with nature and family would help.</p><div>And it did.</div><div> </div><div>Shikoba once said "the antidote to exhaustion isn't rest: it's nature." I believe this with my whole heart. Sitting around the fire in the snow recharged pieces of my mind and heart that I didn't even know were empty.</div><div> </div><div>Reader, we can't run away from our problems. We can't run away from our responsibilities. But we can allow ourselves some time to replenish our energy so that we can face the issues with a clear head. If you too are tired and not ready to tackle problems, let's not forget about the power of escaping into nature. It's all around us, and it's completely free. </div><div> </div><div>With that, I'm off to look at a few stars before bed. See you next Monday. -Em</div><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/190e342b2dc20ab24e0d5dc3825cfb92b43f5562/original/fire.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71618922023-02-27T19:59:56-06:002023-02-27T19:59:56-06:00Green Bananas<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-big">This whole week was a metaphor in practicing patience. Nothing I was hoping to accomplish got done on time. Both on the homefront and at work: when I was ready to finish a job, I was met with obstacles that made the job undoable.</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"> </div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-big">And at the end of the week, one of my employees at the restaurant asked me to run out to get 4 ripe bananas. Easy enough. Except when I showed up at the grocery store, every damn banana was green.</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"> </div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-big">I laughed as I walked out.</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"> </div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-big">Reader, there's a time to hustle, and there's a time to note that the bananas are too green. If things aren't falling into place for you either, let's keep in mind the power of patience. We don't steer the whole world on our whims. The whole world helps to steer us.</span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"> </div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width:0px;color:rgb(34, 34, 34);font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;font-style:normal;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-ligatures:normal;font-weight:400;letter-spacing:normal;orphans:2;text-align:start;text-decoration-color:initial;text-decoration-style:initial;text-decoration-thickness:initial;text-indent:0px;text-transform:none;white-space:normal;widows:2;word-spacing:0px;"><span class="text-big">I'm gonna try to go with the flow this week (as if there's any other choice). I hope you have a good one, and I'll see you Monday. -Em</span></div><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/4e90adb4ce82a46c1a918e80b1296df24a6e4e4f/original/green-bananas.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71575052023-02-20T19:27:36-06:002023-02-20T19:27:37-06:00Video Release<p>On December 5th, 2022 at Kingsize Sound Labs in Chicago, we recorded the album “Meanwhile, I Love You.” It features my old friends Gregg Ostrom, John Abbey, and Gerald Dowd. We'll be releasing it later this year. </p><p>We also invited Bart Bishoff to take a video of the session. Here's the first video he made. The song is called “No One Else But You.”</p><p>If we're friends, you're probably somewhere in a verse. This song is for my people: my restaurant family, my blood family, my friends, and my husband. I say a lot, “I wouldn't want to be here with anyone else,” and I finally found a way to put that feeling into a song. </p><p>I'm excited to share this album. Thank you for supporting my music and keeping me going through 19 records-worth of figuring out how to take what's in my heart and turning it into music. See you next Monday. -Em</p><p> </p><div class="video-container size_xl justify_center" style=""><iframe data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="Mzdz0EYIKKI" data-video-thumb-url="" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Mzdz0EYIKKI?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></div>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71532462023-02-13T17:07:34-06:002023-02-13T17:07:34-06:00Pleased To Meet You<div>Vertigo is finally behind me. So long, room spins; hello new tunes.</div><div> </div><div>I'm trying something different with this round of songs. Rather than try to capture how I'm feeling, I'm trying to capture a sound that feels like me. That may seem like the same thing. But oddly enough, it's not. </div><div> </div><div>What's pouring out of my fingertips and voice box lately is less like surrendering to my emotions and more like getting to know myself better. Weird but wonderful concept. It's pretty incredible being in your 40's and becoming reacquainted with yourself. Oddly enough, it feels a lot like a return to who I used to be.</div><div> </div><div>Reader, I don't know if it's because I spent the weekend playing with my little kids in the snow, or if it's because I'm trying to write songs that sound like me, but I'm experiencing a "nice to meet you" sensation with a version of myself from a long time ago. I'm setting the intention to get to know her even more in the coming months. I'm excited.</div><div> </div><div>It's Valentine's Day tomorrow, and if you don't have a sweetheart to tell how much you love them, don't forget to tell yourself. It's never a bad time to get to know yourself better. See you next Monday. -Em</div><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/218733/e9984b203f4fc519af4ee772b8ef04c1ec3f5d9d/original/kids.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71497532023-02-06T19:55:17-06:002023-02-06T19:55:17-06:00Scotch for Snow Cones<p>On Saturday, I had a birthday. I was looking forward to inviting a couple girlfriends over to the house and having a bonfire and a little scotch out in the woods. </p>
<p>But Saturday was also the only day we had to celebrate my daughter's 6th birthday. I was disappointed and frustrated at first. But I rain-checked with my girls and celebrated my birthday with 20 kindergartners, snow cones, sledding, and a homemade "giant tubing hill cake" per her request. </p>
<p>Couldn't have planned a better day for myself. </p>
<p>Reader, I swear: the universe is creative in how it presents opportunities. When plans change, we either get bitter (which I did), or we joyfully get into the new plan (which I also did). It was a nice lesson for me about the power of rolling with the damn punches. Plus I forgot how much I like snow cones. </p>
<p>Let's keep rolling with those punches this week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/dbf0d3d6f9769ad9573fa6c23d08d5e668c02132/original/cake.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71460332023-01-30T19:13:53-06:002023-01-30T19:13:53-06:00The Vertigo Album<p>It's important to have friends who think differently than you. A friend's perspective turned my week around. </p>
<p>Vertigo is having its way with me. I'm falling over, throwing up, and having a hard time focusing on a single object for longer than a few seconds. When I sit down at the piano to write, as nice as it feels, it's short lived. I can't spend hours mulling over melodies and lyrics like I'm accustomed to. Tunes that would normally take me a couple days need to be finished by the time I stand up. </p>
<p>I was lamenting this situation to a friend. She said, "I think this is an incredible opportunity!" I gave her the evil eye, and she continued, "You know...to write a vertigo album." </p>
<p>I laughed. Then paused. And then I actually considered it. <em>Damn, she's right. How cool would it be to capture this situation in song? </em>I hugged her, and then I went home and got a few songs into the vertigo album. It's honestly a refreshing way to write, without overthinking. </p>
<p>Reader, as cliché as it is to say, some of our worst times do have an upshot. Or if not an upshot, at least a chance to shake things up. I'm grateful to have people around me who show me other points of view. I started this week frustrated and ended it loving all my opportunities. I'm thanking my stars tonight for friends who see things differently; I hope you have one too.</p>
<p>I leave you with this picture of my kids, doing their impersonation of me as a granny tonight. Apparently I'm easily parodied these days. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/735496349e3e697907a4f7810aef1e8e1a55fc3b/original/grannies.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71424282023-01-23T19:43:43-06:002023-01-23T19:43:43-06:00Will Won't<p>I got vertigo two weeks ago. My doctor thinks it happened because of the recent combination of airplane travel and an ear infection. I've been miserable, and working through the constant spinning has been hard, but I've been powering through it anyway. Because that's what I do best. </p>
<p>Power through. </p>
<p>Through the years, I've counted will power as my greatest asset. I've always figured that with a lot of determination and patience, I can accomplish anything. And for the most part, it's been true. It's how I've learned how strong I can be. But this week, I learned a lesson the hard way: </p>
<p>Will power has to be used right. </p>
<p>After two weeks of getting nowhere, I finally hit an emotional deadend. I couldn't keep working through vertigo. Today, I redirected my energy. Rather than fight my way through the daily grind, I used will power to call every doctor in the area to find somebody who could help me find relief. I got into a physical therapist this afternoon, and I made appointments for the rest of the week. For the first time, I feel like I may be able to see the light at the end of this blurry tunnel. </p>
<p>Reader, perseverance is an incredible trait. But it can't take you everywhere. The moral of my week is: if you're working hard but you're still just beating your head against the wall, it may be time to change course and try a path without a wall. </p>
<p>I'm off to movie/junk food night with the family. Because sometimes, you just need to resolve to have no will power at all. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/cc67c0b297a54e98c69cd7ba0c84e900b8a7f704/original/movie.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71388582023-01-16T17:36:08-06:002023-01-16T17:36:08-06:00Mistakes Done Well<p>Our family decided to give fewer material gifts for the holidays. For the past couple years, we've been giving each other experiences. This year, I got my mom tickets to see Judy Collins at the Old Town School of Folk Music. We went to see the show last night, and I was blown away: the woman can hit higher notes at 83 than I could in my 20s. </p>
<p>Her range wasn't all that blew me away. I couldn't get over how well she made mistakes. She forgot lyrics and had to start songs over. During her banter, she forgot people's names mid-story and had to abandon the story and just start singing. She even forgot if she had sung the last verse to a song once, and just sang it twice to make sure she hadn't. </p>
<p>Her responses were magical. She smiled, called out her mistakes, and started laughing at herself. Her laughter was so genuine that the whole audience was laughing along with her. Judy's mistakes and the way she dealt with them were one of my favorite parts of the concert. What an inspiration. </p>
<p>Reader, I don't know about you, but 2023 got off to a bumpy start. I've made big errors in every sphere of my life, and I also have vertigo for the first time. If you find yourself mired in your mistakes too, let's take a lesson from ol' Judy Blue Eyes: own them and laugh. We all make mistakes. How we deal with them can be deflating or inspiring. It's our choice. </p>
<p>Hang in there, and I'll see you next Monday. Enjoy yet another picture from Norway (I can't stop looking at them). -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/e3e86a66e140bea452bde4aeff772940e8db0d35/original/northern-lights.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71346972023-01-08T08:44:33-06:002023-01-09T16:27:52-06:00Arctic Circle<p>I spent the last week in the Arctic Circle. The purpose was to get into the mountains, away from civilization, and see the Northern Lights. Memorable isn’t a big enough word to describe the experience. The sun never rose. And the moon never set; it just made wide looping circles over our heads each day. I'm writing from an airport in Norway before I forget this adventure. </p>
<p>My husband and I arrived in Tromsø on a snowy night. We stayed at a little hotel on the harbor where snowy mountains and flowing fjords ran into each other. We couldn't see the town from sea level, so we took the cable car to the top of the tallest mountain. From up high, the city looked like tangled strings of diamond necklaces. I wasn’t dressed warmly enough, and I made a vow to spend the rest of the trip in head-to-toe snow gear. </p>
<p>The next morning, we woke up early and walked around in the 4 hours of glowing sky that constitutes daylight in the winter. We stumbled upon a wooden boat that looked to be at least a hundred years old. The captain said he was giving tours of the fjord later in the day. We signed up for one, then killed a few hours drinking at an ice bar and visiting a little polar museum. </p>
<p>Our time on boats was magical. We learned about whales, Sami culture, moose, and the Nazi occupation of the area, which was unsettling but felt important to understand. We saw our first glimpse of the dancing aurora through the clouds. Later, we went to a little floating sauna in the harbor. When we got too hot, we’d jump into the sea. After several innings of burning heat and freezing cold, we had a dinner of reindeer donuts, lots of cod, and akvavit. </p>
<p>We left Tromsø by ferry and headed to a little town called Finnsnes, where we caught a bus to the mountains. We stayed in a room that was mostly windows. There were no tvs or radios, and no access to food. So we went back into town for provisions, then camped out in our glass apartment for two days with little besides crackers, a hunk of cheese, and our thoughts. We spent about 8 hours a day just looking out the window, staring at the sky, sometimes walking around outside to get a clearer view. There was one night where the Northern Lights were so active that we just stood under them with our jaws dropped. </p>
<p>The aurora borealis is a faint green (oxygen) and purple (nitrogen) to the naked eye, but through a camera, the color is much brighter. Still, the picture below doesn’t do it justice. The dancing of elements miles over my head made everything seem so small, and I felt my stress level drop. My gratitude for the experience can’t be overstated. </p>
<p>Reader, my biggest takeaway from this trip: we are just so small in the grand scheme of time and space. Best to get outside and look up to be reminded of it. And also to be reminded to enjoy our short time here. When we headed back to Tromsø on our final night, we found ourselves cheering on the runners who were racing in the Polar Half Marathon, and then later line dancing/exercising in the town square with the rest of the locals. I felt as happy as I’ve ever been. </p>
<p>Now it’s back to having my nose to the grindstone, but I’m not going to forget to keep my head in the clouds. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/2064d4bb263cf457ff9658b7dc67b02536e3d4b2/original/lights.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71287382022-12-26T20:22:10-06:002022-12-26T20:22:10-06:00Keep The Lights On<p>I went to a pretty dark headspace on Wednesday. Between family illnesses, the stress of having kids home from school, and working through the finances of the restaurant, I felt like I was drowning and couldn't see my way out. I drove through our neighborhood Christmas lights, but peace and joy felt completely out of reach. That night, I stayed up late, shaking with stress. </p>
<p>The next morning, I woke up with what my husband calls an emotional hangover. I was groggy and exhausted. I poured myself a cup of coffee and checked my phone. One of the emails in my inbox was from a stranger, telling me how I could collect my audio prizes. Thinking it was a scam, I deleted it. </p>
<p>But for some reason, I went into the trash and checked it, just to be sure. </p>
<p>Turns out, I've been so busy that I missed the message that I was a finalist and honorable mention winner in this year's USA Songwriting Competition. I had almost forgotten that I entered. (On an aside: entering songwriting competitions is the closest I come to gambling. If the grand prize of a competition looks good and I think I might stand a chance, I'll submit a tune.) </p>
<p>Even though I hadn't won money, being recognized buoyed my spirits in a way no words can describe. It completely reversed the state of despair I was in just 12 hours earlier. </p>
<p>Reader, the moral of my week is two-fold. First, if you're suffering and think no good will ever come again, never forget: it does. Second--and more importantly--if someone you know feels like they're drowning and can't see their way out, never forget what a little recognition and positivity can do for someone when they're in that headspace. With the holidays over, a lot of people go dark. If you've got light to give, let's give it generously. </p>
<p>With any luck, a week from today, I'll be in the arctic circle. I'm not sure I'll be able to blog. But I hope to have a lot of great stories when I get back. See you then. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/9357b5ed8a2cf893baa9ce03bb93a18ed9e99d03/original/cover.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71250702022-12-19T07:03:32-06:002022-12-19T07:03:32-06:00Worth It<p>For the past 2 months--in addition to writing songs and raising kids--my husband and I have been working on adding components to our restaurant's annual outdoor winter Snømarket. Our garage has become a fully operational woodshop. This year, we built an elevated G-scale train trestle, a giant thatched smoking A-frame hut, and 150 individual A-frame huts that function as incense burners. </p>
<p>We're tired. But proud. </p>
<p>Snømarket is over, and I'm reflecting on it all. We made some money, but definitely not hand-over-fist. A lot of people came out, but it was still a largely unrecognized event. And it definitely took a lot of time away from the kids. At the close of the market last night, someone asked me, "Well, was it worth it?" </p>
<p>I had to pause to think about it. </p>
<p>What makes something worth doing? If there's no money or fame in it, and it takes time away from what you love most, should you do it? </p>
<p>I think it depends. But in this case, it was worth doing, a hundred times over. </p>
<p>Reader, money goes. Fame dies. Time flies. But the experience of creating something from the heart and putting it out in the world is a priceless exercise, and I'm so grateful to be alive and able to do it. Whatever you're up to this week, I hope it gives you satisfaction and pride. And if you came to our market, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart. </p>
<p>See you next Monday, </p>
<p>Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/6e4d8aa71237982ef4119278c34ca42709fcd76e/original/snotrain.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71216362022-12-12T11:25:15-06:002022-12-19T06:08:23-06:00Well Enough<p>Bit of breakthrough for me last week. The guys and I hit King Size Sound Labs to make another live record. I usually like to go into sessions with at least 14 songs. That way, if I don't like the way 3 or 4 of them turn out, I still have enough for a full record. </p>
<p>I've been working on writing tunes all year, and I thought I had about 10 pretty good songs. I also have dozens of rough tunes that are full of place-filler lyrics and weak melodies. So I brought in 4 of those unfinished tunes, thinking we'd use them to warm up and have fun, since none of them would matter anyway. </p>
<p>Turns out, those were the best ones of the bunch. </p>
<p>Reader, I forget: sometimes a piece of art requires a lot of work, and other times, it just needs to be left alone. There's a difference between fine-tuning and overworking. There are times when we just need to leave well enough alone and believe that it's more important for art to evoke feelings than it is for art to be good. </p>
<p>Let's keep it real this week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em <br>P.S. If you're in the Rockford area, come to my restaurant's Snømarket! All the details are here. www.thenorwegian.com</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/3eccea18cf0f52d8f777025f2275b889af3062fe/original/snoteam.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71182782022-12-05T22:04:31-06:002022-12-11T10:03:39-06:00Recording Night!<p>No blog tonight. I'm at King Size recording with the wrecking crew. See you next Monday! -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/432c2ce73a6bb4809d58b08b668beec9a5ebd158/original/no-blog.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71125732022-11-28T19:59:44-06:002022-12-11T10:00:57-06:00Something To Write About<p>My family and I went to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan for Thanksgiving. It was nice to get out of town. But I felt frustrated to be away from the piano for so long. I'm recording a live album a week from today, and I was hoping for more time to finish up a few tunes. </p>
<p>But I thought, no sense being a damned party pooper. So I enjoyed myself. We made a couple bonfires. We went to Lake Superior, and a few of us jumped in. We built a snowman, complete with a carrot nose and a carrot ding-a-ling. We played card games. We cooked and laughed and hiked up mountains and sledded down them. </p>
<p>And when I came back home to finish up the tunes, it was easy. Because I had something to write about. </p>
<p>Reader, I'm an advocate for working hard, especially when it comes to writing. But sometimes I forget the importance of living life. If you too are the creative sort, let's not forget to actually experience the life we're trying to capture. No sense toiling away and missing out on the best parts of it all. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/723ad014a00711376130841dac823ffeb7ab9541/original/lake.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71077322022-11-21T19:20:21-06:002022-11-21T19:20:22-06:00Burning Furniture Again<p>I'm coming up on the 10th anniversary of my dad's death. It simultaneously feels like it just happened yesterday, and also like it happened 25 years ago. So much has happened in my life since he died. Marriage, kids, 10 albums, building and running restaurant. Extreme joy, depression, hilarity, anxiety, and everything in between. </p>
<p>I miss him. </p>
<p>The night dad died, I made a decision that has haunted me ever since. I was living in Chicago, and my mom called to tell me that dad had a heart attack, and was being taken to the hospital. I asked her if he was alive. And she said, "no." I told her I would meet her at home. I chose not to see dad's body. I never saw him again. </p>
<p>I wish I would have gone to the hospital, so I could have had a chance to see him and said goodbye. But I made a quick choice. And that was that. </p>
<p>A couple weeks after dad died--still regretting my choice--I felt compelled to have some sort of ritual. So I dragged the giant 12 foot wooden hutch that I built my parents when I was 17 out into their woods, and I set it on fire. It felt good to let go of something that I held so dear for so long. Just to prove how impermanent everything is, how objects are nothing compared to the life within and around them. </p>
<p>And holy hell, does my mom still curse me for burning up her furniture. Rightfully so. It was an impulsive and crazy move, as satisfying as it was. </p>
<p>And here I am 10 years later, just as impulsive and crazy. This past week, I dragged the wooden bar that I made with dad out into the woods, and set it on fire. It was time. It was in pretty rough shape. I had already replaced the wood twice. But I was holding onto it for posterity because it reminded me of him. My husband threw on a giant bench that I had an my restaurant for good measure. It was a giant inferno. </p>
<p>The fire burned my face even from 20 feet away. And it felt just as good as it did almost 10 years ago. </p>
<p>Reader, there's no moral here. Life is hard. And sad. And beautiful. And sometimes we just have to do what we have to do. For me, it's apparently burning up furniture in the interest of gaining perspective. Whatever it is for you, I wish you the ability to do it. </p>
<p>I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving. I'm grateful to you for reading these thoughts, and I'm sending you the best. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/e40f4b4149337e884cfb04fd0e1bb691704ca94a/original/fire.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/71021562022-11-14T15:09:44-06:002022-11-14T15:09:45-06:00Astral Week<p>On Monday, I set my alarm for 4:45 am. The kids and I got up early and headed outside to watch the full moon lunar eclipse. We were tired. We were cold. And we were more than a little afraid of the coyotes in the neighboring field. </p>
<p>But we were happy. It was spectacular.</p>
<p>It got me thinking a lot about routines. As useful as they are, it's sometimes good to break them, especially in the interest of experiencing something like an eclipse. Lately, I've been mired in music projects, as well as projects at the restaurant. Looking up into the stars and actually watching the earth pass between the sun and the moon made me remember just how miniscule all of it is. </p>
<p>Which gives me a lot of comfort. </p>
<p>I was so inspired by watching the moon that I made a plan to do more sky gazing. This January--with no extra time or money on our hands--my husband and I booked a flight to the Arctic Circle to see the Northern Lights. It's been on my bucket list for years. I can't believe that in less than 2 months, be at the top of the world watching nature's most spectacular light display. I'm excited.</p>
<p>Reader, whatever you're up against this week, don't forget to go outside and look up. It's a great way to get clarity and perspective on just about anything. Routines are made to be broken. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/1c4f51d00fe2b41fb700e7f8230fd4d23087bfef/original/eclipse.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70975872022-11-07T19:50:11-06:002022-11-08T06:26:10-06:00The Low And The Highs<p>My daughter's school hosts an annual trunk-or-treat in their parking lot. And every year, my husband and I dress up as Statler and Waldorf (aka the old guy muppets) and heckle from the back of his truck. </p>
<p>This year, my husband couldn't make it. So I grabbed a goat head mask from the basement (don't ask) and a giant plastic pumpkin for passing out candy, and I flew solo. </p>
<p>On the way to my daughter's school, I stopped at a car wash; my floor mats were sticky, and I thought the interior could use a good vacuum. So I consolidated all the belongings into the giant plastic pumpkin full of candy and let the car cleaners work their magic. The wash really helped spiff up my old car, and I drove on to the school. </p>
<p>When I arrived, I had less than a minute to find parking, get into my trunk, put on the goat mask, and get ready to pass out candy. And I made it. I love my daughter, and I'd do anything to make her happy. </p>
<p>I couldn't really pass out candy because it was too hard to see out of the goat's nose. So I just told all the kids "Take whatever you want! Happy Halloween!" It was all going smoothly. Preschool, kindergarten, and 1st grade kids filed through, grabbed a piece of candy out of the pumpkin bucket, then walked ahead. </p>
<p>But when the 4th graders came for candy, my pumpkin full of candy got a lot lighter. Not just a little bit lighter; at least 5 lbs lighter. They took all my candy, I thought. So I lifted up my goat mask to see, but the candy was still in the bucket. What did they take?! </p>
<p>Then it dawned on me. When I consolidated all the belongings into the giant plastic pumpkin at the car wash, those belongings included some loose bottles of booze that I was returning to my restaurant. The 4th graders had walked off with my bottles of Nocino (walnut liqueur). </p>
<p>What happened next was a real low point for me. I ran through the school parking lot in a goat head to grab my bottles of alcohol out of the hands of 10 year-olds. I didn't even explain. I just took them out of their hands and ran back to my car. As I drove home that day, I felt sheepish, in more ways than one. </p>
<p>But as I sit here and type about it, I'm smiling. Reader, the moral of my life lately is that there are a lot of highs and lows. And sometimes, the lows become the highs. As we face embarrassment and discomfort this week, let's keep in mind that time has a way of making us see things differently, making us grow, and making us not take ourselves too seriously. Have a great week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/adfb5ae23c4cd14842438736c00d7cb648fe43f9/original/goat.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70926452022-10-31T20:47:55-05:002022-10-31T20:47:55-05:00Happy Halloween <p>Happy Halloween! No blog tonight; we're out trick-or-treating with kids. See you next Monday. -Willie (& Dolly)<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/c5e2e3e741835f30dd9d57cab09dd0f5af30755b/original/willie.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70879492022-10-24T20:59:20-05:002022-10-24T20:59:21-05:00The Thrill Ain't Gone<p>I've fallen back in love with songwriting these past few months. </p>
<p>Don't get me wrong: I've always liked it. But I haven't wanted it this much in years. I crave the piano bench lately. I crave the creak of the floor when my foot hits the pedal. I crave the reverberation of the piano, and I even enjoy simply practicing again. </p>
<p>I've tried to put my finger on why it's happening, but I can't. I think sometimes things just happen in waves. I'm learning how to ride them. </p>
<p>I'm also learning that it's best not to give up on something you loved just because it doesn't hold your attention as much as it used to. Hell, I fall in and out of love with my restaurant all the time, too. In the end, it's the hard days that make me love the good ones even more. And I'm happy I stuck it out. </p>
<p>Reader, humans are distracted, fickle things. I know I am. But there's a bit of magic in not quitting. Even if it takes years, we get a second wind, a third wind, a twentieth wind. No sense giving up on our passions when they become less passionate. The thrill returns. </p>
<p>(Note to self: read this blog post next year when I feel like quitting). </p>
<p>With that, I'm off to write a little more music and make hay while the sun shines, as they say. I leave you with this picture of my kids next to our house a couple days ago. These autumn days are slipping by quickly. Looking forward to grabbing the last few, and I hope you can too. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/31248c762fc5d01ffddbb4e94def1e46a677774d/original/field.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70831332022-10-17T14:36:33-05:002022-10-17T14:36:33-05:00Continuance<p> </p>
<p>What drives me to write music--besides enjoying the practice of it--is understanding how short life is, and wanting to leave something behind. It's morbid. And maybe even a little compulsive. But what I know is: I'm almost done writing my 19th album, and I still don't feel like it's enough. </p>
<p>I might also just be crazy. </p>
<p>Anyway, I've been thinking a lot lately about what we leave behind. Two weeks ago, my friend Bruce passed away. I used to go out to his farm and visit him and his wife Deb. They let me forage watercress from their creek and hen-of-the-wood mushrooms from their yard every fall. I'm going to miss him a lot. The way he tended to his family, friends, and land is something I admire. </p>
<p>They sold their farm shortly before he died, and I had almost forgotten about my yearly excursion out to the farm, but then I got a text from Bruce's wife, Deb. She said that the new owner of the farm would be happy to have me out to harvest the mushrooms. </p>
<p>As bittersweet as it was to visit the farm without Bruce and Deb, I loved to be back on their stomping grounds, collecting mushrooms. It was a nice reminder that the way we care for things today matters tomorrow. </p>
<p>Reader, I think sometimes we don't truly see the impact of all the good things we do and make in the moment, but that doesn't mean that it isn't important or that it won't make a difference in the future. I take a lot of comfort in knowing that. I hope it provides you with some, too. </p>
<p>Let's do good things this week, and believe they may continue to give to others down the line. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/a6afd41c92dfc1d675fdfd68e1269aeb7b21a098/original/mushroom.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70787782022-10-10T20:42:31-05:002022-10-10T20:42:31-05:00Hot On The Trail<p>I'm hot on the trail of a song, so I'm not going to write much tonight. </p>
<p>But I've gotta say: this was a good week. I've been writing a lot of songs these past few weeks. And they're the kind of songs that make me want to sing them again and again. I haven't experienced a feeling like that since I was a kid. It's nice to be back here again, and I don't want to miss it. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70741482022-10-04T08:03:49-05:002022-10-04T08:03:49-05:00Maker Muscles<p>A songwriter can learn a lot from running a restaurant </p>
<p>My restaurant changes its night menu every week. Every. Single. Week. We've cooked more than 150 different menus. So for 150 weeks, we've had to create an entirely new round of dishes for our guests, without much to go on. </p>
<p>Most moments of most days, we have no idea what we're doing. Just reading a lot of recipes and figuring them out as we go. </p>
<p>Sometimes that process makes us tired. Sometimes we flat-out fail. Sometimes we're just MAD. But the one thing that it really makes us? </p>
<p>Fearless. And in damned good fighting shape. </p>
<p>Reader, I've learned these past few years at my restaurant that creativity is a muscle that you can exercise until you get good at it, or at least until you're no longer afraid of making something bad. I've been applying the same logic to songwriting for the past few months, and I can feel myself getting better at creating tunes without fear of them not being great. Just like they always say: in the end, it's not about the finished product, but the process. </p>
<p>Whatever you're up to this week, I hope your maker muscles are getting a work-out. Wishing you strength and confidence.I leave you with a picture of my restaurant team going zip-lining this week. I learn more from this team than I ever thought possible. Truly grateful for all the different aspects of my life lately. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/ea1b5bc4d4beed5fd71f4b154196fbc6fbbe97bd/original/zipline.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70683612022-09-25T10:49:45-05:002022-09-25T10:49:46-05:00We Coulda Been Great, George<p>When I first started my journey with music, I wanted to write songs for other people to sing. Specifically, old country dudes. I wanted to live in Nashville on music row. I wanted to create in quiet rooms and pitch songs to George Strait (who would of course become my best friend and frequently invite me over for coffee and porch-sitting). I'd make my buck on country hits and see the world.</p>
<p>Fast forward 20 years. I've written 19 albums worth of songs that no one else sings but me. I had a long week doing contract recording, singing the songs that two dear friends wrote. And I spend most days locked to my restaurant, singing in the basement for a crowd of onions and potatoes.</p>
<p>It's not what I wanted. But it's what happened. And it's not so bad.</p>
<p>Reader, the older I get, the more it feels like "my way or the highway" is a sure-fire way to end up nowhere. Starting out with a plan is good. Letting the world move you where it needs you is better.</p>
<p>I wish you a week of having big, powerful dreams, and then being flexible when they move. See you next Monday. -Em<br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/c9f1a0d5d84d25e015e8125bb2bfeb4f97228875/original/gig.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70640522022-09-19T23:32:46-05:002022-09-23T11:30:19-05:00No blog<p>No blog; I’m spending the night cleaning up the Rock River with my restaurant staff. See you next Monday. - Em</p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70588892022-09-12T19:47:11-05:002022-09-12T19:47:11-05:00It'll Be Funny Once It's Over<p>Now that the weekend is over, I can laugh at it. </p>
<p>My restaurant provided all the food for an event at a local forest preserve on Saturday night. It sounded easy enough. Then we showed up, and we found out that our allocated set-up space was about 50 yards away from the event. </p>
<p>Which means we sprinted—whilst carrying large trays of appetizers—a couple miles over the course of two hours. </p>
<p>I’m still sore. Yet smiling. </p>
<p>Reader, it dawned on me this week that—if we know it’s all gonna be funny once the madness is over—it wouldn’t hurt to just start laughing as it’s happening. I eventually found my sense of humor at the end of the night in the event photo booth. I wish I would have found it sooner. </p>
<p>Wishing us all the ability to laugh our way through chaos this week. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/db9daaed2d0c1d1148e2f620b449acfcc8f84eb1/original/photo-booth.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70537962022-09-05T21:30:48-05:002022-09-08T06:00:44-05:00Cleaning Out Life's Wardrobe<p>A few years back, I made a decision about my clothes: anything that I didn't love, I would give away. It was a cathartic process to clean out my wardrobe. Even though I only had a few shirts and a pair of pants at the end of the exercise, I felt really good about what I had left. </p>
<p>Since then, I've been applying the "love it or leave it" approach to everything from pieces of artwork to cooking utensils. Why have what doesn't make me really damn happy? </p>
<p>This week, I had another breakthrough on that front. I was up late writing songs, and it was a struggle. I spent almost 2 hours on a tune that was going nowhere. And the more I tried to work with the words I had, the worse the song became. Then I remembered my wardrobe exercise and thought, "<em>Do I love this</em>?" And the answer came back fast. "<em>No. No you don't.</em>"</p>
<p>And so I scratched it. I left it all behind. And man I felt relieved. I waited to write lyrics again until I loved what I was writing, and things fell into place. </p>
<p>Reader, most weeks don't have morals for me, but this one did. Whatever I make, whatever I buy, whatever I put on my walls, whatever music I write: I better be loving it. Intentionally. For me, it works best to filter out what doesn't work, and distill what's left. No sense (or time) to do otherwise. </p>
<p>On an aside: I had my first fire in the woods tonight, and it filled me with joy beyond measure. Whatever you're up to this week, I wish you happiness and a hell of a lot of honest love. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/949ac263f662c9dd8c4190e80f300f411e6fc6f8/original/fire.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70489482022-08-29T21:40:51-05:002022-09-04T15:54:39-05:00Hat Shop Acceptance<p>Tonight, my friend Gregg and I were supposed to play a show. Then we thought we'd be rained out, so we canceled it. Then the weather became gorgeous, and now I'm regretting the cancelation. </p>
<p>Such is life. It was actually nice to have a breather.</p>
<p>I'm wearing so many hats lately that I could start a hat shop. I continue to work 60+ hours a week at my restaurant while trying to run a home with small children and write music in the middle of the night. Sometimes my reality frustrates me. I reel hard against my condition, and get angry about how busy I feel.</p>
<p>Until now. Tonight, I'm trying something new.</p>
<p>Radical acceptance. </p>
<p>Reader, I've always hated the expression "it is what it is." But tonight, I'm fully embracing it. The situation I'm in?<strong> It is what it is</strong>...for now. Rather than resist, I think I'm just going to live through it until I see my next clear step, and enjoy the pleasant surprises along the way.</p>
<p>With that, I'm off to take off my restaurant hat and put on the musician hat for a few hours. Because that's what life looks like right now. Wishing you this same deep acceptance until the next move is clear. I leave you with today's pleasant surprise: a giant puffball mushroom that I found while walking the dog and sautéed up for dinner. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/5c182e8f7fbfad1cee493ff4be1ec5666513c940/original/puff.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70437712022-08-22T21:01:37-05:002022-08-26T07:52:10-05:00The Kid Took The Piano<p>All I wanted to do tonight is get a little time at the piano. I had some rage to get off my chest. </p>
<p>But someone smaller took my place. </p>
<p>I waited relatively patiently for my 5 year-old to finish playing. But she never did. She's been playing for well over 30 minutes now, so I'm just writing a blog instead. And I'm keeping it short tonight, because something tells me I'm supposed to write down lyrics about her taking over my instrument. </p>
<p>Reader, plans changes. We don't usually get what we hoped for. Especially as a parent. But sometimes we get something better. And I know this to be true, because--instead of getting rage off my chest--I'm off to write a tune of gratitude about my littlest roommate tonight. </p>
<p>Wishing you a good week ahead, one full of solid plans, and then solid acceptance when you have to let them go. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/99342cea7a4d4b810da006657ea1efbd3a671235/original/jo.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70386812022-08-15T21:07:02-05:002022-09-04T15:54:39-05:00Panic Pony<p>The universe continues to amaze me, even while I shake my fist at it. </p>
<p>Financial pressure builds at my restaurant. My first instinct is still to run away from it all, but I've been staying true to my decision to show up each day and find joy in the face of discomfort. </p>
<p>This week, joy was going to come easy. We were supposed to host a 16-piece big band outside on our patio. </p>
<p>Then the storms rolled in...an hour before the show. </p>
<p>My mind raced. <em>There's no room in our tiny space to seat a 16-piece band. Where will they sit? Where will the customers sit? </em>I started to panic. Desperation set in. I felt my hands sweating. I shoved them in my pockets, and I paced. </p>
<p>And then I stopped. Took some deep breaths. And I waited for another instinct. </p>
<p><em>Bob and weave. </em></p>
<p>My staff and I started shifting tables. The band just barely fit in our little parlour. As for the customers, we moved them into every cranny we could find. Some people even ate in our kids' section. And even though the night might've been better if we were outside, we still got it done. </p>
<p>Reader, I think I too often believe that my first instinct is all I've got. That I'm just a one-trick panic pony. And to be honest, my first instinct truly is lousy: it's usually either to run away or to get defensive. But the moral of my week is that--just because my first instinct isn't so hot--doesn't mean there's not another, better one right behind it. I think there's a bit of magic that comes from waiting out the initial storm. </p>
<p>Wishing you patience and fortitude this week. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/ec30fcbb64d43f2285e05a4023ef48455c8c9181/original/sax.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70336202022-08-08T21:01:44-05:002022-08-13T07:41:03-05:00No Power<p>We lost power in last night's storms, and I'm going to write lyrics by candlelight instead of trying to type a blog on my phone. It's nice when Mother Nature reminds us who's boss and forces us out of routines. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/f4ba33085913ea7684961143ba6d1a513b0145f9/original/no-power.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70287552022-08-01T22:51:26-05:002022-08-01T22:51:26-05:00The Big Chill<p>Nothing changed this week; life is still harder than it's ever been. </p>
<p>But I changed my attitude. And I tried to find joyful moments in the midst of it all. My kitchen staff and I got our butts kicked this week due to continued staff shortages and high volumes of customers. </p>
<p>But we sang and danced and laughed. We even dragged the stock tank out from storage and filled it with ice water, then sat in it after a particularly hot day. </p>
<p>It was one of the most memorable experiences I've had in a long, long time. </p>
<p>Reader, I'm keeping it short tonight because I'm beat. Struggle is awful, but I'll be damned if it doesn't make the sweet bits of life all the sweeter. If you're in the midst of hard times, I hope you find moments of happiness. They're out there, waiting for us to make them happen. I'm headed to bed with a little gratitude in my old heart that I had a few this week. </p>
<p>See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/72c322142f405e8484217f9a5c3b7b09f5bae364/original/ice.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70234852022-07-25T18:29:43-05:002022-07-29T07:24:16-05:00Firefighters<p>I admire firefighters. Anyone who can run towards an inferno while everything in their body is telling them to run away is an inspiration. </p>
<p>This week, I tried to channel my inner firefighter. </p>
<p>It was a bad week at my restaurant. There's no other way to say it. Long story short: if I can't come up with a large sum of money to pay the State of Illinois this week, we are going to be faced with making some very hard decisions. </p>
<p>Everything in my body told me to run away this week. But I didn't. </p>
<p>And I didn't exactly solve any problems either. But at least I didn't run. I went to my job, and I worked in the face of pain and discomfort. It's not where I wanted to be, but it's where I needed to be, and for that, I can get to sleep at night. </p>
<p>Reader, I don't know if I believe firmly in right or wrong moves anymore. But I do feel firmly that when there's trouble and you're involved in it, the best place to be is right in the thick of it. This week, if you've got trouble in your life, I wish you the courage to go right into that fire and do your best to put it out. </p>
<p>I played a show last night, and that helped too. I'm so grateful to have music as an outlet on days like these. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/8ab829b244c89b3ebee0b49fd97523d66984a454/original/emily-from-john-connel.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70175262022-07-18T21:29:51-05:002022-07-21T13:59:00-05:00Giving Practicality A Rest<p>The more I find out about the world, the more cynical I become. It's hard for me to relish in things the way I used to. Don't get me wrong...I want to. It's just hard for me as a practical person to fully enjoy most things. These days, my kids are used to me being a Debbie Downer. </p>
<p>Kids: <em>Mom can we have candy? </em><br>Me: <em>If you want to eat colors made with petroleum. </em></p>
<p>Kids: <em>Mom can we try to win this stuffed animal out of the machine? </em><br>Me: <em>If you want to get addicted to gambling at an early age. </em></p>
<p>Kids: <em>Mom can we buy this t-shirt at the fair? </em><br>Me: <em>If you want to support sweatshops. </em></p>
<p>People love being around me. I'm a real fun time. </p>
<p>Anyway, my son is about to turn 7, and this weekend, we decided to throw him a party. All he wanted was a blow-up bouncy slide and a blue Mario cake covered in all his favorite characters. My principles started kicking in. I wanted so badly to tell him that those bouncy slides are a waste of electricity and water. I wanted to tell him that blue food coloring is bad for his stomach. I wanted to tell him that those Mario characters are a bad use of his money. </p>
<p>But instead, we had a bouncy slide and the bluest Mario cake I could muster. Because for just one day, I can let go of my principles in the interest of letting my kid be a kid. </p>
<p>Reader, no matter how hard we try, it's impossible to get it all just right. We're going to make an impact on this planet, sometimes not a good one. So maybe it's ok every once in a blue moon to let go of our rigid thinking and enjoy a trip down a damn water slide. </p>
<p>May you be good to your inner child this week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/f612c5c072a1a758b1212db068f52875431cfe69/original/blue.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70126722022-07-11T22:34:40-05:002022-07-18T21:30:13-05:00ENJOY WORK<p>After my concert on Saturday night, a woman in the audience walked over and said, "This is the first live music I've heard since Covid hit. I didn't realize what an empty space it left in my heart until you filled it up again tonight. Thank you." </p>
<p>Such a softy. I got instantly teary-eyed. </p>
<p>Something about that quick conversation with her shook me. I felt the same way: playing live music on Saturday filled up a space I didn't know was empty. I felt free, in-the-moment, and more content than I've been in a long time. </p>
<p>On the drive home, I tried to think about what made Saturday night's show so magical. And I figured it out right as I pulled into my driveway. It was magical because I was enjoying myself. I wasn't being critical of missed notes. I wasn't bummed out because the crowd wasn't uproariously cheering between songs. I wasn't wishing the whole experience could be anything except what it was. </p>
<p>And that's the hole that was in my heart that was filled on Saturday night. </p>
<p>I think there's a real problem these days with how much we expect to get from work, and then there's a lot of let down when the work doesn't meet our expectations. I got to wondering what would happen if we went into it choosing to enjoy the experience for what it is. I'd imagine we could find true happiness in almost anything we're doing for work. </p>
<p>(Minus changing the waste water port at my restaurant...that job will be miserable forever. Gotta keep it real). </p>
<p>I'll always be grateful that one of my jobs is being a songwriter. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in the job that I forget to let myself actually relish in it. Reader, whatever you do for work, consider joining me in trying to lose your expectations of it and try to embrace it for what it is. Maybe there's joy in there.</p>
<p>I leave you with this picture of Gregg and I walking through the woods at the venue like a couple of kids. Wishing you a week of lightheartedness. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/b2ff98d6a44340ce03f3b175c9f8f2b965a2e376/original/go.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70075702022-07-04T20:16:22-05:002023-12-10T10:55:21-06:00Head Clearing<p>Well. I'm barely hanging on this week. No blog tonight. I'm off to take a walk into the sunset and try to clear my head. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/614fac8795f6b778f10d0777946c11011c380209/original/field.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/70030442022-06-27T19:46:04-05:002022-06-27T19:46:04-05:00Start Small<p>It was a heavy week to be a woman last week. It was even harder being the mother of a daughter with a rare syndrome. If my kid has a child one day, that child has a 25% chance of having a single lobe of the brain and could die shortly after being born. My daughter could die, too. </p>
<p>So the news of Roe being reversed without considering the life of the mother put our little family on its heels. Helplessness kicked in. I wallowed in it for a night. Then I woke up and decided to pour all of my frustration into helping my daughter become a badass. </p>
<p>(Not that she needs much help.) </p>
<p>I took my kids to the paint store this weekend. I let them pick out fresh colors—any colors they wanted—to paint their bedroom walls. They did it all by themselves, and it was hard not to step in. But in the end, I wanted them to feel empowered and confident, so I sat on my hands and watched. </p>
<p>I’m writing to you tonight in a pink, purple, orange, and blue funhouse-of-a-home with kids that are pretty damn happy and proud of themselves. </p>
<p>Reader, I say it a lot: we can’t fight everything all at once. The problems on this planet are too many and too big. But if we all start small, we can at least get ourselves in a good headspace to be able to tackle more tomorrow. </p>
<p>Let’s keep our chins up and heads down, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/8070909eac7311183ce50a4b0211664cdb0d630e/original/jo.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69980982022-06-20T21:22:15-05:002022-06-20T21:22:15-05:00Tell It Like It Is<p>I was recently asked to give a speech to local high school students. The kids are apparently in summer school, taking a business course. I was supposed to talk to them about the challenges of being an entrepreneur. So I prepared an eloquent lecture in my mind, one where I’d talk about my life as a musician and restaurant owner, including how to write a business plan, get a good architect, and find a loan. Surely it would inspire them. </p>
<p>So today was the day of the speech. As the kids filed into my restaurant, I was thrown off. They looking bored before I even started. A few yawned. Their eyes glazed over when I began speaking. </p>
<p>And about 10 seconds into my eloquent presentation, I threw the whole damn speech out the window and shot from the hip. </p>
<p>I told them about my nights as a traveling songwriter, sleeping on couches and under trees, eating bar olives for dinner. I told them about the early days of buying my building, cleaning up dead pigeons and human piss, scraping off tar and bird shit from the floors while I was pregnant...twice. I told them about how I faced discrimination from local government and fought with media outlets. I told them about learning how to fix my building after kids spray paint it. I didn’t hide anything. </p>
<p>And after I got their attention, I told them to write a business plan and find a good architect. </p>
<p>Reader, I learned a lesson by accident today: there’s a time to say things “right,” and then there’s a time to say things just like they are. Those kids didn’t want me to be well-spoken. They wanted me to be vulnerable. As easy as it is to forget, sometimes the ugly truth is more relevant and relatable than anything else. </p>
<p>On a complete aside: I saw a sandhill crane on the side of the road this week. I’ve never seen one before, and it made my week. I was just in awe of it. Wishing you a week of beautiful surprises and ugly truth-telling. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/c04d94aed82289ad1eca73ffad115150ebc22e49/original/crane.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69932602022-06-13T21:02:56-05:002023-12-10T10:55:43-06:00No One's Coming<p>For me, one of the hardest parts of growing up was realizing that no one is coming to help you anymore. Your dirty bathroom? Your job. Your broken windshield wiper? Your job? Your broken heart? Your job. Yelling for Mom in the night doesn't work anymore. </p>
<p>This was a hard week, and I thought a lot about how much I missed the old days. At home, the kids got sick, and it was my job to be there. On the music front, I threw out my back lugging a bunch of gear, and it was still my job to move it. At the restaurant, we had no product for the local farmer's market, and it was my job to make it. </p>
<p>(In my mind, I heard David Allen Coe singing "Take This Job & Shove It" more than once). </p>
<p>And I don't say this to complain. Ultimately, I'm grateful to have things to work for, but I still felt lonely this week; it's frankly isolating to face your challenges alone. But today I had a bit of a breakthrough: </p>
<p><em>The reason no one comes to help me is because I didn't ask them to. </em></p>
<p>Reader, it dawned on me that--if I wanted help moving gear--I could've asked for it. If I needed help making food for the market, I could've asked for it. And when my heart breaks, I could be calling a friend instead of assuming I have to tackle it on my own. Just because we can't call for our parents anymore doesn't mean we can't call for someone. </p>
<p>The moral of my week? Even strong badass adults need to get the help they need. After I spent the whole day preparing food for the market, a few friends pitched in to help me get my tent set up, and it was such a relief. Imagine how much more relief is in my future if I could unlearn the adult mindset of taking on the world alone. </p>
<p>Lean lean lean this week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/3bc7b0e2669eb066430d29222a1d920b5686b3cb/original/market.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69879852022-06-06T15:32:00-05:002022-06-06T15:32:00-05:00Terms<p>Last night's show was nice. The guys played well, the audience was warm, and we just missed the rain. I felt energized as I drove home last night. </p>
<p>What I'll remember most about the gig is that my son spent the entire 2 hours of the performance in a tree, swinging his legs and enjoying himself. Which is profound to me, since my son claims to hate music. He doesn't like piano lessons, and he REALLY doesn't like people singing around him. I feel bad when he winds up at my concerts because I've always thought he was miserable at them. </p>
<p>Turns out, he just needed to watch them on his terms. </p>
<p>Reader, my kids teach me lessons each week, and this one was no exception. Yesterday, I learned about the value of truly understanding ourselves, about what conditions make us comfortable and happy. I keep thinking about all the things I've written off--everything from Nascar to opera--that I feel like I don't enjoy, but perhaps just haven't experienced in a way that works for me yet. Maybe the world has more to offer me, if I can take it in from my own damn tree.</p>
<p>With that, this slightly more open-minded lady is off to spend a little time with my 6 year-old teacher. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/ead7cfc91051cf1422db6e9e2b4ba67ad1216496/original/john.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69831322022-05-30T20:40:54-05:002022-05-30T20:40:54-05:00Love That Kid<p>I'm not sure if it's just because I can finally smell again, but this week was pretty great. I worked hard, spent time with my family, and made time to write music. Also, I just today found out that headbands are back in style, so I'm apparently fashionable again after 30 years. </p>
<p>Lucky me. </p>
<p>I'm playing a show in 6 days, and I've been digging through old music to come up with a set list. At most shows, I choose my most recent material. I just connect to it more. But for some reason, I felt like digging into old songs for this gig. So I opened my notebook from TWENTY-ONE years ago. </p>
<p>What I discovered was hard to look at. Most of the old tunes made me cringe. <em>How was I that naive and smug? Why did I even bother to write this? Did I really get up on stage and sing this crap?! </em></p>
<p>Then it dawned on me. That girl is ME. She was and is ME. I'm berating myself through time. That's not something I'm interested in doing. </p>
<p>Besides, some of those tunes aren't half bad. They were raw and felt real to me at the time. I'm going to resurrect a few of them for the show on Sunday. </p>
<p>Reader, we are the sum of everything we've gone through; there's no sense hating who we were before. If you too find yourself ever berating the kid you once were, try talking a bit more nicely to them. No good can come from being mean to yourself at any point in your timeline. Hell, 30 years from now, that kid may even be back in style. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/2e204f60915c0124d0ccb9ce531e7cfec7fba549/original/headband.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69781672022-05-23T20:03:25-05:002022-05-23T20:03:25-05:00Covid Clarity<p>Most of the week was a blur. On Tuesday, I slept for 20 hours straight. I remember the staff from my restaurant brought me soup and coffee. I remember listening to some new music releases, and I remember Facetiming my kids. </p>
<p>And that's pretty much it. </p>
<p>I've heard friends say Covid is like a light cold. The cookie crumbled a bit differently for me. I still feel like there's a heavy weight on my chest. If you're one of those folks--like me 9 days ago--who thought Covid might not be so bad for you: please take this virus seriously. If it weren't for an inhaler, I'd be having a hard time breathing tonight. </p>
<p>It was rare for me to be so isolated for a week. Even an introvert like me starts to feel lonely. But I was grateful for all the time to be an observer, to notice my own thoughts and feelings. </p>
<p>One of the things I noticed most was my self-esteem plummeting. I realized in my fever-fog that way too much of my self-worth comes from doing/giving to others. Without working for other people, I felt worse about myself. It was a scary revelation, one that I didn't like. </p>
<p>One that I plan on righting. </p>
<p>Reader, if you too get a little too much satisfaction from pleasing others, I invite you to join me in spending the whole damn summer learning how to make yourself happy. I started today by planting a whole garden of strawberries in my backyard. Because I like strawberries, damnit. I don't care that my kids prefer tomatoes and pumpkins. Time to work harder for ole Number One. </p>
<p>With that, I'm off to play a little music before bed. Take good care of yourselves, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/9e014a0ca818ac6aeabfdc2370db68c1254a561c/original/strawberries.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69727312022-05-16T20:19:05-05:002022-05-16T20:19:05-05:00Covid<p>I've got it. Hard to breathe, much less write. See you next Monday. xo Em</p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69672342022-05-09T17:09:36-05:002022-05-16T20:19:22-05:00Double Release Show!<p>Happy belated Mother's Day to you all. I spent the day working at my restaurant and then having dinner with my mom. My husband got me a badass garden rake, and my kids made me cards. I picked wild violets to make violet syrup. It was a nice day. </p>
<p>Then today, I got an extra surprise when my new record arrived in the mail. I plan to play a release show for it--and the album I released but couldn't perform in 2020--on June 5th at 6 pm at the Belvidere Bandshell. </p>
<p>I'm nervous. </p>
<p>Writing music keeps coming naturally to me. But putting it out there has become increasingly awkward. Which feels backwards. Shouldn't I feel more confident the older I get? </p>
<p>The thing is: my relationship with music is more personal than ever. The piano knows some pretty dark stuff about me at this point. I tell it everything. It's like a guidance counselor (the fun counselor that tells you to scream and pound things). And the better I get at talking to it, the more vulnerable I realize I am. </p>
<p>And being vulnerable in front of a crowd doesn't sound as fun as it used to when my only worries were break-ups. </p>
<p>But then I remember the power of vulnerability. Reader, with it being Mother's Day, I've been thinking about the kind of mom I want to be. And it's fair to say that I want my kids to have a role model that's good at being human. Not the kind of person that hides her humanity while putting on a good face. </p>
<p>And so for myself--and my kids--I'll be playing the deep, dark secrets of my heart for the world again this summer. Stop out and see me if you're in Northern Illinois! </p>
<p>Have a great week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/4463f7a8773aa197179d32f37dd14e062b5aadc1/original/album.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69621822022-05-02T20:52:02-05:002022-05-09T09:08:55-05:00When In Doubt, Fill The Woodshed<p>When it rains, it pours. </p>
<p>This was not my favorite week. At my restaurant, we lost major appliances. Beer coolers leaked. Ice machines flooded. Dish machines broke, and so did my heart.</p>
<p>(There's a terrible country song in there somewhere.)</p>
<p>And I wasn't sure how to handle it all. I felt out of control, leaning on plumbers and repair people to save the day. Since I wasn't able to fix anything on my own, I stayed home and worked. My husband and I had planned to split logs all weekend to get the firewood drying for the season. So that's just what we did. </p>
<p>Today I'm sore...feels like I've been in a fight and lost. I pulled a deer tick out of my abdomen, and I'm still getting the oak dust out of my hair.</p>
<p>But I'm happy and feel back in control.</p>
<p>Reader, sometimes all we can do is fill the woodshed, metaphorically (and in my case, in reality). The problems will always be there; no sense running away from them. This week, I learned to just keep doing honest work and be prepared for what comes next.</p>
<p>Wishing you a really great week ahead. See you next Monday. -Em<br><br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/8ebaf006d63ca9b12d803809454c21d156bd9996/original/woodshed.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69567662022-04-25T19:41:56-05:002022-05-10T01:52:37-05:00Perception<p>Last night I played a show in the suburbs. After it was over, a nice woman came up to me. She said she envied me singing songs and running a restaurant for a living: how nice it must be to get to eat nice meals and then go home and write music. </p>
<p>I didn't have the heart to tell her that I usually get up at 3 am to write songs, and most of my meals consist of squeezing peanut butter into my mouth in the car. </p>
<p>Reader, I'm keeping it short tonight because I've got a cut on my thumb that's making it hard to type. The moral of my week is that nothing is as it seems. What we see is not the truth. What we see is a perception. So there's really no point in believing what we think--particularly the stuff that makes us upset or hurt or jealous--because it's most likely not that accurate anyway. </p>
<p>With that, I'll get back to my road peanut butter. Let's give people the benefit of the doubt this week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/74abc6622e0f9966be751111e4e06a6b4e4b46f2/original/pb.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69461692022-04-11T20:13:58-05:002022-04-23T08:08:11-05:00All In Good Time<p>Inspiration rarely strikes me at convenient times, and last Saturday was no exception. </p>
<p>I woke up at 5 am that day because I wanted to get in a little time at the piano before I had to go cook a bonfire brunch with my restaurant team at a forest preserve. (Like we do). </p>
<p>At 6:30 am, a song started pouring out of me. I only had 15 minutes to get it done. I grabbed a pen and paper and started trying to write it all down. </p>
<p>Before I got a chance to finish, I had to leave to go to work. As I pulled down the driveway, I felt resentful. </p>
<p><em>Work always gets in the way. There's never any time for me to do what I want to do. <strong>WHEN'S MY TIME?!? </strong></em></p>
<p>By the time I got to the forest preserve, I forced myself to stop thinking about the song, and I got to work. <em>No sense being a sad sack.</em> So I hauled all the food over to the bonfire pits. I set up my station--soft-boiled eggs--and listened to Spotify while I boiled the water and waited for our customers to arrive. </p>
<p>While hovering over my dutch oven, a song came on that I hadn't heard before. It was a minor waltz. It shook me to my core. The song I had written earlier that morning was a major waltz, and the bonfire tune got me thinking about how much better it would sound if my half-written morning song was minor. </p>
<p>After cooking all morning, I went home, ready to tackle the tune I had started in a whole different way. The completed song was great, way better than it would have been if I had finished it the way it began. </p>
<p>Feeling lucky that I didn't have time to get my way. </p>
<p>Reader, if any of this sounds familiar to you, let's just put it out here: just because things aren't going as planned, doesn't mean anything's wrong. Who knows? Maybe things are rolling out the way they're supposed to. </p>
<p>I'll always be grateful for the soft-boiled egg lesson this week. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/d55e50a60509d26b8cc6b2e2d79770e850ed2707/original/eggs.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69402412022-04-04T15:40:18-05:002022-04-23T08:09:25-05:00Guiltless Pleasures<p>Last night was the annual Grammy Awards. I watched them from beginning to end and didn't miss a second. </p>
<p>As an indie artist, I've been told by my peers that I'm "not supposed to like" the Grammys. The logic is that the music industry is a money-driven hit machine that promotes only certain musicians' songs and leaves the rest of us behind. </p>
<p>(Which I think is to say: they're jealous). </p>
<p>For the longest time, I felt guilty about how much I enjoyed the whole night. But I can't help but love it. The performances, the different genres and forms of expression, and the overall recognition artists get for their hard work and sacrifices: I love it more every year. </p>
<p>It dawns on me this morning that I'm very tired of having "guilty pleasures." In fact, I think I've had it with that term. What's the point of enjoying something if I'm also supposed to feel guilty about it? Besides, having been raised in a Christian church, I already suffer from an overabundance of guilt. No sense tacking on more of it, just because I like to tune in to a televised award show. </p>
<p>Reader, we don't make the world a better place by feeling bad about ourselves. We make the world--and ourselves--better by knowing who we are fully and owning what we love. If there's anything holding you back this week, I invite you to join me in letting go of any fear that it's "wrong." There's just no point to denying ourselves. </p>
<p>With that, I'm off to listen to more of the Grammy nominees and winners while I make dinner for my kids. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/83eaa47a3ee976ab816e9be2e8fe28db5346a61d/original/4aef545a6b75421b5eca660f16b35d1f.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69334582022-03-27T17:32:12-05:002022-03-27T17:32:12-05:00Mrs. Finish Line<p>For me, one of the more difficult parts of being an artist is knowing when to call something “done.” </p>
<p>When it comes to songwriting, I could edit til the cows come home. My chord choices could always be more interesting. I change melodies over and over again. I modify lyrics right up until the day I’m recording. </p>
<p>(And sometimes even while I’m recording; it’s damn hard to let go.) </p>
<p>The same thing goes for album artwork. I’ve been sitting on a finished collection of tunes for months now. I had a few pictures that I was going to use for the album cover. But then I decided I could do better, so I took some more pictures. And then more. Then I started wondering what to do with font and album design, and—by the end of last week—I got lightheaded from anxiety and I felt panicked about how I would ever complete this record. </p>
<p>So I stopped. I took some deep breaths, sat down on Friday night, put font on a picture, and decided I was finished. I sent it off to be pressed on vinyl and to be released on Spotify. Dunzo. </p>
<p>Reader, we choose when we sign off on our endeavors. It would sure be easy if our paintings would scream from the page, “Stop right there! Not another brush stroke!” But in the end, the only definitive finish line is the one we decide upon. The lesson of my week was: if what you’re making is causing anxiety, it might be time to have the confidence to move forward. </p>
<p>With a new album as complete as it’ll ever be, I’m back to songwriting for the next album. ONWARD. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/213533d697b2a6377b6d231157c93cbe9d8f28b3/original/album-cover-4.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69284362022-03-21T20:00:20-05:002022-07-21T13:59:00-05:00It Isn't All About You<p>Last week, one of my coworkers seemed off. She wasn't as care-free as usual. She was short with me, and her tone was subdued. </p>
<p>So me being me, I figured she was mad at me. </p>
<p>Later in the week, I got a chance to talk to her. Turns out, she's having a hard time at home. Her mood had nothing to do with me. Or work. Or anything in my control at all. </p>
<p>And here I went and wasted hours immersed in self-centered worry. </p>
<p>I say it a lot: I'm a control freak. Just when I think I'm getting better, it's apparent that I have a long way to go. I still believe that every damn problem is mine to own, worry about, and fix, even when it's not my place. </p>
<p>Reader, my anxiety is through the roof lately. I'm having a hard time going about my days, knowing other countries are at war. Feeling helpless about it makes the control freak in me extra-active. I think subconsciously, I'm trying to make things "better" every way that I can. </p>
<p>The irony here is that I couldn't even make things better for my coworker, because when she needed a friend, I made her problem all about me. </p>
<p>As I sit here looking out my window at the naked trees of our forest, I'm making a little oath to myself. Maybe it'll help you too. I'm promising to give others the benefit of the doubt. That no matter their outward appearance or the conditions, they could use love. That their feelings about me are irrelevant in me showing them love. </p>
<p>And that I need to chill out on making myself the center of everyone's universe. </p>
<p>With that, I'm off to bed. Wishing you a wonderful week. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/d5d1847529ebf69947894e5a85d59983a506db38/original/moon.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69223142022-03-14T20:20:25-05:002023-12-10T10:32:48-06:00Central Parked<p>No blog tonight. Just got back from New York City where my husband and I walked for miles and caught a Broadway show. I'm beat. Lots to say, but it'll wait until next week. See you then. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/17ae2652d5df00ae211a65437c96c4876f2c6f26/original/mark.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69164552022-03-07T20:29:04-06:002022-03-07T20:29:04-06:00A Wandering Mind<p>When I was 19, I worked on a yard crew for a millwork company called Ingersoll. I loved that job; it was one of my favorites. Even though I was spent at the end of the day, I was rarely emotionally fatigued. </p>
<p>(Except the day I fell into a window well. That day was trying.) </p>
<p>I loved mowing lawns and laying grass seed and planting flower bulbs. My body was in the dirt and my mind was in the clouds. I was making up songs or thinking about something I'd read or even eerily meditating on death. </p>
<p>Grim, but also grounding. I was getting paid, and I was doing something that left me feeling at peace at the end of the day. My time was spent in a way that felt energizing. </p>
<p>Fast forward 20 years. My restaurant has never been busier, and it's taking a toll on my staff. They work hard, and they have to be "on" mentally for 40 hours a week. They're getting burned out. </p>
<p>And I can't let it happen. So I spent my day with my team, discussing ways to prevent it. We pitched a lot of ideas, including the idea of working less. But in the middle of brainstorming with them, I got to thinking about that yard crew gig and had a revelation. </p>
<p><em>They don't need to work less. They need their minds to be "off" for more hours of the week. </em></p>
<p>Reader, a wandering mind is a wonderful thing. And while I still don't have an answer for my team, I know that they need more time for their minds to take a hike. I forget sometimes how much peace can come from it. If you're also finding yourself mentally fatigued, maybe it's time we all think about ways not to be thinking so hard all the time. </p>
<p>I leave you with a picture of my bartender, Kalee. On a day when we had time for our minds to run free, we came up with the idea to run weekly drink specials, the proceeds of which will go to Ukrainian refugees. I keep imagining how many more impactful ideas we could come up with if we weren't so mired in our day-to-day thoughts. </p>
<p>All this to say: make time for day-dreaming, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/145619fe44684b2f7c7b3f687c561db1a9ed8103/original/kalee.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69093782022-02-28T08:25:20-06:002022-03-27T17:33:51-05:00California Emily<p>I'm flying home from California. Beat. And happy. I just spent the last few days hiking trails near the Pacific, sharing beaches with elephant seals, riding horses through the winding mountain trails, writing poetry with actual pencils and paper, and--most importantly--losing myself to music for a bit. </p>
<p>(Meaning I banged hard on the piano til the wee hours). </p>
<p>The cabin I rented had no television, and I didn't use screens at all while I was away. I didn't really miss them. Not having them available made all the other activities more appealing. And I got to thinking: I like California Emily. She’s a woman who knows how to wring the most outta life. She's art-driven. She's free-wheelin. She’s active. She's determined to create. </p>
<p>Which of course begs the question: why can't she come home with me? </p>
<p>Reader, these yearly solo vacations give me insight. Before I left for this trip, I didn't think I had time for it. Excuses piled up. The kids need me. The restaurant needs me. My husband might kill the dog. </p>
<p>But I think it’s important to check out of routines in order to grow. I’m sure it’s possible to accomplish this task without physically leaving once a year. But for me, it works. </p>
<p>So California Emily is now in Illinois and trying to put down roots. She’s gonna make more art with the kids. She’s gonna set aside time to write. Damnit she’s even gonna find horses to ride (and hold the elephant seals in her mind). If you’re able to check out so you can check back in a little more clear-headed, I highly recommend a solo trip. </p>
<p>I’ll see you next Monday. </p>
<p>-Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/7bef5303656a10f29a1c530cd165e36b1532a6ef/original/b074d89a-42a4-47e4-9ad8-55b7d329854f.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/69035802022-02-21T20:22:27-06:002022-05-09T17:10:21-05:00Finding Your Melting Pot<p>My favorite part of owning a restaurant is getting to help out in the kitchen. Not only because I love our kitchen team, but also because of how much diversity they bring to the table. </p>
<p>On any given day, the kitchen stereo plays everything from indie rock to grindcore, doo-wop to zydeco, rockabilly to jazz flute. Someone will be making bechamel sauce next to another person eating a gas station burrito while they go back and forth reciting Hunter S. Thompson essays and SpongeBob SquarePants episodes. </p>
<p>It's my happy place. </p>
<p>I've decided that the reason my creativity has exploded these past few years is because I'm a part of a true melting pot. Every day, I'm around people who aren't like me. And what's even better? They don't give a rip that we're not the same. In fact, they'd be mad if we all liked the same stuff. Because we all know that having different tastes makes life have more depth of flavor. </p>
<p>(Forgive the cooking metaphor...I made chowder all day). </p>
<p>Reader, I'm feeling really grateful tonight that I've found my place inside a group that's diverse. If you're feeling lost or without creativity, consider exposing yourself (in the non-flasher way) to people and art and food and landscapes that don't match your interests. I come away from my days in the kitchen feeling alive and excited. </p>
<p>And I owe it all to non-uniformity. </p>
<p>I leave you with a picture of a cocktail one of our mixologists made for me today. If you don't have Mardi Gras plans in the coming week, consider stopping by my restaurant for a meal or drink, brought to you by the most eclectic people that I have ever had the privilege of working beside. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/625382d381339dcdd035756a4ff6d4db3fbb22c0/original/mardi-gras.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68967732022-02-13T17:10:21-06:002022-02-13T17:10:21-06:00Opportunity In Chaos<p>This week, my personal Facebook account was hacked. </p>
<p>By the time I figured out what had happened, the hacker had blocked me out of my account entirely. With full access to my information the hacker went on to purchase Facebook ads in $250 increments through PayPal until he drained all of the money from my accounts. </p>
<p>Unfortunately for him, I’m pretty broke. </p>
<p>But I was still mad. Today as I write, I don’t have money, or access to the Facebook page I created almost 20 years ago. I find myself clawing for control in this situation, and grasping to have access to not only my funds, but also all the on-line fans that I've connected with since I began my career. </p>
<p>And then somewhere in the middle of the desperate wanting, I got a text from a friend, reminding me not to forget the tremendous opportunity that I've been given. </p>
<p>My first thought was: <em>Where the hell is the opportunity here</em>? </p>
<p>Followed swiftly by: <em>I have the opportunity to begin fresh</em>. </p>
<p>Reader, without trying to sugar-coat a really frustrating situation, I'll say with certainty that I've come full circle emotionally this week, from extreme panic, to extreme calm. Money comes and money goes, and I'm sure with more hard work, it will come again. And as far as my Facebook fans, well...maybe it's a chance to start sharing exactly the kind of artist I am today, without trying to appease the people who liked the kind of artist I was all those years ago. </p>
<p>My feelings of peace are further compounded by knowing in less than two weeks, I'll be on a songwriting sabbatical in Northern California, right near Point Reyes. No TV, no cell service, just a piano, a cabin, the redwoods, and me. I finally pulled the trigger and booked the trip. I'm looking nothing but forward right now, and it feels nice.</p>
<p>Wishing you a week of finding opportunities. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/edc1e62593b2e79a2dbdedbdbb082135236cd53d/original/best-hikes-point-reyes-national-seashore.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68914912022-02-07T21:59:40-06:002022-04-04T15:53:41-05:00Take The Gig<p>On Friday night, I drove through a snowstorm to play a show at speakeasy. It was dark and mysterious in there. I played surrounded by candles. I drank absinthe. The crowd was buzzing. While I was singing, I felt inspired and alive. </p>
<p>The next morning, I drove through the sunshine to play a funeral at a church. It was bright and reverent in there. I played by the light of stain-glassed windows. I drank coffee. The crowd was silent. While I was singing, I felt inspired and alive. </p>
<p>Two different shows, evoking an eerily common feeling for me. </p>
<p>Long ago, I got some career advice from my cousin, Matt. He said, "whatever you choose to do, do it everywhere, as much as you can, without waiting for your ideal conditions." </p>
<p>What he meant was, if you're a photographer, don't wait until you're a National Geographic photographer to take pictures: be a wedding photographer if that's the gig. If you're a cook, cater that birthday party, even if it's not the renowned pastry chef gig you're aspiring to. </p>
<p>And if you're a musician, play the bars, play the concert halls, play the high school gyms, and play the church funerals. Because if you're inspired by something, you can feel inspired by it anywhere. </p>
<p>(In truth, there are a few places that I'll never play...a gal's gotta set boundaries, after all).</p>
<p>Reader, I don't know if it's helpful to read, but the moral of my week was: take the gig. Don't hold out for just the right one. I'm so glad I played the funeral on Saturday morning. Not only because I learned new songs and was able to provide comfort to my grieving family, but also because I got to be reminded of how little the venue matters. Singing makes me feel alive, almost everywhere. </p>
<p>Whatever you're up to this week, I hope it inspires you. And if not, maybe try doing what you love even under less than perfect circumstances. It often still manages to inspire. See you next Monday. -Em </p>
<p>P.S. I leave you with a picture I took this week of my new rescue pup, Franklin. Here's definitely a guy who knows how to take the gig. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/cac29c1a22c5faf096cb056d158b875034d9af18/original/franklin.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68850752022-01-31T20:53:20-06:002022-01-31T20:53:20-06:00To The Giver Go The Spoils<p>It often feels like the people who have the least to give tend to give the most. </p>
<p>Case in point: my restaurant staff pooled together their funds to get me a vacation for my birthday, including airfare, train-fare, and air bnb-fare. These are people who sometimes don't have two nickels to rub together, much less to buy their boss a whimsical vacation. </p>
<p>And yet, they did. </p>
<p>My instant reaction was to refuse it all. My mind raced. <em>UGH! What the hell are they thinking? They should be saving their money for themselves! They work too hard to blow it like this.</em> </p>
<p>But then I thought better, and just thanked them like crazy. They were so proud to have given something like that to me. It would be cruel to refuse. </p>
<p>Plus, it was inspiring. </p>
<p>Reader, generosity is contagious. My team's generosity makes me want to give so much back to them, and to everybody for that matter. Be it money or time or love or a conversation or even just sharing a favorite song: the act of giving does a powerful amount of good for the giver and the receiver. This week, I was reminded once again that--in times where we're not sure what our next move it--it's never the wrong move to be generous. We get so much in return.</p>
<p>Give like mad this week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/56efb1e00b6bf9feb6a03b48ee105281541735f7/original/me.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68786422022-01-24T21:01:29-06:002022-01-24T21:01:29-06:00Self Care Isn't Enough<p>In 2010, I was making a record called "Long Lost Ghosts." I asked my friend Maria to play the fiddle. Maria brought her mom with her to the studio, and while Maria was recording, I started talking to her mother. She was a delightful woman, and we chit-chatted about Chicago until she said something that changed my entire life. </p>
<p>"So, Maria tells me you're in business for yourself." </p>
<p>It was an innocuous comment, not meant to do more than act as a conversation starter. She simply meant that I was an independent songwriter. </p>
<p>But it shook me through and through. </p>
<p>As well-meaning as the observation was, I didn't like how it made me feel. Even though I had done community service and volunteered at a few charities, she was right: I really wasn't working for anyone but myself. So it was then and there in a warehouse on the south side of Chicago that I made a silent promise to myself. </p>
<p>From that moment on, I began working not just for me, but for others too. I formed a band that toured for a few years, and I loved working for the other musicians. I started working weekly at Asian Youth Services (where I incidentally tutored only Latino kids). After a couple years, I bought a building and restored it into a restaurant where I still work every day for almost 40 employees. </p>
<p>Then I got active in the community and other businesses. I started picking up trash. I started shoveling my neighbors' sidewalks. I joined a few boards. And damnit, even though I'm tired at night, I feel so much more inspired having others to care about than I ever did when I was just looking out for Number One. </p>
<p>Reader, our society loves to talk about self-care. (And we love to sell products aimed at self-care, but that's a rant for another blog). It truly is an important topic: we have to care for ourselves. But at the end of the day, caring for ourselves isn't enough. We can only give ourselves so much. Our lives are much fuller and have more meaning when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable enough to care about others. </p>
<p>This was an exhausting week for me, but as I reflect on it, I'm so grateful that I have people around me worth caring about, and I hope you do, too. As long as it doesn't come at a personal expense, investing time and resources into working for other people is more energizing than any other self-care regimen I've tried. </p>
<p>I wish you a meaningful week ahead. It's restaurant week here in Rockford. If you happen to be in town, stop into The Norwegian for brunch or dinner, brought to you by the best crew I've ever had the opportunity to work for. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/c0bc0ad48eee1d36ede4f354ac7445cc294b814b/original/staff.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68717082022-01-17T13:41:41-06:002022-05-28T06:45:10-05:00Caring Too Much<p>I've been told I'm a deep feeler that cares too much. Which is true I guess. I cry when I see roadkill. I cry when my kids pick me a flower. I even cry when I see an old barn that has collapsed, just thinking about all the work that went into it. </p>
<p>(Don't ever ask me to watch animal movies with you: you won't be able to hear the dialog over the sobbing.) </p>
<p>Anyway, my deep feelings got the better of me today. While sitting at a stoplight in my car on the way to work, I looked outside and felt despair and sadness. Everything got to me. Billboards for junk food. Litter. Yard signs for elected billionaires that don't give a damn about neglected communities. Elderly women trying to walk down sidewalks while snowplows throw chunks of ice at them. </p>
<p>And me driving by, helpless, caring too much about it all. </p>
<p>Or so it felt in the moment. </p>
<p>After I settled down, I realized that--as powerless as it feels--caring is powerful. Yes, caring means crying and anger and frustration and disappointment. But it also means change and compassion and potential and hope. We can't change everything, but we can change a little. </p>
<p>And that's something. </p>
<p>Reader, it's Martin Luther King day today, and I'm so inspired by how much that man cared. If you too find yourself caring alone, please remember: you're not alone. There are a lot of us out there. You may feel lost in your emotions like I do. I think sometimes we just need to acknowledge our emotions, normalize them, and then keep trucking on in the direction of the change we want to make. </p>
<p>With that, this deep feeler is off to pick up some trash outside her restaurant. It's something. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/e0b86ceffa94916b436557669dc6d97d1b0e12bb/original/martin-luther-king-jr.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68644822022-01-10T11:46:57-06:002022-05-28T06:13:13-05:00The Point<p>There was a shooting at my old high school this week. It rocked our community. So many people—myself included—were scared and upset. </p>
<p>As we all tried to talk about it one night, what struck me most was how much anger and ego were brought into the conversation. Everyone wanted to place blame. And at the end of the discussion, there was no deep understanding of each other. There was no plan of action. There wasn’t even unified sympathy. </p>
<p>There was only righteous indignation. </p>
<p>Historically, I’ve been just as guilty as anyone when it comes to trying to get my point across at all costs. But something happened last week. </p>
<p>I realized that a bunch of people trying to get their points across get very little accomplished. </p>
<p>Reader, it’s sad to me all that we humans have lost since the advent of social media. I feel like we’ve elected to abandon the art of sitting at a table for the hours required to actually listen and make progress on a topic. So often these days, people make quick jabs, and then move on. </p>
<p>I’m on a mission this year to talk a bit less, and listen a lot more. I don’t think I want to live in a world where my desire for being right outweighs my desire to do the most good. Sometimes, the point of discussion is not to make one. </p>
<p>With that, I’m off to take a cold walk and clear my head. I’m up north, and it’s a beautiful night for observing. I’ll see you next Monday. </p>
<p>-Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/709e42c12919521cc13f3d770784c59e156d6192/original/3da0ccb7-c862-4f23-8f88-5391bd1379fb.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68585832022-01-03T22:43:53-06:002022-01-17T13:42:02-06:00Don't Dwell<p>Happy New Year, Reader. On January 1st, I took a cold winter's walk with my new rescue pup, Franklin. We got a few inches of snow here in Illinois, and strolling outside was a great time for thinking about the year we left behind. Having thought on it, I've decided to make only one resolution this year: </p>
<p>Don't dwell. </p>
<p>Or maybe more rightly: move on quickly. The more I considered the past year, the more I realized that the only thing keeping me from being happy most days is my tendency to hold on to emotions, both the good and the bad. Last year, I wrecked countless perfectly nice moments by remembering mistakes of my past, then allowing myself to wallow in them. </p>
<p>No more. </p>
<p>In 2022, when I make a mistake, I'm going to sincerely and swiftly apologize for it, then move forward. Likewise, if I do something good, I'm going to bask in it for a moment, then move forward. If I miss somebody, I'll remember them, then enjoy the ones I'm with. Life goes far too quickly to hold onto feelings, and I don't want to miss any more moments replaying emotions that aren't relevant. </p>
<p>In related news, I got a telescope for Christmas, and I plan to spend a lot more time looking outside of myself and into the sky. Because there's nothing quite like being reminded of how small we all are to help us make the most of every minute we're here. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/efd9696cb94a06af10900f9b1aa67d6749b689ee/original/telescope.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68531502021-12-27T21:43:06-06:002021-12-27T21:43:06-06:00The Difficulty of Separating Art & Self<p>Christmas was a fluffy blur. Our family exchanged presents. We cooked food. There were cookies galore. And I created a lot of magic for our two little kids. I poured everything I had into making the holiday special for others. </p>
<p>Which is a classic Emily move. I give too much, and then I'm beat. Now once again, I need to fill my own damn cup. It's nice to be taking the time to write a blog again. </p>
<p>Anyway, tonight I've been reflecting. Last week, I got a few bad reviews of my restaurant's winter market. The reviews tanked me more than usual. I've tried to bulldoze my way past my emotions, telling myself it's ok not to please everyone. But it's hard. It dawns on me that the reason it's hard is because of how personally I take criticism about the things I make. Attacking my artistic endeavors has always felt like a personal attack. </p>
<p>Which begs the question: is our art an extension of ourselves, or can we separate ourselves from our art? </p>
<p>For me, I think the answer is: sometimes we can, sometimes we can't. It all depends on how close we are to what we've created. I have ZERO connection to some things I've made. Then there are other things I've made that feel so close to me, like they're actually in my bones. And those are the ones that hurt when someone puts them down. </p>
<p>I guess the winter market was in my bones. </p>
<p>Reader, if you're like me and you find yourself feeling dejected over what someone else thinks about the things you've made, take heart. You're not alone. But let's not hide our creations (or worse, stop creating altogether) for fear of what others will say. We don't create for praise or to validate who we are. We create to bring our vision to life. And in the end, that vision must be greater than another person's opinion of it. Honor it, and the rest disappears. </p>
<p>With that, I leave you to play the piano. This week, let's keep on keeping on. Don't be derailed by the ones who don't like what you're doing. May we go forth as confidently as my two kids having a break dance party under a Christmas tree in the park tonight. </p>
<p>I'll see you next Monday. -Em </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/8992dc46437df474d777654e540e698f97a08109/original/kids.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68474922021-12-20T22:32:11-06:002021-12-27T21:43:24-06:00Where It's All Going<p>Almost seven years ago, I bought a building on the west side of Rockford. For years, I spent most days alone, rehabbing the space into a restaurant. Some days felt bleak. I was frequently lonely and lost. More often than not, I wondered what the hell I was doing it all for. </p>
<p>Fast forward to this past weekend. So many friends and neighbors and staff members filled the alley outside the building for our second annual Snømarket. I must've taken a thousand photos in my mind. I wish I could go back in time and show those pictures to the old me, the one who didn't see where it was all going. </p>
<p>Reader, I'm keeping it short tonight because I'm on fumes. But I'm happy. If you find yourself wondering where it's all going in your life, take heart. Somewhere down the road, you'll know. It may not be what you wanted at first, but it will be where you needed to go. </p>
<p>Merry Christmas, and happy holidays. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/3eccea18cf0f52d8f777025f2275b889af3062fe/original/snoteam.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68399612021-12-13T20:55:29-06:002023-12-10T10:48:52-06:00Snømarket!<p>No blog tonight. I'm busy building Snømarket (my restaurant's outdoor winter market). If you live near Rockford, Illinois, please stop by The Norwegian this weekend! We're open from 3 pm to 9 pm this Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/58a480a6859d9ecec13db1e4e2b36cc532541d71/original/snowmarket.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68322982021-12-06T22:50:55-06:002022-05-24T12:47:49-05:00Outlets<p>I've become a real nag. </p>
<p>Not by choice. But by necessity. At my day job at the restaurant, I nag. </p>
<p><em>"Don't forget to drop silverware to Table 46! Pick up that orange juice glass at the server stand!! Who forgot to water the damn poinsettas?! "</em></p>
<p>Then I drive home for 9 blissful minutes. And once again, I commence with the nagging. </p>
<p><em>"Did you make your bed? Stop hitting your sister! You're not allowed to blow your nose on my coat. Why are you still hitting your sister?! "</em></p>
<p>I've started to hate the sound of my own voice. I don't want to have to be in charge of these things. But nevertheless, I am; therefore, I nag. </p>
<p>It makes me fearful of what I've become. </p>
<p>And then I remember: I have an outlet. I have a place where my voice isn't used to put things in their place. A place where I choose what I want to say. A place where I actually enjoy saying it. </p>
<p>The ol' trusty piano bench. </p>
<p>Reader, everybody needs an outlet. To some people, it's a punching bag. To others, it's a notebook. Some see it as a mountain trail. Others find it in a blank canvas. Whatever it looks like to you, don't forget to escape to your happy place. If it goes too long, you wind up like me: forgetting that we are not what we do all day long for necessity sake. We are what we do by choice. </p>
<p>With that, I plan to start looking around to plan my 2022 songwriting sabbatical. Whatever you're up to this week, I wish you moments of escape from all you do for necessity sake. You are more than what you have to do to get things done. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/a25b625a991a7e6db7542832ca8b7025b59ef747/original/emilyhurd2020-176.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68249972021-11-29T21:56:44-06:002021-11-29T21:56:44-06:00How To Be Bad At Things<p>It was a week of firsts again for me. First time in a wetsuit. First time paddle boarding. First time spending substantial time in Lake Superior in November. </p>
<p>(First time falling over and over again in Lake Superior in November.)</p>
<p>As an overachiever, it's hard for me to start new things. Especially because I know I'm going to be bad at them. And nobody likes being bad at things. I like to be great at things.</p>
<p>But man, life is going to be pretty boring for me if I stick to things I'm good at doing.</p>
<p>Besides, there's no such thing as being bad at something you've only just started. When it comes to beginning a skill, there's only new, and then there's experienced. Not bad or good.</p>
<p>So the first time I fell in the lake and got back up again, I made a conscious decision to stop qualifying my abilities. After all, I wasn't a bad paddle boarder. I was just a person out on the water learning to paddle board by trial and error.</p>
<p>Lots and lots of error. But I was new to the damn sport, so I was bound to fall. And when I looked at it that way, I was able to enjoy the rest of my time on the board. Simply because I stopped caring how "good" I was doing. </p>
<p>Reader, if you're a fellow overachiever, don't let being new to something stop you from trying it. Life is a lot more fun when you permit yourself to be a beginner, to learn, and to go easy on yourself in the process. I hope you have a great week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/8723102bc58792f14d686fe512585e1043e7f015/original/wetsuit.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68177912021-11-22T07:42:03-06:002021-11-26T19:32:49-06:00Out Of Tune <p>This week, I hit the studio, and we started mixing my new record. Listening back to one of my favorite songs, I cringed. My vocals were all over the place. Sometimes I was sharp, sometimes flat, and sometimes I just plain sang the wrong note. </p>
<p>So I asked my producer if I could sing it again. </p>
<p>This time, I sang it perfectly. I nailed everything. Great vibrato. Killer high notes. Big belting low notes. You know: the works. I felt like a pro again, like a real singer. </p>
<p>Except listening back, I hated every perfect note of it. </p>
<p>I missed all the gritty bits. The scratchy high notes. The parts I ran out of breath. They were the good stuff. They sold the story by making it believable. In the end, that rough pass was the one I nailed. </p>
<p>And the perfect pass was more cringeworthy than all my mistakes combined. It sounded fake.</p>
<p>Reader, there's a time to prove we're good, and there's a time to be good at being authentic, at being our flawed selves. Nobody wants art that's immaculate. They want art that makes them feel something real. I don't know if it helps to read, but being pitch perfect in life isn't always something to strive for. Sometimes it's enough to get up and be the best damned you that you can be. </p>
<p>With that, I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving this week, and I'll see you next Monday. Get out there and be out of tune. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/70e062c05b88f5d10cafa02f898aa1eee3329087/original/upside-down.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68095172021-11-14T18:30:07-06:002021-11-14T18:30:07-06:00The Ham-On Soup Phenomenon<p>Amazing stuff happens when you don’t have much to work with. Cobbling together odd bits created some pretty original things for me this week. </p>
<p>On Friday night, I played a show with the few musicians that I could find. At the last minute, an unprecedented trio of fiddle, piano, and drums was born, and the show was incredible. We laughed. The audience laughed. The sound we made together was unlike anything I had heard before. </p>
<p>At my restaurant, we decided to make some food specials out of what we had on hand, just to free up some freezer space. My supplies were limited and traditionally didn't fit well together. But I made a soup out of ham stock and scraps of salmon belly. Low and behold, ham salmon soup (aka "ham-on" soup) was created, and it was surprisingly smoky, briny, and delicious. </p>
<p>And on the home front, the kids and I were running low on art supplies, so we decided to make pictures out of leaves and tape. The result? Stained glass window oak leaf art installations all around the house. </p>
<p>Reader, so often, I see my limitations as a weakness. But it's nice to have weeks where I remember just how much is invented when I don't have what I think I need. </p>
<p>Wishing you a week of creative solutions to your limits. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/35fff6b7ba81955b6a96eddf37fe560f5691e5ea/original/ham-salmon-soup.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/68016822021-11-08T07:02:53-06:002021-11-08T07:02:53-06:00Callings<p>This week, my restaurant hosted an art show for a woman named Beverly. Beverly is in her 70's, and she just started painting 2 years ago. But she felt a calling to paint. And now--in a later chapter of life--she's finding a new purpose. </p>
<p>It's inspiring. </p>
<p>And it got me thinking about our calling. I used to think humans were meant to find just one. Now I'm rethinking it. </p>
<p>I've felt a lot of callings. Teaching, songwriting, parenting, running a restaurant...each filled my heart and mind with joy, wonder, and a sense of meaningful sacrifice. Lately, I've been feeling a call to do more. </p>
<p>Namely: to create more job opportunities for the people in my neighborhood. </p>
<p>The only thing that's been holding me back is the fear that it's too damn late to add in something else to an already full plate of callings. But Beverly's show lit a fire in me. And I've spent the week putting together a business plan for a grocery store that I hope will create more jobs here. Whether or not it takes off, it feels good to answer the call without being held back by the fear that I'm too late for it. </p>
<p>Reader, if you too feel your heart being pulled in a direction of meaningful purpose and sacrifice, best to see where it leads. It doesn't mean you need to abandon all you've done before now. It just means you're meant to listen. We're never too old to answer a new call. </p>
<p>See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/833d2c5c3aba03780f230e04f158c2e62c49e378/original/art-show.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/67944592021-11-01T20:27:11-05:002023-12-10T10:44:39-06:00Friendship<p>No blog tonight. I'm helping a friend with a writing project. More on friendship next week. See you next Monday. -Em</p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/67867872021-10-25T21:13:33-05:002022-04-04T15:53:59-05:00The Basics<p>It was a week of extreme highs and lows...in all walks of life. With good news and bad news coming so close to each other, tensions ran high around my house, and at my restaurant. Some very hard issues arose. </p>
<p>Without going into it, let's just say the problems of this week were complicated. And my initial response was to come up with complex solutions to tackle them. </p>
<p>And I wound up making matters worse. </p>
<p>So here's my takeaway from a complicated mess of a week: the more difficult the issue, the more important it is to return to the basics. </p>
<p>After shit hit the fan at the restaurant, my crew and I ended up tackling our worst problems by revisiting our fundamental mission statement together and letting it guide our decisions. We sat in a room together and went through a group training on our core beliefs. </p>
<p>After my husband I got into it at home: we faced the challenges in our marriage by trying to identify the traits that define our family values. It was so much easier to talk about the small stuff when we remembered the large foundation that we had built. </p>
<p>And on the music front, I fixed the production problems on my upcoming album by stripping away the bells and whistles and remembering what I wrote the songs about. I let the bare songs themselves make the production decisions for me. </p>
<p>Reader, I don't know what this week will hold, but I just thought I'd share the revelation that--no matter how far we think we've come--getting back to the basics of who we are is never a bad way to face all the complicated matters that vex us. </p>
<p>With that, I'm off to write a little music. Wishing you a wonderful week. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/b566f7571f5c0b550a759adccb9ca452d0c43269/original/training.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/67799482021-10-18T20:57:30-05:002022-04-04T15:54:11-05:00For No One<p>People are out there doing amazing things. </p>
<p>This week alone, I witnessed three friends accomplishing incredible feats, for little to no audience. One stood out. </p>
<p>A couple weeks ago, a chef at my restaurant said he wanted to make ratatouille for a night menu item. I said 'great,' and thought little of it. </p>
<p>On Wednesday, he astounded the hell out of me. After spending several hours cutting vegetables, he laid them in a color-pattern into a hotel pan (which took a few more hours). He baked them in his own red pepper sauce. The end result was even more beautiful than what the rat made in the damn Pixar movie. </p>
<p>And I'm one of only two people alive who got to see it. </p>
<p>Reader, if you're a fellow creator, just a reminder: we don't need to impress anyone else to make something of value. We can do wonderful things, just for ourselves. Feedback from others shouldn't change how good we feel about our creations. The reward is in the making, not in the praise. </p>
<p>(Although let's be honest: praise is pretty great too...providing it doesn't define you). </p>
<p>With that, I'm off to continue writing songs that most people will never hear. I wish you a week of not giving a rip about what others think or don't think of all that you work for. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/632a107827078421a8be98f342975530e4dff068/original/ratatouille.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/67728572021-10-11T16:46:00-05:002021-11-11T05:09:53-06:00Horizons<p>Well if the world's got you down this week, here's a touching story that may give a bit of hope for the future. </p>
<p>I went up north with my family for 36 relaxing hours this past weekend. We camped right on Lake Superior, and it was great. On Saturday morning, my son invited me down to the shore for a "presentation." </p>
<p>Knowing my 6 year-old, I was fully expecting a series of ninja kicks and violent cartwheels. </p>
<p>Instead, he sat me down on the rocks and started having a conversation with our dead dog, and my dead father (who he never met). It was startling. He looked out at the waves and told Dad and my old dog Hank how sorry he was that they couldn't be there with us. He told them he loved them, and that he'd never abandon them... </p>
<p>It was adorable, in a creepy "Sixth Sense" kind of way. </p>
<p>Reader, as much as I wish I could take credit, I have no idea where the kid got it from. I don't talk like that, and neither does my husband. He just kept talking and talking to dead folks with an empathy I can't comprehend. I asked him why he did that, and he said, "Well how would you like it if I didn't talk to you after you die? You'd be so sad." </p>
<p>Gulp. </p>
<p>Sometimes I worry about what's to come. And then moments like this happen and I feel a bit better. I believe that the empathy of future generations will truly make the world better than it has ever been before. I can't get over just how much bigger my kids' heart is at his age than mine has ever been. </p>
<p>So take heart. Even when we can't see it amongst our peers, there are good things on the horizon. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/ebeaac26cd27f214277754329811c6870b55a8e5/original/john.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/67662792021-10-04T22:40:40-05:002021-10-04T22:40:40-05:00Pickles <p>It was a bizarre week that ended with an equally bizarre but important revelation. Here's what happened. </p>
<p>On Friday afternoon, I found myself sobbing to a triage nurse. Stabbing pains radiated in my chest. Pain shot through my left arm. My face felt like it was on fire, and my lips were tingling. </p>
<p>I thought I was having a heart attack. I thought I was dying. </p>
<p>Turns out, it was a panic attack. Which should have made me feel better. But it made me feel worse. The nurse asked me what I was doing for stress management, to which I replied, "I'm going to work harder so I can stay on top of it all." </p>
<p>Even as I said the words, I knew they weren't the right ones. </p>
<p>Anyway, as soon as I was sure I would survive the night, I made a pact with myself. No more shoving my feelings aside. No more giving too much of myself. Most importantly, no more ignoring my needs. I went to sleep, vowing to make this change. </p>
<p>The next day, I felt exhausted, but I made it to the grocery store. As I was walking down an aisle, a jar of pickled cucumbers caught my eye. And the strangest thing happened. </p>
<p>I salivated. The muscles on the side of my neck became tense. I licked my lips like some cartoon character version of myself. Normally, I'd just ignore these cravings, but remembering the vow I made after my anxiety attack, I started throwing several jars into my cart. I even popped open one jar and began eating pickles before I was in the checkout line. </p>
<p>One jar didn't make it to the car before I had eaten all the pickles, slammed the juice, and was cracking open another one for the ride home. </p>
<p>As soon as my savage pickle episode had passed, I found myself much more energized (albeit embarrassed and gluttonous). I wondered how long my body had been craving salt, sugar, and electrolytes in general while I just ignored the urge and kept fueling it with small scraps of food leftover from my kids' lunchboxes. </p>
<p>By the time the weekend was over, I felt I had learned a big lesson from pickles and anxiety attacks. </p>
<p>Reader, we are beings with needs. Our bodies have needs. Our souls have needs. Even our egos have needs. There is no sense ignoring what it is that we need to stay energized and healthy. If you too find yourself with needs this week, listen to them. That need to get outside? Listen to it. That need to take a trip? Listen to it. That need to sing or drink water or paint pictures or WHATEVER it is for you? Listen to it. For far too long, I didn't listen, and it landed me in a bad spot this week. Lord knows we can't be good for others if we are ignoring the cries from within. </p>
<p>(And I'll never again ignore the screams of my heart...or the screams of a pickle.) </p>
<p>Please take good care of yourself this week, and I'll see you back here next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/4661916b02c189fc64638a6ed2eb11e1b809d4f2/original/pickle.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/67592542021-09-27T20:19:45-05:002022-04-04T15:47:45-05:00Bit Parts<p>I spent the bulk of my week preparing my restaurant for the 10th Annual 'Tour De North End:' Rockford's biggest bicycle race. Each year, hundreds of riders flood Main Street, stopping at businesses and collecting stamps. At the end of the race, bikers turn in their stamped cards for a chance to win a Fat Tire Cruiser. </p>
<p>It's insane. But a hell of a good time. </p>
<p>The race was set to take place on Saturday, and I was prepared to work a 16-hour shift that day. Building up to the event, I spent hours making hand-pies for the bicyclists to eat. The job was important, and I was important by default. </p>
<p>The morning of the race, we hustled to get the outside bar put together. Our plan was to serve beer radlers to the riders and make a little money for our business. Setting up the bar would take a lot of work. It was an important task, and it was important that I tackle it. </p>
<p>Finally, we had to create a way to take money outside. We'd need a way to accept both cash and credit cards from riders so that they could pay for our stickers and other merchandise. It was such an important system to create, and it was important that I handle it. </p>
<p>Then I got sick. </p>
<p>A wave of nausea came over me on Saturday like I haven't had since I was pregnant. I could barely stand without wanting to vomit. I began to panic. "<em>WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO</em>," I thought. "<em>I'M TOO IMPORTANT TO BE SICK RIGHT NOW</em>!" </p>
<p>Apparently not though. My staff sent me home. The event went forward without me. And hundreds of riders stopped into our restaurant. They ate food, drank beer, and paid for merchandise. The staff had a good time, and I was hardly missed. </p>
<p>In the end, I wasn't as important as I thought. </p>
<p>This week made me check my ego. And it was oddly comforting to realize I'm really not as pivotal as I think I am. Here I thought I was the leading lady in the whole production. In the end, I learned that I had a bit part. </p>
<p>And that's ok. </p>
<p>In the words of Louis Prima, "life goes on without me." Reader, as stressed as we can be about the things that are seemingly under our control, none of them are so crucial as to stop the world from turning. If you too find yourself stressing your role on this earth (and perhaps over-inflating your significance), remember: while we all play a part, the show will always go on. No need to stress so much. </p>
<p>With that, I'm off to bed. If you were a part of Tour De North End this weekend, I hope you had a great time. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/43f76fe1cb3c6312fa5c664b38e07377356b9fb5/original/tdne.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/67522512021-09-20T17:19:17-05:002021-09-20T18:36:08-05:00I Am A Mountain Lion<p>I've written hundreds of songs now. Each one comes out a little differently. Some songs write themselves in a matter of minutes. Some take days. And then there are those elusive, incredibly wily tunes that take weeks, months, and even years to write. </p>
<p>I'm currently stuck on the latter. </p>
<p>There is a song that came to me last year that I just can't get out of my head. I could have finished it long ago with sub-par lyrics, but the melody is too nice to waste with sub-par lyrics. Of course, I don't know what the words should be. All I know is: I'll know them when I hear them. </p>
<p>Again. Stuck. </p>
<p>But something changed in me while I was working on the tune this week. I adjusted my mindset. I stopped calling myself "stuck." I stopped telling myself my only recourse was to hope. I stopped feeling like I was waiting around for the right words to come. </p>
<p>Instead, I told myself I was in hot pursuit of them. </p>
<p>With that subtle shift, I felt excited about the whole song again. I almost felt an internal transformation. Where I was once passive--like a little bird waiting to be fed inspiration--I became a ravenous mountain lion, chasing down words like they were my last meal. </p>
<p>Turns out it's more fun to be hungry than to be complacent. </p>
<p>Reader, if you find yourself stuck this week, I just thought I'd put this out there: try changing the word "stuck" with "searching" and see if it doesn't open you up to more possibilities. It's just a small trick, but I thought I'd share it, just in case it helps you, too. </p>
<p>With that, this ferocious predator is heading back to my sunny spot at the piano bench for this evening's hunt. I'll see you back here next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/2a8d0d8238932acca18dcaf0b532adcba80253ac/original/sunny.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/67448152021-09-13T14:29:52-05:002022-03-03T07:54:12-06:00Hard Times And All<p>I'm a lucky lady.</p>
<p>In the past 9 days, I have: had a world-class harmonica player add tracks to my upcoming album, hosted a wedding for two incredible humans in my tiny hometown restaurant, watched my children head back to school with confidence and grace, and spent days with my coworkers in the North Woods. </p>
<p>I've taken so many mental snapshots; I could fill a library in my mind.</p>
<p>Particularly meaningful were these past few days with my restaurant staff. We cooked on the beach and jumped in Lake Superior. We hiked the Porcupine Mountains. We went whitewater kayaking and climbed up waterfalls. We laid out under the stars, and we talked late into the night around bonfires. </p>
<p>Under those stars, I thought a lot about my life. </p>
<p>I want this life. Hard times and all.</p>
<p>I want the scars on my arms from burning them while making pastries at the restaurant. I want the bags under my eyes from staying up late with kids when they're sick. I even want the longing in my heart to play my songs on bigger stages: the desire fuels me in a way that fulfillment never could. </p>
<p>Reader, somewhere in the North Woods, I realized: I chose this path...every difficult step of it. Given the chance, I'd choose it again. The steepest climbs yield the most spectacular views, metaphorically and in real life. I'm grateful for every painful step that got me to this mindset. </p>
<p>I truly hope you've had a good week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/7bd29fc75517a1f9e8de14d97e79eac90b6beeab/original/lotc.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/67305902021-08-29T21:25:07-05:002022-05-31T04:17:51-05:00Wow Yourself <p>This week took it out of me. One of the chefs at my restaurant was out sick, and we all worked a lot of overtime to give him time to recuperate. Between the extreme heat, the extra hours, and the kids heading back to school, I'm beat. The sound of my 5 am alarm this morning made me want to curl up into a ball and hide.</p>
<p>But I got myself up and out and on the road early. Still groggy, I pulled out of our neighborhood and hit the main drag. Now, I catch the sunrise most mornings, but the sun coming up on my way to work today just bowled me over.</p>
<p>Immediately, I pulled over and took a picture of it. It just looked so spectacular. I let myself watch the sun come up for 5 minutes and feel a bit in awe of it. And then the strangest damned thing happened.</p>
<p>I wasn't tired anymore. Letting that sunrise wow me had the side effect of wiping away all my exhaustion in a matter of minutes. I felt refreshed. I'd even go so far as to say I was exhilarated.</p>
<p>It dawned on me today just how linked physical and mental fatigue really are. A tired mind cannot invigorate. Likewise, a mind that is awake seems to be able to energize the body. Being mentally inspired in the midst of something as mundane as a drive to work is like caffeine for the soul. Apparently, all it takes is a small jolt of something new in the middle of our all-too-familiar patterns and trains of thought to put a spring in our step.</p>
<p>Reader, if you too find yourself mentally tired this week, let's look for surprises. There is an endless source of them if we allow ourselves to be wowed, even in the course of our daily routines. Let's keep our minds engaged and eager to see all the world has to show us.</p>
<p>On that note: there will be no blog from me next week. I'm forcing my staff out of their routine and taking most of my restaurant crew to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to allow them to recharge in nature. I'll be back here in two weeks, hopefully well-rested and with stories of surprises. See you then. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/1bff12fa051ff9a6520a8bd6639e20dea1287ad6/original/sunrise.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/67252112021-08-23T22:10:33-05:002022-04-04T15:49:50-05:00Professional Animals<p>Running a business is tricky on a lot of levels. One of the hardest parts of running my restaurant is acting professional with my colleagues and customers.</p>
<p>Being dignified was never my forte.</p>
<p>Just the same, I go to work, knowing that I need to comport myself professionally, not only to get jobs done, but also to create a stable environment of respect. Our crew knows we need to take work seriously enough to keep our business viable, as well as keep our jobs secure.</p>
<p>And most days, we pull it off.</p>
<p>Anyway, for the past two weeks, my restaurant team and I have been planning a fundraiser with the staff from a local farm. This collaborative farm dinner was to be a bit upscale: high ticket prices, rented table linens, the works.</p>
<p>The whole event took place on Saturday night at the farm, and there were very few hitches. All that professionalism and planning really paid off. The venue was beautiful. The music was wonderful. The food was great, and so were the drinks.</p>
<p>In fact, the drinks were a little too great.</p>
<p>After a couple glasses of wine, I was feeling no pain. The crew and I were sitting on the balcony of a farmhouse reflecting on a good night. And then the full moon started to rise out of the horizon on the field. I shouted, "OH! The MOON!" And my staff and I started to run out to see it.</p>
<p>Then I hesitated. I thought, <em>"What if the staff from the farm see us being goofballs, sprinting through the brush to see the moon?</em>" Just as I was thinking it, I turned behind me to see the staff from the farm sprinting right behind us. In fact, they led us to a rickety horse trailer in the middle of the field where we could get a better view. We sat with them on the trailer for awhile, then they encouraged us to try jumping from hay bale to hay bale in the moonlight.</p>
<p>Which we did with pleasure. We even yipped like coyotes. It was an invigorating and unforgettable night.</p>
<p>Reader, the moral of my week is this: at the end of the day, we are animals. Nothing more than pack of wild things trying to make sense of the world. Of course it's respectable that we can act professionally and diplomatically: we accomplish great things this way. But it's also respectable to cut loose: we can find tremendous comradery and solidarity with each other when we give ourselves permission be the simple, vulnerable creatures that we are. </p>
<p>I hope you have a nice week. Let's keep remembering that--as important as our routines, parameters, and professionalism all are--it's not wrong to offset them with freewheeling, carefree, animalistic moments. May you yip like a coyote at least once this week. See you next Monday. -Em </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/80f118393a8b56722c9b941d5bd1281e34a72614/original/tractor.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/67189212021-08-16T21:45:01-05:002022-05-16T12:49:07-05:00Squeezing Out Summer<p>No blog tonight; I'm spending some time at a local lake with my kids. School starts soon, and these last summer nights feel precious. I have so much to say, but it will have to wait until next Monday. See you then. -Em<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/2e7b90d607ce76cd3a4295f191d5b38a260f5fca/original/db8be125-ee50-4bee-833b-1d7bdcd02dba.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/67117332021-08-09T21:47:07-05:002023-12-10T10:46:05-06:00Storms Never Last<p>Well, today was a day of storms. At 6 am this morning we had a huge round of thunderstorms that knocked out power at the restaurant for a few hours. The lightning felt like it was right over our heads. The thunder shook the windows.</p>
<p>Then the sun came out, and after a while, the parking lot was bone dry. Birds chirped as though nothing had happened.</p>
<p>A few hours later, the storms returned with a vengeance. The rain fell so fast and so hard that the kitchen prep room flooded. My friend Dom and I spent an hour bailing out the first floor roof of my restaurant. We were drenched, and more than 6 inches of rain were in the parking lot.</p>
<p>Then the sun came out, and the parking lot looked like we had just had a light sprinkle. The woman across the street went out to walk her dog.</p>
<p>Waylon Jennings and Jessi Colter famously sang "Storms never last, do they, baby?" I got to thinking about that song today while we stood in the deluge and bailed hundreds of gallons of water off my roof. It made me burst into laughter. What infinite wisdom there is in that one, simple lyric. </p>
<p>Reader, trouble comes, then goes. Happiness comes, then goes. The floods come, and those times are hard. Then the floods pass, and the birds sing. Again. And again. And again. Until we're gone. Probably best to learn to find some joy during the flood, knowing it won't last forever.</p>
<p>So here's to smiling in the rain. It doesn't always happen for me, but today it did, and it felt like a symbolic day in my life to embrace in the hard times. Wishing you the same this week. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/dc80d3cd58111fe8d37d373f004642dcf22dca42/original/em-dom.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/67051962021-08-02T23:24:36-05:002021-08-26T11:04:36-05:00Mistakes Make Masters<p>One of our bathroom door locks broke at work this past week. No problem, I thought. I headed over to my friendly neighborhood hardware store (Nicholson's) and bought a replacement. I was eager to fix it</p>
<p>(Read: I still get off on repairing things by myself. Norm Abram is an all-time hero of mine.)</p>
<p>Anyway, I headed back to my restaurant, took out the old lock, and replaced it with the new one. I was feeling pretty damn proud of myself. That is, until I cross-threaded the screw hole. "You IDIOT," I said to myself. I couldn't repair the lock at that point. So I drove back to Nicholson's, hat-in-hand, feeling dumb. When I sheepishly told the guys behind the counter what I did, they just chuckled. One of them said:</p>
<p>"What...you think you're the first person who's ever done that?!"</p>
<p>The guys in the store then proceeded to tell stories of how they used to mess up threading all the time, and that they still do. I couldn't believe it. The staff at that store is made up of master carpenters and craftsman. But rather than make a rookie like me feel stupid for my mishap, they just commiserated with me.</p>
<p>I'll be damned.</p>
<p>Reader, the whole lock fiasco made me remember that the only thing that separates rookies and masters is their ability to make mistakes, learn from them, and keep going. The pros got to be pros after making error after error. If you find yourself blundering this week, take heart: each mistake you make is getting you that much closer to mastery.</p>
<p>With that, this rookie is headed to bed. I'll see you next Monday. -Em<br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/1de9f1d123fdc5595b18e4f6e8fc174967bb851b/original/lock.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66989102021-07-26T21:42:33-05:002021-07-26T21:42:33-05:00Not Being Best<p>My son asked me to throw him a birthday party this week. He’s turning 6, and so far, I’ve artfully dodged having to make a production out of birthdays. But he's now been to a few parties, so the jig is up: kids like a bash, and he wanted one too. </p>
<p>The only trouble is: I don't know a damn thing about throwing kids' parties. And like most people, I don't like doing things I'm not good at doing. Plus, I don't have money or time to put anything together, and frankly, having that many small children together in one place gives me the heebie-jeebies in a creepy "Lord Of The Flies" sort of way. </p>
<p>But I love my son. So I leaned into the whole thing. </p>
<p>Apparently, these gatherings include games and activities, probably prizes and themes, and pizza. Not ours. Our party involved me putting Aldi snacks, a watermelon, and a few bottles of soda and booze out on a picnic table. We filled up some water balloons. Then we put some chairs together for adults and let the kids run around and get soaked. That was it. </p>
<p>Was it the best? I guess not. But we got it done, and my son was thrilled. </p>
<p>Reader, the moral of my week is this: while society likes us to believe that overachieving is grand and that we should all hope to end up 'on top' in some self-constructed scale of goodness, that's all just hogwash. We don't need to attach value to everything we do. Sometimes, we just complete our tasks. We don't need to worry whether we did a good or bad job. We stop comparing what we do to others, and we simply do things the way we know how.</p>
<p>I'm not sure if any of this is helpful for you to read, but I thought I'd share it here, just in case you also have a hard time letting go of trying to get things right all the time. This week, hold tight to the idea that we don't have to be best. We just have to be. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/ead440b94a47107f27ef8b062159b2721d31d439/original/party.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66926512021-07-19T20:54:17-05:002022-04-04T15:50:17-05:00Magnetism<p>I've spent the last month looking for kitchen staff for my restaurant. It's been a trying search. We haven't found a good fit yet. I'd all but given up hope. Then this past Friday, a chef walked in the door. He's an eerily perfect fit for us. And for the first time in weeks, I feel like there's a light at the end of the tunnel. </p>
<p>Hallelujah. </p>
<p>I've been thinking a lot about this chef the last week. He's fun-loving and grounded. Confident and humble. Eager and sensible. Passionate and reserved. Most interestingly, he's into the same kind of cooking and shares a common worldview. So how did such a kindred spirit amble into our corner of the world? I can only come up with one answer. </p>
<p>Magnetism. </p>
<p>Reader, the longer I live, the more I believe in the power of attraction. We put out into the world what we are, and the right people find us. If you too are finding yourself looking for kindred spirits, probably the best way to find them is to get in touch with who you really are. Embrace you, quirks and all. The more you put your true self into the universe, the more likely it will resonate with the same weirdos as you. </p>
<p>I leave you with this picture of my son, who has no problem being himself. May we all know ourselves as fully as a 5 year-old Spiderman worshipper enjoying blue ice cream and singing the Banana Boat Song. Have a great week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/6ec70e3e031b147641941f8b727b98619529be7b/original/john.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66860242021-07-12T20:47:37-05:002021-08-09T21:47:40-05:00Make Good Use of Bad Days<p>Last week, one of my friends at work gave me a book: <em>The Art of Living</em>, a collection of thoughts by Epictetus. While a lot of what Epictetus said resonated deeply, one quote stood out above the rest.</p>
<p>"Make the best use of what happens to you."</p>
<p>I get the chills typing it.</p>
<p>Reader, it was another grueling, long week at the restaurant. We're still short-staffed. A lot of equipment broke. We lost track of inventory. And tensions were high. I was getting mired in it, and by Saturday afternoon, I felt truly lost.</p>
<p>Until I remembered that quote from Epictetus.</p>
<p>And it dawned on me to ask: what can I use here? And when I looked at it that way, the day may not have gotten better, but I sure did get a lot out of it. I made plans on how to track inventory. I tried again to find more staff. I found better equipment solutions. And I even wrote a few verses of a song about those high tensions.</p>
<p>(Not to mention: I learned a lot about what I didn't want to do next week.)</p>
<p>Anyhow, I'm not sure if it helps you to read this quote as well, but I thought I'd pass it along, just in case. Whether or not you have a good week, I hope you're able to make good use of it all. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/a3de3983ea30f827220dfb819009e6f40908a1fc/original/em-screams.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66797552021-07-05T22:22:44-05:002021-08-09T21:48:10-05:00Love The Ones Who Count<p>This week, I let an internet troll get under my skin. I'm not proud of that; usually, I know better than to let a person's lies bug me. But this person's particular rant hit me where it counts.</p>
<p>My employees.</p>
<p>This troll made some seriously off-based accusations about how I treat my restaurant staff. I shared his words my crew, and we all had a good laugh at the guy. But it still bugged me that someone took the time to try to tear us down without information. It put me on my heels. I was at a loss, until I came up with a good way to counteract the attack.</p>
<p>I spoiled my crew rotten.</p>
<p>Reader, I'm exhausted, so I'll be brief: the world is full of people who take the time to try to hurt. Rather than hit them back--with words or anything else--sometimes it's best to shower more love on the ones that count. And while responding to anger by putting extra love into the world may not stick it to the bad guys, it sure beats stooping.</p>
<p>So hold your head high this week and give the best you've got to the ones who matter. I leave you with this picture of a passion flower that's growing on the vine that I planted at work a couple months ago. May you create more things that make the world better. That's what it's all about. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/bd0ea9fe83d67f0211322c87d7bdf4887a7a43c2/original/passion.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66734282021-06-28T21:29:11-05:002021-06-28T21:29:11-05:00The Tough Bake Mermaids<p>Oh dear, Reader. Whatever brand of thoughts/prayers/vibes that you prefer to send, I could use a few this week. Every day at my restaurant is a fight to stay afloat. I thought that last year's multiple forced quarantines and pivots were hard to navigate. Turns out that not having enough people to man (and woman) our ship is more of a struggle than all others...by a long shot. </p>
<p>I won't bore you with it all. Suffice to say, I'm on little sleep and under a lot of stress and wonder how I'm going to get through another week. </p>
<p>But I will. And so will you. </p>
<p>I've been thinking a lot lately about how hard it is to keep going when the going gets tough. Historically, I've fought tough times with extra grit. I've met the fiercest challenges with my fiercest attitude. I've tackled the heaviest moments of my life by being incredibly...heavy. </p>
<p>And in the end, I just wind up weighing myself down. </p>
<p>This past week, I didn't have enough staff to cater an off-site event, so I did it myself. The weight of it all felt overwhelming. I was on fumes. How was I going to pull off catering in the middle of everything else I had going on? </p>
<p>By lightening up, that's how. </p>
<p>Rather than meet the challenge with intensity, I instead put on a little music. I found a ridiculous mermaid cookie cutter and baked mermaid cookies for that party into the wee hours of the morning. And I also had a little gin. </p>
<p>Reader, though the severity of our problems may make us want to get serious, in the end, becoming grave and frustrated doesn't really help. In fact, it taps us of our energy and makes it harder to get through it all. Now, I'm sure I won't remember to lighten up every time I'm stressed, but for one moment this week, I caught a glimpse of what it might be like to fight stress with frivolity, and it felt like an epiphany. I'm sharing it here in case it might help you, too. </p>
<p>With that, let's all try to lighten up this week. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/a213202f871aa66b21344bdfcd6eeb3ff9c3a3ab/original/mermaid.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66652832021-06-20T21:56:21-05:002023-12-10T11:03:50-06:00Problem Solvers<p>Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there. I'm really missing mine tonight. For a lot of reasons. He was tirelessly thoughtful. He was hardworking. He looked out for the little guy. </p>
<p>And he looked out for me.</p>
<p>But the quality that I really miss in him? He knew how to solve a damn problem.</p>
<p>I'll keep it short because it's been a hell of a week. I'm having a hard time hiring and keeping staff at my restaurant. It feels like no matter how much money or how many perks I offer, no matter how much I try to make people feel valued, no matter how much I give of my own time: no one wants to work through discomfort anymore. Folks have a bad day or two, and they quit. Lately, it feels like people talk about preserving their mental health as though every day needs to be fulfilling, and they don't know how to deal with difficult moments.</p>
<p>Not like my dad. He looked at every hardship as an opportunity. </p>
<p>Reader, working through problems teaches us conflict resolution. Before it becomes a lost art, let's not forget that problems are a chance to grow, to come up with new ideas, to help us evolve. As we go through our week, let's not forget: there is no such thing as a perfect set of circumstances. We can only try to make our circumstances better through leaning into discomfort and meeting it head on with resilience and grit. With that, this daughter of a problem solver is off to bed so I can continue to meet tomorrow's challenges. I'll see you next week. -Em <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/b87ff0b756f960167977e7f7cab8a9ee35790ffb/original/dad-and-me.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66584302021-06-13T17:17:23-05:002021-06-13T17:17:23-05:00Exercise<p>I thought I was in pretty good shape. </p>
<p>As a songwriter, I do a lot of exercise. I play the piano in the wee hours of the morning. I write tunes everywhere from the car to the kitchen. I read poetry for lyrical inspiration, and I even try to work out new beats for songs while I'm walking with my kids.</p>
<p>My songwriting muscles are JACKED.</p>
<p>But my performing muscles? Well let's just say they could stand to hit the gym and lay off the twinkies.</p>
<p>I played a show this week. And even though I had a great time, I wasn't prepared. This gig was the first one that I've played in months, and I felt like a fish out of water. I couldn't remember how to play the piano standing up. I couldn't get my monitor set up just right. And I definitely couldn't quite get the hang of singing into the microphone.</p>
<p>Reader, just like muscles in our body: the skills that we exercise get in good shape, and the ones we neglect tend to slip. This week taught me that I should have dedicated a little more of my attention to performance. Bottom line, we get better at things that we do over and over. If there are things in your life you'd like to be good at, just exercise. (Well in advance of having to do them in front of others.)</p>
<p>It's a good thing my sense of humor is alive and well these days so I can laugh off how awkward I was on stage. If anything, I'm more eager than ever to practice and get back out there. Thanks to all of you who showed up to the concert. I'll see you next Monday. -Em<br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/e1ac568f567f2a1d10e20971cb51af708e744ecd/original/bandshell.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66519092021-06-07T13:01:50-05:002022-05-07T08:30:45-05:00Loving Your Cringe-Worthiness<p>I've got a show this week! With a real band on a real stage and a real audience (if anybody shows up...please show up!). It feels too good to be true; seems like it's been years since I've played like this. </p>
<p>Probably because it has. </p>
<p>So I got the band together this week for a quick practice to run through the set list. More than half the songs are brand new, and then the rest are from previous albums. It was shocking for me to realize that some of my older tunes are almost 20 years old now. </p>
<p>My song babies are all grown up. And apparently, so am I. </p>
<p>Playing songs from the old days feels bizarre. Singing those old lyrics feels like trying on clothes that I wouldn't really wear today. And don't get me wrong: I used to love my platform shoes and skorts, but they aren't really my style anymore. Similarly, playing 20 year-old tunes makes me cringe. </p>
<p>But sometimes, you gotta embrace it. </p>
<p>Reader, we aren't born finished. We go through stages. We continue to progress. And there's nothing wrong with where we've been, or where we're going. It's all part of our story. (Besides, the phase we're in today will probably feel awkward when we look back to it in 20 years). So best to celebrate all of it, even the parts that feel cringeworthy: those parts got you where you are today. </p>
<p>I hope you have a great week. Please come see me on Thursday! -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/f3b0f0f4a0bdc5ae399d57196e564ae37f9841c1/original/em-back-blue.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66452942021-05-31T22:08:23-05:002021-08-05T05:53:24-05:00Letting Others Have An Impact<p>I'm still flying high after a great time recording in Chicago last week. I almost forgot how much I love playing with a band. It's great to be a part of a group. </p>
<p>And I'm not just talking about music. </p>
<p>I'm not certain why it's taken me decades to figure out how to let others into my life. For the longest time, I thought I needed to have strong boundaries. (Boundaries are the battlecry of my generation: we don't want to give anybody the power to hurt us.) </p>
<p>But I think that--in my effort to have boundaries--I may have missed the joy of being impacted by others. </p>
<p>Reader, letting other people into my creative processes has been transformative for me this week. Truly magical. The music that we made as a group in the studio was so much more interesting than what I would have made alone. The events that were thrown at my restaurant were so much more inventive than anything I would have created on my own. And the garden bed that my kids and I made at home was so much more whimsical than anything my stubborn mind would have made without them. </p>
<p>With that, I hope you and your band have a great week. Remember not to let people bring you down, but don't forget to let them bring you up, too. I leave you with this picture of an event my staff and I threw on Wednesday (another great idea made better by involving others). I'm so grateful to be a part of several squads these days. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/6def588c7984b1c817d891b79f429c8e16bc4494/original/outside.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66380452021-05-23T11:40:56-05:002021-07-18T15:43:55-05:00Branding Ain't For People<p>I just had my first day off work from my restaurant in more than two months. And I used the time off to start recording another album with an incredibly talented crew of musicians in Chicago. </p>
<p>I've written a few dozen songs since my last album. But putting tunes together into a cohesive record has always been a challenge for me. In this latest batch of songs, some of the tunes are sort of doo-wop and lovey dovey. Some are driving angry dad rock, and kind of angry. Some feel like forlorn blues, and a few feel like tragic pop songs for the working woman. So what do I choose? </p>
<p>Any or all of them. </p>
<p>Reader, I'm not sure how we get so very trapped into the notion that we are just one style of person. We are people, not brands. If we're being authentic, why should we be bothered with whether or not it all hangs together? (Even if we're not being authentic: who really gives a damn?) We are an amalgam of different thoughts and feelings and interests and affinities and aversions. And you know what ties it all together? </p>
<p>You. You tie it together. </p>
<p>Wishing you an off-brand kind of week. Keep being you. I leave you with this picture of a gorgeous sunset I saw this past week, just because. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/e8f0812bc4ea591099faa9dca97e3983e8b7ccd3/original/sunset.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66323682021-05-17T07:57:51-05:002022-04-04T15:51:00-05:00Unlimited<p>I've always been unable to write music when other people were listening. I'm just too self-conscious. I feel like I can't get into the zone when someone can hear me, because songwriting and I have always had a private relationship. </p>
<p>Until we didn't. </p>
<p>One morning last week, I was desperate to play the piano, but I was home with the kids. My children were loud and busy that day, and I knew I wasn't going to get a chance to sit down and write music. So throughout the day, resentment built up. My kids could feel how frustrated I was. Finally, I blurted out "Mommy needs to play the piano RIGHT NOW!! You two are going to sit and paint pictures while I play." </p>
<p>And to my surprise, they did just that. </p>
<p>For a full hour, I wrote songs next to my kids. They mostly sat there quietly, once in a while cheering me on or telling me they liked what I was playing. It was honestly the most shocking (and damned nice) thing that's happened to me in a long time. </p>
<p>Reader, as adults, we think we know ourselves pretty well, which makes us set in our ways. We rarely consider the possibility that what we know about ourselves might have changed. I was so pleasantly surprised to learn I could write songs in front of my kids; it made me question how many more of the things I'm always certain of that might be different, and how many more of my limitations aren't really limitations at all. </p>
<p>Wishing you a limitless week ahead. I leave you with this picture of a barred owl that's also been watching me write music from outside the window lately. It's nice to know there are still good surprises out there. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/cd96ecf908f26a5684b083cdb83e5a7dd8fea3e2/original/owl.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66271382021-05-10T22:25:10-05:002023-12-10T11:03:50-06:00Human Handkerchief<p>After I got home from work yesterday, I went outside to plant a few herb plants. While I was bent over a bunch of basil, my 5 year-old son came over to me and blew his nose on my pants. When I asked him why, he said: </p>
<p>"I didn't feel good, and I needed a tissue." </p>
<p>That's what I am these days. A walking tissue. </p>
<p>Reader, I'll keep it brief because this human handkerchief has had a long week. If you're a kindred spirit that's always there in someone's time of need, let me tell you something: your devotion to that person makes you the recipient of something great. </p>
<p>(And no, it's not a pocket full of snot). </p>
<p>The connection that comes from being there for someone when they're vulnerable is so powerful. I think as adults, we tend to forget how natural it is to be weak, to need support from someone else. Developing trust in friendships comes not only from times we're strong together, but also from times we choose to prop each other up when we're low. </p>
<p>Even if all we have to offer is pants. </p>
<p>I leave you with this goof-ball picture of my son later on in the night. Because when the tense feelings pass, all that remains is the memory of who your friends are. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/dbc1af11ec4456d94c313c8ad7b3d83c68843d48/original/john.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66207612021-05-03T23:08:18-05:002021-06-23T00:39:46-05:00Comfort Her<p>Mother's Day is this Sunday. I'm one of the few mothers on staff at my restaurant. Last week, the kitchen crew was brainstorming what sort of food specials they should make for Mother's Day. At the top of their list? </p>
<p>Salad. Lots of ideas about salad. </p>
<p>I laughed in their faces. </p>
<p>As a mother who hasn't had a day off in weeks, let me tell you something: on a list of things I want to eat on a day dedicated to moms, salad comes in dead last. What I want is a stiff drink, french fries, something cheesy, and a bowl full of chocolate. Why? </p>
<p>Because I spend every day of my life ensuring others feel comforted, usually at the expense of my own happiness and comfort. So for just one day out of the year, I'd like to make time to have people (myself included) give me that same level of care. </p>
<p>Reader, whether you're celebrating Mother's Day as a mom, or if you're celebrating a special person in your life, remember that motherhood is about care. The second we mothers become caretakers, we begin putting ourselves second. If you want to give back to a mom this year, the best way to do that is to acknowledge her efforts, ask her about her creature comforts, then give them to her. If you follow those guidelines, I guarantee you: she'll be thrilled. </p>
<p>(And if you're a mom that doesn't have someone to give these things to you, please take the day to care for yourself. The truth is, we shouldn't need just a day to honor mothers and their ongoing sacrifice, but as long as there is such a day, it's a nice excuse to indulge). </p>
<p>I leave you this picture of my mom and dad when they first started dating. I marvel at how effortlessly joyful my mom looked before I came along. Children may make our life worthwhile, but it's good to keep in mind that we were always worthy of self love and appreciation, long before we took on the job of caring for another. </p>
<p>See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/ae883748675989168bef1c02dc142a6c837579dd/original/mom-and-dad.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66145742021-04-26T19:45:48-05:002022-04-04T15:51:22-05:00Punishers<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/c93d10707ce245f315bbbbb74973e25411c0f086/original/john-and-jo.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />No blog tonight. I'm teaching my kids a lesson. They've been real punks this week, and I took away all their toys and screens. Then they asked "Well what are we going to do now?!" So I'm marching them out to the corn field to watch the sunset. </p>
<p>May the force be with all of you who have dealt with the parenting of children. What a trip. See you next Monday. -Em </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66079612021-04-19T03:56:40-05:002021-04-19T03:56:40-05:00How To Be Good<p>In my perfect world, there would be instructions on "how to be good." The instructions would be wrapped up in an easy-to-understand e-book. The book would give definitive ways to act that would ensure the most good was being done at all times, and no harm would befall others in the making of those choices.</p>
<p>An impossible book, I know. But a girl can dream.</p>
<p>I had an emotional breakdown in a Valli supermarket on Thursday. I actually had to put down my shopping basket and walk outside to catch my breath. The cause of this emotional breakdown?</p>
<p>Feta cheese.</p>
<p>That's right. Cheese. Cheese reduced me to tears (more rightly, an exhausting week at work reduced me to tears, but the cheese was the last straw apparently). You see, my restaurant needed feta mid-week, so I ran out quickly in the middle of service. The supermarket offered a variety of feta; I narrowed down my choices to three. </p>
<p>There was the cheapest one, which would surely be the best for my business and my staff. I know saving money is so important for the future of the restaurant.</p>
<p>There was the local one, which would surely be the best for reducing my carbon footprint. I know it's so important not to waste unnecessary fuel on products.</p>
<p>And there was the organic one from Europe, which would surely be the best for the soils of our planet. I know it's so important to support companies committed to protecting our earth.</p>
<p>In the end, I went with organic. I don't know if it was a good choice. Hell, it might have done the most harm in the long run. But on Friday, my love of soil won out, and I've had to make peace with my decision.</p>
<p>Reader, achieving inner peace is getting harder and harder the more we learn. I'm a white woman, likely the descendant of Europeans who displaced Native Americans to be here. I built my restaurant with materials from places where I'm not certain how they treat their employees. I opened a restaurant in a largely black community, and I don't know how to be an ally here without looking like a white savior. I clean dishes with chemicals that will harm waterways, wrap foods in plastic that will never break down, and make mountains of trash every week, despite paying for recycling services.</p>
<p>So how can I be good?</p>
<p>I've come to the decision that I can't. I cannot exist causing zero harm. The only thing I can do is continue to try to make informed and responsible decisions. That's all I can control: whether or not I will ceaselessly try to make good decisions.</p>
<p>After my supermarket meltdown, I walked back into my restaurant and took this picture. Staff was happy. Diners were happy. And the place felt peaceful. I took a few deep breaths, put my cheese in the cooler, and got back to work. Sometimes, I think that's all we can do. Get back to work.</p>
<p>I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/606b828d3bfc5fa04867866b8e46b2e7372e53f6/original/restaurant.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/66023082021-04-12T20:20:44-05:002023-12-10T10:59:44-06:00Inconvenient Inspiration<p>Last week was full of frenzy and chaos. We reopened my restaurant. I couldn’t have been more proud of our crew. It was a long, hard, hot week in the kitchen, and the team put out incredible food to hundreds of people. </p>
<p>I was moving a mile a minute and felt like I didn’t have time to breathe. From the grocery store to our kitchen and back to the grocery store again, I was in a dead sprint most days. </p>
<p>And of course, that’s when the muses struck. </p>
<p>Reader, I have no idea why I get the urge to create when I don’t have a moment to spare; it seems to be a theme in my life. One thing I do know as an artist: when the muses call, you stop what you’re doing and start creating (lest they stop inspiring you). And so, with a million things to do last week, I wrote a song, started a poem, and painted a 7’ by 7’ mural for the side of my building. </p>
<p>I’m not even certain how I’m awake writing a blog. </p>
<p>Whatever you’re up to this week, if inspiration strikes, I hope you follow it, no matter how inconvenient the timing. As I sit here and type with heavy eyes, I feel truly lucky to be alive and able to work and make things. I wish you this same exhilarating gratitude. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/ce6153af24e91b2b9a3f67d651aa648436dcb1f6/original/mural.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65942032021-04-04T20:18:08-05:002022-09-08T06:00:44-05:00Thirsty Souls<p>What a gorgeous day. </p>
<p>I spent the bulk of it working to get my restaurant ready to reopen next week, but I managed to squeeze in an hour or two with my kids. We hunted for Easter eggs and played hide and seek, and for a moment, the world felt really perfect. I was on a high all afternoon.</p>
<p>Reflecting on it tonight, I can see that the perfect feeling came from how damned hard this past week has been. I've been exhausted and spiritually run down. In the same way that a cold glass of water tastes better the thirstier I am, this day sated me in a way I can't really put into words. </p>
<p>But my soul sure must have been really, really thirsty.</p>
<p>Reader, just a reminder: we are hungry beings, and not just for food and water. Nourishment takes so many forms, and today--weird as it sounds--my soul got its fix from an Easter egg hunt. If you notice yourself feeling depleted this week, ask yourself what you need, and then go after it. It's important to work up a mental thirst, but then it's important to replenish. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/94e5969dea5e09d620e82d9e8cea9ca53087779f/original/easter.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65885222021-03-29T21:24:54-05:002021-03-29T21:24:54-05:00We're All Gonna Die!<p>Last week, my kids were on spring break from school, and I decided to take them to the Field Museum in Chicago. I figured it would be good for them to get a little more education in their lives.</p>
<p>(Also, the Avengers exhibit at The Museum of Science and Industry was sold out).</p>
<p>My kids are fascinated by dinosaurs, so we spent the bulk of our time in the dinosaur exhibit. If you've never been, I can't recommend it enough. The museum does a great job of making you feel like you've gone back in time billions of years. They walk you through ancient oceans and volcanoes and forests, teaching you about how various organisms came to be, and also how they died. The museum explains the 5 known "mass extinctions," and also explains that there will undoubtedly be another one.</p>
<p>Needless to say: the questions from the kids on the car ride home were intense. </p>
<p>As dark as it sounds, the idea of death and the passage of time really calmed me down this week. It's not the first time this has happened; the staff at my restaurant knows that I bring it up a lot, because it eases my stress about day-to-day frustrations. Reader, during times when we're inclined to magnify our worries--it often helps to zoom out, step back, and keep in mind how short our lives are. </p>
<p>(Cue Kansas singing "Dust In The Wind.")</p>
<p>I leave you with this picture of Sue the T-rex, just as a reminder: we're all gonna die! So enjoy every moment this week, and please don't sweat it all so much. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/dbb00bb26276686d374bef422437fc2cc80434b9/original/dinosaur.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65818302021-03-22T19:00:48-05:002021-03-22T19:00:48-05:00Open Mindedness<p>One of my resolutions for 2021 was to be more open minded. Since the beginning of the year, I've been trying to expose myself to fresh ideas in all realms of my life. </p>
<p>(Did you know pirate metal is an actual genre of music? Who knew).</p>
<p>Anyway, this week, I decided to expand my food horizons. My restaurant crew and I took a class on lacto-fermentation. It was so inspiring. I'm currently waiting for the results of home-made sauerkraut, mushroom kimchi, and brazil nut cheese. </p>
<p>Let's hope my stomach can handle the bravery of my newly open mind.</p>
<p>I'll tell you one thing for sure, Reader: experimentation and open-mindedness are a great cure for the doldrums. It's been a mentally taxing week for me, and learning new things has a great way of shaking things up and keeping up my energy. If you're looking for a boost this week, try doing something you've never done before. Plant new plants, listen to fresh music, hike a new trail. We're only stuck in a rut if we choose to be. </p>
<p>With that, my energized self is off to clock a little time at the piano. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/a5c288c25f29741880cc03bad5ddc0c939fea0ee/original/shrooms.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65733912021-03-14T11:05:13-05:002022-03-24T07:04:02-05:00Improvisation<p>My team and I hit a lot of roadblocks this week at my restaurant. We didn’t have the right tools for projects or the best food for recipes or enough money for equipment. </p>
<p>And when I focus on what I don’t have, it’s enough to make me want to quit. </p>
<p>But instead of giving up because of our lack of the “right” or the “best” or “enough” of things, we rolled with it. We worked with what we had. We made do with old tools, sub-par ingredients, and make-shift equipment. (Who knew paper straws could come in handy when installing tile flooring?) </p>
<p>Reader, this week was a big reminder for me not to give up on anything just because my resources and circumstances aren’t ideal. Sometimes the best innovations come from not having much in your favor. </p>
<p>I hope your week is filled with this kind of resourcefulness. I’m so grateful for the people in my life, reminding me how to improvise. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/5f5b83f0b9e9b8442bef474c1da16dde06ca7a19/original/improv.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65678992021-03-08T07:57:17-06:002021-03-08T07:57:17-06:00Bumper Sticker Wisdom<p>I was a rigid kid. I laid out my world in self-made black and white guidelines. I remember the day I decided I’d never put bumper stickers on a car or get any tattoos. I didn’t want to commit to being a walking advertisement for any one thing. Because what if I didn’t endorse it later on? </p>
<p>Today, I’m a tattooed woman with a bunch of bumper stickers on my car. So much for rigidity. </p>
<p>Anyway, I’ve got bumper stickers on the brain because they led to an epiphany for me this week. Have you seen the COEXIST bumper sticker? It’s fairly iconic, comprised of the symbols of a lot of major religions. To me, the meaning is: exist at the same time with those who believe differently than you, maybe even those you dislike. </p>
<p>On Wednesday, I saw the COEXIST bumper sticker just as I was leaving my restaurant. It’s been a trying time at work, and my anxiety has been on the upswing. The more I try to calm it down or pretend it’s not there, the more anxious I become. I was at the beginning of a panic attack when I saw that bumper sticker. </p>
<p>And I felt like the sticker was telling me something different: coexist within YOURSELF. </p>
<p>Now maybe the revelation felt bigger in my head, and maybe I won’t be able to describe it perfectly in a blog, but I’ll try. </p>
<p>We don’t need to wipe out all anxiety to enjoy ourselves. We can be tense and also have happiness. We can be grieving and still have belly laughs. We can be angry and still care for others. There is no need to have just one singular emotion or feeling at one time. They can all exist within us. Just acknowledge them all and make room for the more useful ones. </p>
<p>Reader, rigidity is for the birds. There’s nothing bad or good about emotions…they’re a part of our lives. Attempting to eradicate my anxiety has only made it worse. I’m going to attempt to follow my personal interpretation of the bumper sticker this week, and hope it’s a little less stressful. I leave you with this picture of the deer in the field by my house…just because it calms me down. I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/f91289d33e6dae92d8c05cd8589e9f6003843f9d/original/deer.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65618892021-03-01T13:45:10-06:002022-04-28T05:23:46-05:00Hoarders & What We Save For Later<p>I have anxiety in cluttered spaces. Rooms with lots of knick-knacks bring out my claustrophobia. (Which is a damn shame because I really love a good knick-knack.) Lots of my friends hold onto items because they think they'll use them later. My dad did that. And while I can respect that kind of resourcefulness, having lots of stuff lying around just makes me tense.</p>
<p>Although I gotta hand it to dad: anything I ever needed was usually up in our attic.</p>
<p>Anyway, this was an interesting week for me as a songwriter. A couple months ago, a melody came to me while I was waking up one day. I wished I had the words to go with it, but there was really no story that seemed to fit with those chords. And you know, if that melody had been a knick-knack, I would have thrown it out immediately before it had a chance to gather dust. Instead, I wrote it down and put it in a notebook.</p>
<p>Then yesterday--after a hard conversation with a friend--words started pouring from me so easily and quickly that I had a hard time writing them all down. So I pulled out the notebook with the melody, and a powerful song--that started weeks ago--was completed in a matter of minutes.</p>
<p>And all because I wasn't too quick to toss out that melody.</p>
<p>Reader, I'm in no position to judge anybody, but I learned a lesson this week: providing there's a little organization involved, it pays to hold onto some things, especially if they could be a part of your creations as an artist or musician or writer. While they may not have immediate use, those little bits and pieces of inspiration may come in handy later on. Sometimes clutter really pays off.</p>
<p>With that, I'm off to keep writing. I got a little good news this week: one of my tunes is a semi-finalist in the International Songwriting Competition. While that kind of recognition doesn't make or break my relationship with music, sometimes it's just nice to have a little boost to keep you going. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/607bd660497577bfcec41c206c2c98476d8ecb53/original/isc.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65560052021-02-22T20:19:43-06:002022-04-04T15:53:14-05:00I'm A Creep. I'm A Weirdo<p>I took a solo vacation this week. From Wednesday to Saturday, I rented a small stone house (with surprisingly nice acoustics) in Mineral Point, Wisconsin. I loaded in my instruments, made a lot of food, and spent hours every day at the piano. Outside, the snow was falling peacefully. The hills were rolling. The waterfalls were frozen and stunning. And with everything being so damned beautiful out there, I was certain I would create equally beautiful and peaceful songs. </p>
<p>Nope. I wrote angry, pounding, dissonant songs with lyrics so cutting I’d be afraid to meet me in a dark alley. </p>
<p>And I truly have no idea where the songs came from, but apparently, my muses needed me to know that I’m miffed about a lot more than I knew. </p>
<p>Reader, I’m going to keep it short tonight because I’ve written a lot this week. Please let my crazy songwriting excursion serve as a reminder: we have so much more going on beneath the surface than we know. As busy as life gets, we absolutely need an outlet to express ourselves, not just to express what we <em>think </em>is on our minds, but maybe more importantly: what we<em> don’t even know</em> is on our minds. </p>
<p>And I guess my mind had a LOT of creepy stuff in there that I've been suppressing. I’m relieved it’s finally out in the open..in song form. I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/53b0c7a9e1f9fb5c1dc73e4ab49d2c52f6f89c3f/original/waterfall.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65483612021-02-13T18:00:00-06:002021-02-14T16:13:29-06:00The Power of Helplessness<p>My restaurant is still closed, and the renovations continue. Last week, I drove to Wisconsin, picked up the all the pieces needed to construct an 8’ x 8’ walk-in cooler, and drove them back to Illinois in a snowstorm. I called in the staff to help me load them into the kitchen area. And then it dawned on me. </p>
<p><em>I have no clue what the hell I’m doing. </em></p>
<p>(It’s an all-too familiar phrase for me; I’ve always jumped into projects before I’m ready. Damned unearned confidence.) </p>
<p>But the job needed to get done. So I tore apart the packaging and searched for some written directions. All I found was a single-page diagram with no explanation of what any of the pieces were or how to put them together. I felt powerless. So what did I do? </p>
<p>I got hot with rage and blamed the person who wrote the diagram. </p>
<p>Reader, when we feel lost, it’s easy to let our fear spin into a fury. It feels almost like we’re back in control; it’s even a little empowering. But it doesn’t change anything. I still had no idea what the hell I was doing. </p>
<p>After about an hour, I let go of the rage, and leaned into the helplessness. I made a few phone calls to people who might know what to do. I did some Googling. I bought a few tools, and I calmly started to tackle the cooler until it was built. </p>
<p>My restaurant team made a resolution for 2021: when we have a problem that makes us feel lost, we brainstorm a way to fix things before we react. We don’t run from our feelings, or blame somebody else for them. Solutions will come from coexisting with helplessness and working through it. </p>
<p>I leave you with a picture of my brand-new walk-in cooler. I’m really proud of it. Whatever you’re working on this week, I hope you’re leaning into it. See you next Monday. -Em </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/61dbedbcffa0c2f318adaa48b2b5ab099ceb33bb/original/walk-in.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65423412021-02-07T20:30:57-06:002021-02-07T20:30:57-06:00Scratch Your Own Ears<p>In 2006, I adopted my dog, Hank. He was a 3 month-old border collie mutt that was a brownish blackish puffball with big eyes and a calm demeanor. He looked more like a toy than an animal. I used to walk him down the streets of Chicago, and he would stop traffic. I remember being late to meetings because so many strangers wanted to pet my puppy.</p>
<p>As he grew, he became far more intelligent, playful, and even empathetic. But as a full-sized dog, strangers didn't want to pet him anymore. I remember him being confused when we would pass people on the sidewalk, and zero ear scratches were given.</p>
<p>(I learned then that canine depression is a real thing.)</p>
<p>Anyway, I often think of Hank's confusion and how it resonates with me. This week was my birthday, which just happens to fall 2 days after my 4 year-old daughter's birthday. As you might expect, we had a giant party for my kid: I got her a piñata, presents, and I even made a 6-layer rainbow cake. For me? Well we ordered a pizza so I didn't have to cook. </p>
<p>Happy birthday to me.</p>
<p>And don't get me wrong. I wasn't expecting more, and I tried to enjoy my day. But it got me thinking about how much energy and attention goes to the young--who will barely remember things like birthdays--and how that attention fades as we age. We get used to the idea that we're less relevant the older we get. The phenomenon seems to run rampant in several walks of life: I once had a talent agent in Nashville tell me I couldn't 'make it' as a recording artist past the age of 30.</p>
<p>Apparently--in Nashville--one's outward appearance affects their singing abilities.</p>
<p>Reader, I'm not sure what causes us to find youth adorable and age unremarkable. As far as I can tell, the older we get, the more interesting we become. Our personalities are defined. Our character is honed. Our experiences are richer and our emotions are tempered. Do we need a people to fawn over us to make us feel special? Absolutely not. But should we will remember to continue to care for ourselves more as we receive less care from others? </p>
<p>Absolutely.</p>
<p>I leave you with a picture of this absurd cake I made for me daughter. I threw her one heck of a party, because she's young, and she needs it. Tonight, I'm booking myself a songwriting retreat, because I'm old, and I need it. When the world stops scratching your ears, you gotta learn to scratch em yourself. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/a299be92337cad0c60bdc8d76ba0338afba731de/original/cake.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><!-- more -->Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65367702021-02-01T19:11:39-06:002021-02-01T19:11:39-06:00The End Of The Road<p>Three years ago, I heard that a restaurant in Chicago called Honey Butter Fried Chicken was giving away furniture. So on a cold winter’s day, I nearly broke body loading a 17 foot, 400 pound wooden bench onto a boat trailer and bringing it home with me to Rockford. I lugged it through my restaurant door, sanded it, finished it, and rested it against my bar wall for all eternity. My mom said: </p>
<p>“That’s a lot of work for one bench. What if you want to move it someday?” </p>
<p>And I remember saying, “I’m never gonna move this thing.” </p>
<p>But eventually, never happens. </p>
<p>My restaurant doesn’t need an enormous bench anymore. We need more shelving. And so yesterday, I hauled the 17 foot, 400 pound wooden bench into storage so I had more space to build shelves. This week alone, I closed the chapter on almost a dozen pieces of equipment, furniture, and systems that I expected to last forever. </p>
<p>I struggle knowing that something I’ve started will one day come to a finish, especially when I worked so hard for it. I’ve never been good at hitting the end of those hard-earned roads. But this week, I had a profound, almost happy lightness about all of it. The end of the road isn’t an end. It’s a chance. It’s a release. It’s a beginning, a fresh chapter in a new a book. And all the work that came before was not for nothing: it was what we needed to do to get us to our newest opportunity. </p>
<p>And good Lord, do I have a lot of work to do on this new opportunity. </p>
<p>Anyway, I look forward to tearing down my old work this week and ushering in something new. Reader, don’t forget that your hard work isn’t living inside objects; it’s living inside you, getting you on your way. See you next Monday. -Em<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/20e15202b000766816e4f731ce3d70f37d78682e/original/wall.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65295272021-01-24T21:24:09-06:002021-01-24T21:43:57-06:00Good Sense, Bad Creativity<p>I've been writing songs as long as I can remember. </p>
<p>As a teenager, I only let my mom and dad listen to the songs; theirs was the only opinion I had the guts to hear. Then in my early 20's, I started sharing my songs with more people, eventually playing them around Chicago. Not only was writing songs a cathartic (maybe even religious) practice for me, but sharing them with others seemed to do something for them, too. I wrote about heartbreak and lust and city life, and these concepts resonated well with others.</p>
<p>Oh, to be young.</p>
<p>Then in my 30's, I didn't often have "relatable" things to write. Themes got more personal. I wrote about seeing my dad's ashes after he died. I wrote about my daughter being born with a rare syndrome. I wrote about finding mouse bones in my hair while I was renovating a building into a restaurant, and I wrote about my relationship with the guys running the black barbershop next door. Unsurprisingly, most of my fans didn't understand the songs. They missed the good old days of me writing about my late nights in Chicago with handsome strangers.</p>
<p>And every now and then, I try to will myself to write songs that people want to hear. I try to package up the words and music in a way that seems "right" to the listeners. And the end result?</p>
<p>Lame tunes that don't stir up a single emotion in me.</p>
<p>Pablo Picasso famously said, "The chief enemy of creativity is 'good' sense." And man, his words feel so true. Because while we may need to learn the skills of HOW to make something, deciding WHAT we make is not something that can be taught, and there's no right or wrong to it. Creativity is fraught with bizarre, imperfect energy. What we make is not meant to be good or to make sense for others: it's meant to be what it is.</p>
<p>Reader, if you're a maker of ANYTHING--from oil paintings to dinner--I remind you that making things 'nice' isn't always the best way to make things. Push boundaries. Be true to your emotions. Let your art be spontaneous and honest. This next year is going to require innovative, original solutions from all of us as we try to pull ourselves out of our divisive ways during a still-surging pandemic. New ideas will need to be born to respond to our unique problems. So let's keep our creative juices primed by allowing ourselves to create from a place free of judgement and full of courage.</p>
<p>I leave you with a picture of my 5 year-old son, John. His creative idea today was to a make a stain-glassed mitten, hang it in the window, then have me take a picture of him holding a clementine in front of it, pretending to be a pirate. Does any of that make sense? No. Is it one-of-a-kind, classic John? You betcha, and I saluted him for that. May you have this kind of courage and freedom as you create this week. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/7228b767c655c1cc72ee142cd025a718ac6d15b5/original/john.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65244812021-01-18T21:11:37-06:002021-01-18T21:11:37-06:00Surface Fixes<p>I have a tendency to fix major problems with surface solutions. Those broken eyeglasses? Tape them. That burn on the wood floor? Get a rug. That broken heart? Have a scotch.</p>
<p>And while these fixes don't solve the problem, they temporarily make it better.</p>
<p>That's been the theme of this whole year at my restaurant: I temporarily made a lot of things better. When we found out that we would be forced to close our dining room, we turned our restaurant into a market. We accomplished this feat as quickly as building the set of a high school play. And while we may have fooled the public, behind the scenes, it was a mess. The 5,000 square foot basement became an enormous catch all for junk upon junk upon junk. Broken shelves got more broken. Faulty equipment gave out completely. But as long as the plan was working, I let it all go.</p>
<p>This week, I didn't. </p>
<p>I got right in there. I have a sore back as I type tonight, and it feels great. I threw out clutter. I organized storage. I built a workshop, mended shelves, and made an equipment plan. No more surface fixes for me this year. I'm ready to tackle the big fish.</p>
<p>Reader, if there's any issues that you've swept under the rug, consider staring it in the face and giving it a go. I can't tell you how much more buoyant I feel after pushing myself this week to truly heal the problems that I've previously only bandaged. Looking forward to more of the same next week. See you next Monday.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/dc973008f8a5bb5987c8491d00526270b4c28865/original/workshop.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65186292021-01-11T21:47:25-06:002021-01-11T21:47:25-06:00Points of View<p>I've never purchased a new piece of furniture. Not only because I've never had the money, but also because I spent 12 years living in Chicago, where the couches, tables, and chairs left in the alley by former tenants seemed fine enough for me to use. I'd give those wares a good cleaning and move them into my apartment without thinking twice.</p>
<p>I have a good friend who was disgusted by my alley acquisitions. She eventually had a hard time coming over. See, I would look at my studio spaces--decked out in found furnishings--and see a beautiful display of funky styles from various eras, existing serendipitously in my living room as a result of my resourcefulness.</p>
<p>She saw filth and germs.</p>
<p>And we laughed about how we could both be looking at the same room and feel so differently about it. We chalked it up to having different points of view.</p>
<p>I miss laughing about different points of view.</p>
<p>Reader, watching the storming of the capitol this week rocked me to my core. But what made it even harder was hearing the points of view from my conservative friends after the fact. Many of them saw the rioters as patriots. Many of them saw justice being served. Many of them saw victory. And initially, I started to question my point of view. </p>
<p><i>What am I not seeing? Do they know something I don't? </i> <i>Some of these people were wearing 6MWE (6 million wasn't enough) t-shirts, referring to Jews in the Holocaust. Some arrived at the capitol with zip ties for handcuffing. Some called out congresspeople by name with guns in their hands.</i> <em> These people are acting like assholes. What am I missing? </em></p>
<p>Clearly, I'm missing a lot.</p>
<p>Dear Reader, I'm having a difficult time finding words for how dark these times feel to me. And I don't have a sense of optimism as we go into 2021, but I do have resolve to continue to keep my eyes open and my guard up. These are crazy times. People believe only what they want to believe. That's very scary. I feel in my gut that it's time for us all to be very alert</p>
<p>I leave you with this picture of the field next to my house on Wednesday night. It was so ominous, much like the events of the week. As much as I like to see the bright side of things, I feel like we have a long way to go to come together and see each others' points of view, and it's important to be honest about that fact while we continue to try. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/566fa99660a53df6327e84d13d4ab430aa6c7ffc/original/fog.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65136482021-01-04T20:54:02-06:002021-07-06T06:31:09-05:00Hunt Carefully<p>I awoke this morning to a forest full of hoar frost. It was as if every twig of every tree was crystalline. And even though I've seen this phenomenon before and understand the science behind it, there's always something magical about it when it happens. </p>
<p>Later on, I saw three deer amble through the woods. They didn't seem scared of me at all. Between the deer, the hoar frost, and today being the 8 year anniversary of my Dad's death, I decided that it was all a big sign, meant to remind me that life is short. and I should keep going.</p>
<p>And so that became the truth.</p>
<p>Reader, it's a funny thing: we generally find exactly what we're looking for. And sometimes, that's wonderful. But sometimes, it's not. If we go looking for problems in our relationships, we usually find them. And if we go looking for loving acts in our relationships, we usually find them. If we look for justice in the world, we will find it, just like we would if we were searching for injustice. Today, I looked for magic in the woods, and I found it. What would have happened if I looked for sadness?</p>
<p>You get the gist. </p>
<p>I plan on hunting more carefully in 2021, and I invite you to do the same. Look for the good; I bet we'll find it, every time. </p>
<p>My restaurant is closed indefinitely now until indoor dining resumes, and I plan on spending more time intentionally seeking out what I'd like to see. Here's to a new outlook. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/024c63462227c05852360527799d6a056e22c728/original/hoar-frost.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65089282020-12-28T07:47:19-06:002020-12-28T07:47:19-06:00Crazy Measures<p>Today, I'm hosting our restaurant's staff holiday party in the woods behind our house. With COVID-19 still on the rampage in Northern Illinois, we figured an outdoor gathering was safest. It snowed last night, and we hope our staff dresses warmly.</p>
<p>But if they don't, we dug a hole in the ground, built a rocket stove, filled the hole with water, and are attempting to give them a hot tub.</p>
<p>Crazy times call for crazy measures.</p>
<p>Reader, I'm keeping it short because I'm anxious to spoil my employees. This has been the rockiest year of my life. Far and away. I've learned three big lessons. First, I've learned that people are the most important thing in my life, and I've learned to tell them that I love them every day. Second I've learned to ask myself regularly what I can control, and what I cannot. Finally I've learned that we actually can meet insane challenges by coming up with insane solutions. </p>
<p>Wishing you a safe, healthy, & happy New Year, and I'll see you on Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/a23e5d1aad3cc121a7bcf09562b5f13ec938c64e/original/hot-tub.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/65051782020-12-21T23:16:44-06:002020-12-21T23:16:44-06:00Team Recklessness<p>It was one thing to lead a reckless life when I was on my own. </p>
<p>I used to take off on a solo concert tour and sleep in my car every night. I'd eat bar olives for dinner and drink a scotch for dessert. I would write songs on a ukulele while I was driving and then use tour money to make albums that few people would buy.</p>
<p>(Ah the good old days).</p>
<p>But it's another thing to lead a reckless life surrounded by a team. The risks I took alone only impacted me. But now as a mother, a wife, and the de facto leader of a 21 person restaurant crew, any crazy choices I make will either elevate or incriminate all of the people around me.</p>
<p>Those poor, wonderful fools.</p>
<p>As the year comes to an end, I can't help but feel grateful for the humans in my life. At the restaurant, I have asked a lot of our team. In June, I asked them to show up in our woods to build 6 harvest tables and an outdoor pavilion. And they grabbed their hammers. In October, I asked them to stop everything they were hired to do and instead help me construct an indoor market. And they built the sweetest little store I've seen. This past weekend, I asked them to bundle up and serve our customers outside in the bitter cold. And they looked like beautiful eskimos out there, delivering martinis.</p>
<p>Then there's my family. This fall, I asked my kids to spend their precious Sundays filming a kid's cooking class for other children. And they rolled up their sleeves and were spectacular little bakers (most days). This winter, I asked my mother to turn her house into a warehouse for jars, boxes, and labels for the market. And she is now living in what looks like a bottle factory. This past weekend, I asked my husband to help me put together an event for kids. And he went above and beyond, dressing up as Kristoff, the Nordic Disney prince.</p>
<p>At any point, these people could've said no. Maybe they even should've said no. Instead, they followed me into the fire, and now that we're on the other side--a bit burned and only a little worse for wear--I can say that having them by my side made me work harder than I've ever worked in my life. I would've done anything not to let them down. They gave me their best, so I gave them my best. That intense respect and commitment to each other is absolutely priceless. It makes the risks riskier, but it also makes the successes so much more sweet.</p>
<p>Reader, I may not blog next week; I'm hosting an outdoor holiday "party" (distanced of course) for my staff. We've all been through so much this year. If you're lucky enough to have had friends or colleagues by your side through it all, cherish them. It takes a really special person to stand by us through all of our insane struggles and bizarre solutions to them. I know I cherish mine.</p>
<p>See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/da4964a9e7747319a513db29a04de90fe47ca1e8/original/mark.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64990502020-12-14T10:16:10-06:002020-12-14T10:16:10-06:00Creating the Magic<p>Being a kid during the holidays and experiencing all the light-hearted magic is wonderful. </p>
<p>Being an adult during the holidays and creating all the light-hearted magic is HARD. </p>
<p>This week—both at home and at work—I devoted my time to getting other humans into the holiday spirit. We decorated the house. We made ornaments. I made the kids give some of their toys to others. I made Christmas cookies at work, and I bought presents for all of my staff. </p>
<p>And I’m exhausted. But my heart is full. </p>
<p>Reader, if you’re having a hard time getting into the holiday spirit this year, it helped me to get generous. Not with money, but with time and energy. </p>
<p>God knows I need to redirect my energy. </p>
<p>I’ve become bitter this year, watching how politicians have abandoned my industry and my employees. It has consumed my mind to think about how my restaurant has been forced to close for indoor dining since October 3rdwith no relief in place. </p>
<p>But bitterness is a waste of energy. Focusing on how angry I am has done nothing to change my situation. Truly, nothing. Yet focusing on how I can do the most good? Well that’s been a bit of magic for me this week. </p>
<p>Wishing you the same vibes. I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/2239d5425db2378999911d48f7354c884bac17e7/original/wooden-guy.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64934042020-12-07T10:54:55-06:002021-03-13T04:26:51-06:00Earning Your Beer<p>Growing up, my parents had very few rules for me. I was allowed to do almost anything. I was allowed to cuss. I was allowed to drink underage. I was allowed to wander off unattended down miles of railroad track, and I was allowed to stay out late with boys.</p>
<p>(Not that there were ever any boys. I was usually too busy wandering unattended down the railroad track.)</p>
<p>But I wasn't allowed to lie. I wasn't allowed to gossip about people. And I wasn't allowed to be lazy. Those were the three enforceable rules of our home, and I've carried them into our household today.</p>
<p>I got to thinking the other day about how my family prized being hard-working. Dad used to say he loved sitting down at the end of the day, knowing he had put in a hard day's work. And I agree: a beer doesn't taste as good if you haven't worked up a sweat and earned it.</p>
<p>Now I've worked harder than I've ever worked this year. Between fighting for the restaurant, my music career, and my kids' education, you would think that I might feel like I've earned the damn beer. But something terrible has happened. </p>
<p>The proverbial beer doesn't even sound good. I'm craving work. And now I think I've become a full-blown work-a-holic.</p>
<p>Reader, even though being hard-working is good, there's a balance, and I'm not nailing it. Too much is too much. We have to know when to punch out at the end of the day. As we all head into the holidays, let's be sure we're striving for balance. I'm going to spend the final weeks of 2020 resolving to seek more equanimity in 2021. It might not happen, but it's something to shoot for.</p>
<p>And I'm starting right now by putting aside my computer and enjoying my kids. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/489006202a3f5938b368b373d9164d6d5ef729a9/original/kids-under-bed.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64887112020-11-30T15:44:00-06:002020-11-30T15:44:00-06:00Concert this week<p>You know what I miss most in this year of Covid? </p>
<p>It’s not just the usual family gatherings and hugs, although I do miss those. It’s not visiting theatres or restaurants or live concerts, although I REALLY miss those. And it’s not even the money that I made before I was unemployed, because let’s be honest: there was never much to miss. </p>
<p>But I miss connection like crazy. Real shared air, shared experience and closeness and the reciprocal boost of energy and understanding that came with it.</p>
<p>Reader, I’m keeping it brief tonight. This Wednesday, I’m playing a concert online, and I hope you’ll come to it. Any donation gets you in, and <a contents="the link is here." data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.eventcombo.com/e/Virtual-Dream-Caf-Presents-Strong--True--Laura-Joy-Emily-Hurd-and-Sue-Fink-In-the-Round-41106">the link is here.</a> I haven’t played a show in a while, and I’m looking forward to singing for you all. No, it won’t be the same as sharing a show in the real world. But it’s the best we can do during these times, and the best we can do is still worth doing.</p>
<p>Please send extra love to a restaurant worker this week. We are so tired. It’s hard to be in the hospitality industry when circumstances make it hard to be hospitable. I'll see you back here again next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/f150e17a8e9fa3d15e15356194607c253c061b8d/original/concert-promo.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64843112020-11-23T19:24:38-06:002020-11-23T19:24:38-06:00Bob Hope<p>The ringing in my ears came back this week. I haven't heard it much since my dad died. It's usually a sign that I'm under a lot of stress. </p>
<p>No joke.</p>
<p>I'm carrying 20 employees through a pandemic at a restaurant with a dining room that is forced closed. I've never been more afraid and am fighting for every dollar they get. I'm working about 90 hours a week while getting paid $90 a week, just trying to get the team through this closure. The weekly payroll feels like a weight on my shoulders. This is the scariest time of my life. I've been having nightmares of being eaten alive by snakes and crocodiles.</p>
<p>Such pleasant times.</p>
<p>Anyway, I had what I believe was a panic on Tuesday. In the middle of it, I found myself physically convulsing, and then doing something I haven't done in years: I asked the heavens for a sign. Not for a big sign. Not for help, or even to have my load lightened. Just for something to tell me I'm on the right track.</p>
<p>Yesterday, I got it. And the sign was Bob Hope.</p>
<p>When I was little girl, I grew up just down the street from a house with a very tall and odd-looking statue of Bob Hope. At the time, I didn't know he was a famous actor and comedian. I just thought Bob Hope was a made-up character, meant to instill hope in everybody who drove by.</p>
<p>A few weeks ago, I was out by my first house, and I drove by that Bob Hope statue again; I saw that the owners were having an estate sale. The thought crossed my mind that Bob Hope would be getting a new home, and I'd never see him again.</p>
<p>Then on Sunday, I was driving home to my current house. Just a few doors down, here he was: Bob Hope. My new neighbors must have bought the statue at that estate sale. Bob Hope is following me around apparently. In fact, he's even closer now than he was before.</p>
<p>And that was all I needed. I burst out laughing, and felt instantly lighter.</p>
<p>Reader, whether you believe in hippie signs or not, I hope you can find something that makes keep going this week, something that reminds you of the bigger picture and of your place in this world. I believe it's worth looking for. We all need to know we're on the right track. It helps keep us light in these very dark times.</p>
<p>With that, I'm off to an early bed. Hoping my unconscious mind doesn't allow me to be consumed by crocodiles tonight. I'll see you next Monday. Keep hope alive. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/56b95c903b0fcfdab8796e7d1a9c7df1942ab5ac/original/bob-hope.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64788472020-11-16T11:44:30-06:002022-04-16T10:53:15-05:00Renouncing the Renowned<p>As a songwriter, I've spent more time and money than I'd like to admit hunting for publicity. Most of us independent musicians are looking for a feature in Rolling Stone or No Depression or some renowned source with a lot of followers. We're all vying for ear space in an increasingly noisy world, and we look to those who've had success for at least a little guidance and at most a little ride on their coattails.</p>
<p>A couple years ago--before I was a restaurant owner--I was still chasing that ride. But today? I've had it with the press. I've had it with chasing quotes. And I've definitely had it with believing what anybody else thinks of me.</p>
<p>(Needless to say: it's been a long week).</p>
<p>My local news stations and newspaper ran a false story about my restaurant last week, saying it had closed permanently. The false story was damaging to our business, our self esteem, and our positivity in an already trying time. (The State of Illinois issued an Executive Order, closing indoor dining; as far as I can tell, we're one of the few restaurants in town actually following the order, though no one in town is enforcing it).</p>
<p>I had a revelation about it all last week. The only reason the papers and the news have any clout is because we give it to them. We follow them and subscribe to them and comment on their posts. But seeing how little they care about dispensing correct information? I'm just not subscribing anymore.</p>
<p>Reader, this is a very easy time to feel helpless. There is a virus that is still out of our control that is posing a major risk to our health, happiness, and livelihoods. And with so much out of our control, let's remember what we can control. We can control what we consume. We can control what we allow to affect us. We can control what we let into our minds and hearts, and we can control what we choose to release.</p>
<p>And this week, I'm releasing the local media and governing bodies' power over me. Today, I'm breathing a little deeper and feeling a little more light. Hopefully that extra energy will carry me through the week, and I hope you've got enough to carry you, too. I leave you with this picture of my very open restaurant. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/9475b57b986d136ab85d4f427c4218ac80bdadcc/original/market.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64738042020-11-09T18:33:15-06:002020-11-25T21:34:03-06:00Embracing Our Superpowers<p>This week--amidst Biden's victory and bizarre weather from El Niña and more coronavirus explosions in Northern Illinois--my little brunch pub opened an indoor market to make ends meet. </p>
<p>(As one does, in 2020.)</p>
<p>So we built life-size versions of our favorite holiday decorations. We brought in coolers and freezers to display pre-packaged products like soups and sauces. We built a lot of shelving, and we set up 2 model trains and even a couple fog machines for effect.</p>
<p>In short, we leaned into our strengths: building things and getting whimsical.</p>
<p>And as fun as it was, when it all came together, I got nervous.</p>
<p>The voices in my head were running amok. <em>Why am I doing all of this? Why can't I just figure out how to build a better on-line ordering system like a professional? Do I honestly think this is the best way to save my business & my staff? </em>The voices continued. They got louder. By the time customers started arriving on Thursday, they were deafening. I found myself apologizing to patrons like an insecure dummy for what I had done, wishing I wasn't always trying to make things magical to fix real-life problems.</p>
<p>And then after about at hour of opening the market--with the negative voices still crystal clear in my mind--my 5 year-old son came running into the restaurant, dressed in his usual Spiderman attire: Spidey sweatshirt, Spidey socks, Spidey t-shirt. He unapologetically ran through the crowd, joyfully pretending to shoot everyone w/ spiderwebs from his wrists.</p>
<p>That's when it hit me: <strong>we have to embrace our superpowers.</strong></p>
<p>We all have strengths, and they're not the same as anyone else's. Why do we push back against our own gifts?<strong> </strong>My gift is in building whimsy, not creating a professional on-line order system. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with either talent, just because they don't look the same as each other.</p>
<p>Which is why we have so many superheroes.</p>
<p>Reader if you too feel anxiety as you compare yourself to others, don't forget to revel in what you have that makes you unique. When times get tough, let's celebrate our strengths and use them to our advantage. No sense turning our backs on what we've been given, especially these days.</p>
<p>With that, this whimsical woman is off to read her kids a bedtime story. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/b7a982f4ac8921677d5bab1946a639b1e549a616/original/pyramid.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64690042020-11-02T19:50:02-06:002020-11-02T19:50:02-06:00Surround Yourself<p>There's an election tomorrow. The outcome will have a direct impact on all of us in a number of ways. And to say I'm anxious about it is an understatement.</p>
<p>As I sit here tonight, I can't help but think of an old boyfriend of mine. He was abusive. I don't talk about it much. And I try not to think about it much. But tonight, I can't get it off my mind.</p>
<p>The thing about abusive relationships is that they don't start that way. They start out great with just a few red flags. Then something 'sort of' bad happens, but you assume it's just an anomaly, and the relationship seems mostly alright. Then 'sort of' bad becomes 'outright' bad, and then it slowly evolves into 'terrible name-calling and being thrown around a room until you can safely escape to a friend's house, where you're surrounded by good people who remind you what real love and happiness is.'</p>
<p>That's how I feel about the last four years under this administration.</p>
<p>There is nothing normal or 'sort of' bad about what's happening in our country. The richest and most powerful among us are either too busy bickering or just too disinterested to notice the suffering among the majority of Americans. The President who started his tenure by calling a few names and making a couple bad calls has now made a mockery of a virus that has killed almost 250,000 people here, cozied up with Putin, lauded supremacist groups, alienated us from our allies, bullied the weak, and done nothing to support the most vulnerable population during this economic disaster.</p>
<p>I want it to stop.</p>
<p>Reader, I hope you vote tomorrow. And no matter what happens, remember that the current state of affairs is not just a little bad. It's terrible. We are now so far beyond any kind of bad behavior that I've ever seen. Whether or not this administration comes to an end, I was reminded this week that we can still free ourselves from the mental anguish of it all by surrounding ourselves with good people who remind us what real love and happiness is. </p>
<p>I leave you with a picture of one of my employees and friends. This past week, my staff and I have been working around the clock to transform my restaurant into a storefront to try to make it through this forced closure. Clocking so much time with such tremendous humans is what has made me see that--no matter how bad things get in the world--the good people will always shine a light through the chaos. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/7f45fa3e5ad4b53a2f0ebcc351a0f643058d535f/original/josh.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64634742020-10-26T12:55:49-05:002020-10-26T12:55:49-05:00Uncle<p>Remember when you were a kid, and your older brother used to pin you to the ground and make you say "uncle?"</p>
<p>I feel like 2020 is that older brother. And this week, I finally said it.</p>
<p>With a heavy heart, I temporarily closed my restaurant yesterday. It was just becoming financially, mentally, and emotionally unsustainable. From February, 2015 until December, 2018, I transformed that old building in Rockford into a Nordic cabin of a dining room, made to transport my customers to a cozy, mountaintop nook where they could meet their neighbors, hear local musicians, and sample great foods from a scratch kitchen. </p>
<p>There's just no good way to put that experience into a carry-out box.</p>
<p>And so I'm pivoting once again. The staff and I are turning the space into a holiday Snømarket and fresh food shop. I'm not sure it'll work, but I have to try something new. I'm out of tricks in the old format. Time to start fresh. </p>
<p>Reader, I've worked so hard to have a "never-say-die" attitude. And that attitude remains. But that attitude really can't fix absolutely everything. If you too find yourself banging your head against the same wall, remember: you don't have to give up.</p>
<p>You may just need to find a new wall.</p>
<p>Wish me luck! See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/fe330896532b1f3e29521afba8f095e73bb5a2ec/original/akvavit-promo.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64592962020-10-19T18:47:14-05:002020-10-19T18:47:14-05:00Replenish<p>If you’ve ever worked at a restaurant, you’ve probably partaken in “family meal.” It’s the meal the entire staff enjoys together at the beginning (or end) of a service. It’s usually cobbled together by throwing a bunch of errant ingredients in a pan, and even when it doesn’t taste great, it still tastes pretty damn good. </p>
<p>Family meal is meaningful in the service industry because we spend our entire days serving others. So when we slow down and take the time to serve ourselves and our crew, it feels extra replenishing. </p>
<p>And holy hell, do we need replenishing these days. </p>
<p>I don’t know about you, Reader, but for the past week, I’m not even running on fumes anymore. I’m a walking zombie, scaring small children and even myself. My restaurant is in constant flux that’s out of my control. (<em>We’re open! We’re closed! We’re half-way open! Somebody’s got Covid! 5 people have allergies, but what if it’s really Covid??!</em>) It’s been incredibly draining, and my crew and I are running ourselves into the ground, trying everything to give our restaurant a fighting chance to make it through this pandemic.</p>
<p>Rewind to a few weeks ago. A friend who works at Anderson Japanese Gardens in Rockford reached out to me and asked if I’d play music outside in the garden on October 17th. I never say no to playing gigs outside, so I agreed. I forgot all about it until this past Saturday, when I realized that I had to leave my restaurant to go sing and play music for koi fish overlooking a pond at a Japanese garden. </p>
<p>I felt so frustrated as I was driving to the gig. (<em>Why do I sign up for these things? What was I thinking? I don’t have time for this!</em>) I loaded in through a winding pathway up a hill. (<em>This is insane! Who lugs an 80 lb keyboard uphill through a rock garden?! Are those tourists taking a picture of me right now?</em>). I set up everything in a small pagoda, just as a huge gust of wind came by and blew my microphone into the pond. (<em>This wind is crazy! I’m going to freeze out here! My nose is running! OMG DO I HAVE COVID??</em>) </p>
<p>But then I started to play. Singing has a way of forcing us to breathe. We take deep breaths in, then we make long, controlled exhales, emptying our diaphragms. The gig was 2 hours long. By the end of it, I felt absolutely restored. </p>
<p>And I even got paid for it. </p>
<p>The moral is: <strong>replenish replenish replenish</strong>. Just like family meal, we cannot serve others well while we are zombies. We must sit and serve ourselves as well. You’d think I’d learn by now. If you too are feeling zapped, take two hours to nourish your body. For me, it happened by accident this week. </p>
<p>And what a happy accident it was. Take care of yourself, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/701c1356145b90b53db377870a766bf0e23d2044/original/anderson.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64543022020-10-12T20:15:46-05:002020-10-12T20:15:46-05:00Head Clearing<p>Our little family is camping up north in the Upper Peninsula, trying to clear our heads. So much continues to happen daily, and I know you feel it too. I'm taking a break from blogging tonight, & I'll see you next Monday. Stay strong, Reader.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/03d3e161f29088c24ccbd137d5a9c12da9f4cb19/original/camping.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64498112020-10-05T19:26:20-05:002020-10-05T19:26:20-05:00Who We Plant It For<p>Every year, my mom plants an incredible garden full of flowers, veggies, and herbs. It's really something to behold. I've coveted her tomatoes and pole beans for years. She works tirelessly on it all, and she used to use a lot of what she grew for dinners for her and Dad.</p>
<p>But the year that Dad died, she had a hard time motivating herself to get it planted. </p>
<p>I remember her saying, "I just don't know who I'm planting it for."</p>
<p>In that moment, I remember getting on a soapbox and telling her that she should only need to plant the garden for herself. She shouldn't need Dad to take joy in digging her hands in the earth to create life from seeds. She shouldn't need Dad to relish in a sunny day outside in her haven. She shouldn't need Dad to cook it all up for dinner and taste the fruits of her labor.</p>
<p>What a load of shit I dumped on her that day.</p>
<p>Of course she needed somebody to want to plant the garden for. A large part of what makes us happy is knowing we've made somebody else happy. Without others to work for, work is simply not as fulfilling. Period.</p>
<p>That lesson is resonating with me very strongly tonight.</p>
<p>Reader, this week, the governor shut down indoor dining. I wallowed for about 5 minutes, and then I got to work. Because I have 17 crew members that I have to fight for now. And that invigorates me. It energizes me. It terrifies me, and it inspires me. Having people in our lives to work for is absolutely the reason we plant gardens and write music and build restaurants. Don't forget who we do it for. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/12b638fbca7131d83bf7dc6baa121efed7711c52/original/staff.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64446552020-09-28T14:32:33-05:002020-09-28T16:22:01-05:00Debbie Downer<p>I'm rarely a Debbie Downer. I consider myself more of a Rhonda Realist or a Patty Positivity or an Ursula Upshot. And it's only once in a blue moon that I get truly blue.</p>
<p>But that blue moon is out tonight. I may soon be a Wendy Wino on my way to being a Hannah Hangover.</p>
<p>Our region of Illinois is very close to being shut down for indoor dining. Our region's positivity rate for CV-19 is on the rise. If indoor dining shuts down, my restaurant doesn't stand much of a chance to make it into 2021. My staff will not be able to survive on unemployment without CARES Act money in place, and many of them will not be able to pay their bills. And my little-restaurant-that-could will become the little restaurant-that-could-not-damnit-damnit-damnit.</p>
<p>It's enough to bring me to my knees, or at least get good and angry.</p>
<p>I choose the latter.</p>
<p>Reader, I'm a big believer in letting ourselves feel what we need to feel, and then doing something about it. I've been down all day, but now I'm plain determined. Debbie had her time. I'm now Molly Motivated, and I plan on doing everything I can until I can't do anything anymore. I'll set up more heaters for outdoor dining. I'll serve coffee in our parking lot on roller skates. I'll ask staff to knit blankets for our customers. I'll do anything and everything. Because we simply cannot go down without a fight.</p>
<p>If you too feel distressed and down this week, allow yourself to roll around in those miserable feelings for awhile. Then let's channel those feelings and use them to get good and ready to fight against it all. </p>
<p>I leave you with this picture of a tree in our neighborhood. The leaves are on fire, and I am too. Let's kick those blues. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/b1851ac232a9fdf5a55d9e0cf39eb8ec26600f51/original/fall-leaves.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64389642020-09-20T20:09:58-05:002020-10-13T14:02:02-05:00Good news. Bad news. You never can tell.<p>The loss of Ruth Bater Ginsburg feels devastating. I cried on Friday. For many reasons. But one--in particular--hits close to home.</p>
<p>Right now, a case is pending in the Supreme Court regarding the Affordable Care Act. If Republicans push through a Supreme Court nominee, within weeks, tens of millions of our citizens could lose their insurance, and rates will soar for those with preexisting conditions.</p>
<p>Which includes my daughter.</p>
<p>And I try so hard to be understanding. But I'm struggling to understand the lack of empathy and conscience amongst some politicians.</p>
<p>Reader, if you're like me and the news is making you shake your head more and more every day, I'm going to share with you an old parable that my friend Dom shared with me this week. It calmed me down immeasurably.</p>
<p>'Years ago, there lived a farmer and his son. They had very little to their name besides their farm and one horse. One day, the horse ran away. The farmer's son was distraught. He said, "Father, our horse ran away, and now we have nothing. This is such bad news!"</p>
<p>The father replied, "Eh, good news, bad news, you never can tell."</p>
<p>The next day, the horse returned to the farm, and he brought another horse with him. He had made a friend. The father and son rejoiced. The son said to his father, "Father, our horse has brought us a second horse! This is such good news."</p>
<p>The father replied, "Eh, good news, bad news, you never can tell."</p>
<p>A few weeks later, the father and son were out working the farm, each upon a horse. The son fell off his horse, and he broke his leg. He felt scared. He knew he wouldn't be able to work the farm with a broken leg. He said, "Father, my leg is broken, and I can't help with the farm. This is such bad news!"</p>
<p>The father replied, "Eh, good news, bad news, you never can tell."</p>
<p>The next day, the leader of their city made an announcement. All able-bodied men were drafted to go to war. The son was spared because of his broken leg.'</p>
<p>And such, dear Reader, is life. We don't know what will come from the bad that occurs today. And while Ruth's death is indeed tragic, perhaps it will spark a positive change that is yet to unfold. </p>
<p>I'll see you next Monday. Keep fighting that good fight. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/76319b9a6d18537e7b1f2278d8153ba5f55f1548/original/22fda4adec2c569bb70ef50b4d8b23ab-md.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64336112020-09-14T19:12:03-05:002022-04-14T07:11:31-05:00Anger Is An Acid<p>One of my family members was almost killed in a carjacking last week. Against all odds, he will survive. We feel pretty damn lucky.</p>
<p>And also tired. There were a lot of tears shed about it this week. It feels like we just finished an emotional marathon.</p>
<p>To say I'm relieved is a true understatement. For so many reasons. But mainly, I'm glad this family member didn't leave the earth before we got to make things right. Before the carjacking, the last exchange I had with him was a heated debate on social media about Trump and the coronavirus. And while we didn't walk away angry, we certainly didn't leave things on particularly friendly terms.</p>
<p>Reader, I'm going to keep it short tonight. Life can go in a blink. Today in the United States, we are the opposite of united. We all hate the "others" and seek to blame and shame them with righteous indignation. But take it from someone who almost lost someone she loves: letting a former reality star sour your personal relationships with those on the other side isn't worth it. </p>
<p>Mark Twain famously said: "Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured." I'm using this second chance to try not to be corroded by hatred. This week, find common ground. Seek to understand. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/f58ec5c38571cc18552b029b7850f37ca3e00f36/original/emilyhurd2020-130.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64274472020-09-07T18:52:24-05:002020-09-07T18:52:24-05:00Happy Labor Day<p>Happy Labor Day, Reader. I'm taking the night off to pick wildflowers with my babies. </p>
<p>I do have a lot to say, and I'll tell you everything next Monday night. Wishing you strength and love this week. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/a4067fc782b39038c085ce3c1cf07299fed81f97/original/jo-and-flowers.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64210762020-08-31T10:30:22-05:002020-08-31T10:30:22-05:00Fighting With Dollars<p>It's been a long week. I worked 4 double shifts in a row at my restaurant because we're still down a line cook. At the end of the fourth day, I sat down with a friend, and we drank a tall scotch (actually two).</p>
<p>We started talking about COVID-19 and politics and about how we feel like we're on the brink of civil war in our country. We talked about how futile it feels to be cooking eggs and pouring coffee during a deadly pandemic and racial injustice and endless suffering. At the end of the night, I was left wishing that my time was spent fighting for bigger causes instead of just feeding people food and playing music.</p>
<p>I stayed up most of the night thinking about it. And I've returned to a conclusion I've had before. It's nothing new, but it was nice to remember that one of the best ways to choose sides and fight for a cause right now is to simply <strong>spend money wisely</strong>. </p>
<p>Reader, as a restaurant owner, I can tell you that there is a very good chance that many restaurants are not going to survive COVID-19. As a mother of school-age kids, I can tell you that many teachers will not keep their jobs through COVID-19. And as a performing songwriter, I can tell you that many musicians, actors, and artists are struggling to make ends meet during COVID-19. And finally, as a decent human, I can tell you that many human rights and environmental organizations are feeling fearful for their future during COVID-19. I'm sure you could tell me who's hurting in your life, too.</p>
<p>So there is something to be done while cooking eggs and pouring coffee. I can make sure the eggs and coffee I'm buying are from farmers who value sustainable practices and working wages for their employees. I can pay musicians to play on my restaurant patio. I can eat (and drink tall scotches) at restaurants that employ the people I trust and support.</p>
<p>If you too feel desperate to fight but can't use your fists, don't forget what a couple dollars here and there can do in your community. Fight for the world you want with your pocketbook. I leave you with a picture of my daughter on the paddleboat I rented for us yesterday at Rock Cut State Park. Because right now, that's the best way to fight for the future of state parks. Let's keep the good guys going. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/9512c73d8fca3d26acc8239ceedab63ae89c1007/original/johanna.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64160912020-08-24T14:21:26-05:002020-08-24T14:21:26-05:00Get Light<p>I don't know about you, Reader. But the madness of the world is palpable lately. I feel the tense energy infiltrating my restaurant, my family, and even my dreams. The weight of it all really started to get to me this past week. To preserve my sanity, I did the only thing I know to do when things get heavy.</p>
<p>I got light.</p>
<p>Over the years, I've learned that finding levity in dark times is my best solution to almost all dire feelings, and so that's what I turned to this week. On the music front, I've been working up a music video to celebrate the release of my new record, and I hope it turns out as breezy as I want it to be in my head. At home, we've been letting ourselves get goofy with the kids (read: my husband currently has pink finger and toe nails). And on the restaurant front, I just spent every night of the week cooking classic state fair foods and trying to figure out how to get three burgers to stand up on a stick.</p>
<p>And I nailed it.</p>
<p>Of course, none of these things are a solution to the world's problems. And of course we need to face reality. But we don't need to let it drag us down, either. Reader, if you too are feeling mired in it all, I invite you to join me in giving your mind and heart a break and trying to find fun. Remember fun? It's still out there, and it's still in you. We just need to keep looking for it.</p>
<p>I'll see you next week. Let's keep our chins up. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/3fecb9664a47d8eb0b7fff5b8582eb63409dd6dd/original/burger.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64116782020-08-17T20:52:15-05:002020-08-24T13:46:31-05:00The Long Haul<p>In the past month, my friend died, my car died, my dog died, and my restaurant shut down again due to an employee with confirmed COVID-19. </p>
<p>Life is playing out like a mediocre country song. </p>
<p>And years ago, these would have felt like the end times. Not just because of the hardship of the losses, but also because of how long I knew it would take to feel better. Something about being young makes waiting very hard. I'm reminded of this fact a lot lately because I'm a mom of young kids, kids who don't even want to take a car ride longer than 15 minutes because "it'll take forever."</p>
<p>What newbies.</p>
<p>My kids would literally rather not start than have to wait for a result. But getting older changes things. I'm fully aware that the things I begin will take years to come to fruition. But that sure as hell doesn't stop me from starting. It took me weeks to build outdoor seating at my restaurant. It took me months to write the songs on my upcoming record. It took me years to renovate my building, and it will take me decades to raise my kids into adulthood. </p>
<p>And isn't it so sweet when something that takes that long finally comes to pass?</p>
<p>Reader, it all takes time, and it's all so hard, but it's all so worth it, and it's all worth starting. Case in point: two years ago, I was given a couple of avocados to eat while working on my construction site. On a lark, I decided to throw the pits in a cup of water. To my surprise, they sprouted. I almost threw them out, knowing I wouldn't have the patience to nurture them. But then I just started making it a daily practice to refill the glasses of water. Then I put the sprouts in a little soil. Then I put them in a little more soil. Today, I just noticed that my avocado plants are taller than I am. I'm guessing it will take several more years before they actually grow avocados, but with 2 years of waiting and nurturing under my belt, what's a few more?</p>
<p>And now this patient lady is off to bed. As tough as things are, I actually had a tremendous act of kindness happen to me this week, and I'm full of gratitude for my present circumstances. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/77fb1956ef0d307adb419597f676a685a78bed26/original/avocado.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64068262020-08-10T20:05:39-05:002022-01-16T11:28:26-06:00Sheriff Jackass<p>I've always prided myself on how I "keep it real" and "tell things like they are." In my Midwest community--where niceties make it hard to know what anyone's saying half the time--my direct nature is one of the qualities I've always liked best about myself. And now as a business owner and performer, I've noticed that I wear the self-applied "straight shooter" badge like some sort of puffed-up sheriff in charge of gunning down all the pleasantries in town.</p>
<p>(I know...I'm a real hoot).</p>
<p>Anyway, this week, I got into it with my kids. They wouldn't listen to me about some pretty basic concepts and rules. They tried to talk to me, but I just cut them off. And when they asked me why, my "keeping it real" response was, "Because I know more than you."</p>
<p>I cringe just typing that. Apparently, somewhere along the way, "straight-shooter" and "pompous jackass" became intertwined.</p>
<p>There's a big difference between being the type of person who speaks to-the-point, and then being the type of person that treats somebody as sub-human because they can't articulate as quickly or reference the same information, or they just haven't lived as long as we have. I was caught off-guard by how I humiliated my kids, dismissing their views as though they didn't matter. I'm going to be keeping close tabs on this tendency of mine. Because the last thing I want to do is miss out on all I can learn from the people around me by being a know-it-all.</p>
<p>After I apologized for discarding my kids' ideas, I took them mini-golfing for the first time. Turns out, they were right about a few things. </p>
<p>Namely, I do take things too seriously, and I need to have more fun.</p>
<p>Reader, don't forget the value of the people around you this week. Big, small, old, young, brown, white: they have value. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/d005255fb442e3051e5e91845bc9cfde11f2ae75/original/em-k9ds.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><br> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/64010792020-08-03T17:23:29-05:002023-12-10T11:24:07-06:00Grow Forth<p>I was at the restaurant slicing green onions this week. After I finished the job, I went to throw away the unusable parts at the bottom of the onion. </p>
<p>"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"</p>
<p>One of the chefs was storming through the kitchen to stop me from throwing out the small roots. He explained that those roots could be planted to create new another round of onions. I was amazed. How have I lived so long without knowing such a simple fact?</p>
<p>I took them home. Five short days later of letting them sit in a little water, I have an entirely new batch of green onions.</p>
<p>Reader, it's been another doozy of a week, probably for you too. Something in the air lately has made everybody a bit more frustrated and eager to give up on others. I'm guilty of it too. </p>
<p>But just a gentle reminder this week: let's try not to give up on the people and things that we assume are without use. They may surprise you. And those surprises are worth fighting for. As the year becomes more volatile, the more important it will be to provide new room for growth, both for ourselves and others. </p>
<p>Grow forth. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/920d230ab5bd690d587195aa93545f7acd2c79db/original/onions.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/63944362020-07-27T10:18:47-05:002020-07-27T10:18:47-05:00On Dogs<p>I’ve never had a dog before my dog, Hank. So I’ve never been through the loss of a dog either. This week, I had to put down my friend of 14 years. And it was every bit as hard as they say it is. </p>
<p>Not just because he was a loyal dog. But also because of the kinship we've had after living together for so long. I’ve felt haunted by his absence all week, still hearing the sounds of his feet on the stairs, still feeling him sleeping next to the bed. And I still wake up ready to take our morning walk. </p>
<p>Guess I’m gonna need to find a new reason to exercise. </p>
<p>But the most striking observation in a grief-riddled week is that—somewhere along the way—he and I changed roles. I remember when he was a puppy, I felt like I was taking care of him. I taught him commands. I socialized him at dog parks. I made sure he was brought up with as much love as I could give. </p>
<p>What I’m learning since he’s been gone is that he figured out how to take care of me, too. He nuzzled me when I had a hard time waking up. He encouraged me to play fetch with him when I was feeling down. He sat at my feet while I practiced the piano, as if he knew I needed an audience. </p>
<p>I tear up just writing it. </p>
<p>Reader, it's been a hard week in the country, and a hard week at home. If you’re lucky enough to have the love of an animal in your life, give them a little extra love in return. That animal is doing more for you than you know. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/ec30f30c45c31aca600c5eafc647549fe7071bf5/original/hank.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/63878722020-07-20T11:39:48-05:002022-02-25T01:38:10-06:00Exploration<p>Another week, another series of losses.</p>
<p>Between work and home, I've lost many people and things that were fixtures in my life. A few close colleagues at the restaurant left to take other jobs. My outdoor patio at the restaurant was torn apart by teenage vandals. And at home, we lost several old trees in the storms that pushed through the midwest last week. I could go on.</p>
<p>But today, I'm reflecting on it all, and realizing that none of it was constant in the first place.</p>
<p>Sometimes I think about why we crave stability. For me, it's fear of the unknown. There is security (albeit false) in having unwavering elements in our lives. And when those elements go, it can make us wonder who and where we are, and what we're living for.</p>
<p>The more this crazy year goes on, the more I know that nothing is stable. Nothing is fixed, and nothing is really owned. We are just borrowing things and having experiences while we're here.</p>
<p><strong>We're nothing but a bunch of explorers.</strong></p>
<p>Reader, bleak as I sound, I actually feel calmer than I've been all week. I've been working on giving up my self-preserving tendencies and surrendering to my explorer's heart, just taking in everything as it comes. The more I do this, the deeper I can breathe.</p>
<p>I leave you with this picture of my son exploring a creek near our house. Whatever you're up to this week, I wish you clarity as constants crumble and strength as we explore all this uncharted territory. I'll see you next week. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/70963e0d4b10db2ca9041c994d7a248457aaebad/original/john-river.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/63852292020-07-13T22:48:41-05:002022-03-22T06:59:40-05:00Continuing Education<p>In all my life, I’ve never felt so uncertain. </p>
<p>With COVID-19 cases spiking all around us, I have no idea how much longer my restaurant will be serving customers indoors. Once that happens, I don’t know if we’ll make enough money to stay open. And I don’t know the best way to protect my staff when that happens.</p>
<p>And I don’t know if schools will be open in the fall, or if I’ll have to quit working to stay home with the kids. I don’t know how to teach them to read or write, and I don’t know how to engage them like a teacher without losing my connection as their mom.</p>
<p>And I don’t know if my upcoming album will sell enough to pay the bills or if anyone will even like the new batch of tunes. And also, my health hasn’t been too great lately, and I don’t know how to make it better without spending more money that we don’t have. And I don’t know how to make the world and the environment any better with everybody so angry at everybody else these days. </p>
<p>The year of 2020 is one big mystery. </p>
<p>I have just a few options that I can use to handle it. </p>
<p>First, I can panic. Which has never gotten me far in the past, though I still admittedly go that route. Second, I can punch back at the uncertainty with every ounce of savage optimism that I have coursing through my veins. Which would feel good, but ultimately wouldn't do any good.</p>
<p>The third route is the hardest: I can admit that I never really have known much, nor was I ever really in control, and this is just another opportunity to continue my education. </p>
<p>Damn you, hard route. Back to school I go.</p>
<p>Reader, the less we know, the more opportunity we have to learn. As unpleasant as it is, I'm choosing to get comfortable with uncertainty for the foreseeable future, and to see all these questions as an opportunity to seek solutions. I've been reading a lot, including a few self-help books about how to get used to being out of control, and I find myself breathing a bit deeper. If your days are also feeling shakier, don't forget how much power there is in just learning to be better in the new climate.</p>
<p>With that, I'm off to keep reading. I've made a lot of mistakes today, and I'll be learning from them too. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/99e2aba4640a01ebd71b324c1c0b6c62df4667f2/original/book.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/63766332020-07-05T12:25:29-05:002020-07-05T12:25:29-05:00For The Birds<p>My Grandma Ruth spent the final years of her life sitting by her kitchen window, looking at the birds. She lived to be 96, and she was the kindest person I knew. She ate a lot of coffeecake, swam the river, and loved a strong CC & soda.</p>
<p>Apparently, that's the recipe for longevity.</p>
<p>Also, she had no idea what the internet was. A few months before she died, she asked us: "What does 'dot com' mean?" We all thought it was just adorable how behind the times she was.</p>
<p>Today, I think she was onto something.</p>
<p>This was a stressful week for me. We've been under-staffed at the restaurant, so I've been over-worked. When I get home at night, I'm exhausted. I'm usually just looking for something to read or watch to take my mind off things, like Instagram or Twitter.</p>
<p>Which does the opposite of take my mind off things.</p>
<p>Reader, I've had enough of the sanctimonious 280-character rants. Anymore, it seems like social media is for finding articles, information, and memes that fit a person's pre-existing thoughts, opinions, and inner narratives. We're not on-line to learn, observe, or better understand; we're on-line to validate our feelings with as few words as possible. We get madder about the things we're already mad about, and more righteous about the things we already feel righteous about.</p>
<p>My time is worth more than that.</p>
<p>Last Friday, I made a promise to myself to spend less time on-line and more time like my Grandma Ruth, peacefully taking in what's around me, caring for others, and only fighting when it's necessary (because sometimes, it is). The summer is beautiful. The elderflower is really popping, the cardinals are on the feeder, and my kids are getting bigger everyday. And I'm not gonna miss it. Whatever you're up to this week, I hope it brings you peace and understanding. Don't forget how precious the time is. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/66fbef1a4940d80fc0535d4ea630cd4bfad6cfa5/original/elderflower.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/63702572020-06-29T14:26:31-05:002020-09-05T06:33:13-05:00Forced Perspective<p>I was all thumbs this week.</p>
<p>We reopened my restaurant. By the time the weekend was over, my staff and I had completed a litany of mortifying mistakes, including burning dozens of cinnamon rolls, breaking an espresso machine, and serving meat to a vegetarian. After 3 months of quarantine, our once seamless dining room dance around each other had turned into a series of accidental body checks and spilled mimosa flights. But the strangest part?</p>
<p>None of it was mortifying.</p>
<p>In fact, it was the opposite. We laughed a lot. We shook off what went wrong. Customers were (for the most part) understanding.</p>
<p>And we owe it all to a deadly virus.</p>
<p>Reader, as tragic as tragedy is, it certainly does have a way of forcing us to have perspective. After all: in a world that's hot with racial tension, political fury, and a raging pandemic, what's a few burned pastries here and there? Overall, I'm counting our restaurant reopening as a resounding success. Nobody got hurt, physically or mentally, and our outdoor seating area was a hit. Looking forward to a week of more of the same. Wishing you this same forced perspective; see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/10e1853459ceb94dda9cf2fb3083fb7e2342271a/original/106126249-2473493562753997-878076312916116320-n.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/63629502020-06-22T22:07:30-05:002020-06-22T22:07:30-05:00A Different Kind of Discipline<p>It's been a hard, hot couple of weeks. Not even coffee is reviving me lately. </p>
<p>Between building our outdoor patio at the restaurant, finishing up new album prep work, and being a mom, I'm zapped. I've tried to combat the fatigue with my usual will power and self-discipline.</p>
<p>I am the Yoda of self-discipline.</p>
<p>Give me a diet, I'll follow it. Give me an assignment, I'll move mountains to complete it. Anything you throw at me, I'll knock it out of the park eventually.</p>
<p>But apparently, I'm not very disciplined at being kind to myself.</p>
<p>Reader, I wonder why it is that we can work our bodies til they're sore, work our minds until they're foggy, work our hearts until they're empty, but we can't work to carve out time to care for ourselves? I just worked seven 10-hour days in a row, but I don't know how to take an hour to read a book. What on earth is wrong with me?! (Besides the fact that I'm a self-punishing maniac). I'm honestly not sure. But I do know one thing:</p>
<p>I'm so ready to be just as regimented about taking a break as I am about working.</p>
<p>And with that, I'm off to bed. I just got a new book that I can't wait to dive into, and I've got a song I'd like to finish. I look forward to opening my restaurant this week with planned breaks every now and then. </p>
<p>If quarantine taught me anything, it's that life is too short to do nothing but work and pay bills. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/a4725c4f3015efd3af880a6976011ba9893fda8a/original/emilyhurd2020-170-copy3.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/63547112020-06-15T22:32:51-05:002022-04-07T05:51:55-05:00Mom First<p>No blog for me tonight. The kids needed a little extra time with their mom. No apologies. I'll see you next Monday. Have an incredible week. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/e52701d1bf4c19eed01cc52ef2d88158ba876255/original/kids.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p><br> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/63461552020-06-08T09:33:46-05:002020-06-08T09:33:46-05:00Big Dreams, Small Skills<p>We just spent the weekend at my restaurant building an outdoor seating pavilion. Our staff is sunburned, bruised, and gassed. I can barely lift my arms today.</p>
<p>Feels great.</p>
<p>I don't know if it's everybody or just me, but I've always found myself pushing past personal limits. Not just physically (because who doesn't love a good endorphin rush) but mentally too. I've had nights of songwriting that were almost painful. The morning after, my apartment would look like a writer's crime scene: balled-up paper everywhere, cracked pencils, pillows on floors, instruments all over couches.</p>
<p>The tell-tale signs of a person past the edge.</p>
<p>I've been reflecting on it today, wondering why I'm not good at letting enough be enough. First and foremost, I know I'm just a neurotic weirdo. Plain and simple. But more deeply, I think there's something that happens within a person when their vision exceeds their abilities.</p>
<p>In my head, I can feel perfectly crafted songs. I see whimsical buildings and paintings. I can taste well-balanced food. Unfortunately, my skills don't usually know how to get me to the vision. And that's when I work like a feverish maniac.</p>
<p>So what's to be done when our vision is beyond our skillset?</p>
<p><strong>Keep. At. It.</strong></p>
<p>Reader, if you too find yourself with a dream in your head that your talents can't match, it would be a shame to diminish the dream. Instead, I think we have to generate a lot of shoddy versions of the masterpiece in our minds until our skills improve, and we can achieve it. Write the weak songs. Build the imperfect furniture. Paint the lame paintings. Just keep going.</p>
<p>With that, I'm off to keep building. It's not going to be as good as what I planned, but it's the work I need to do to get better at woodworking. Hopefully, it'll be done by next week. I'll see ya then. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/fe559bc3eacec03d85d851a547271e76f98af90b/original/pavilion.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/63382412020-06-01T13:30:29-05:002021-02-22T05:21:39-06:00Out of Quarantine<p>As of today, our state has entered into Phase 3 of reopening. Our daycare is still closed per DCFS, so I'm still home with our kids. My restaurant is allowed to open for outdoor seating, which would be wonderful.</p>
<p>If we had outdoor seating. </p>
<p>So in the coming weeks, I'll be simultaneously building outdoor seating, parenting, cleaning the restaurant, and trying to make another album. Sounds like a lot. I'm sure I'll be worked to the bone, dog tired, and collapse into bed each night.</p>
<p>But all I feel is gratitude (and a bit of guilt) that these are my only daily trials.</p>
<p>Reader, the state of the world bowled me over this week. Seeing the video of George Floyd calling for his mother in heaven while a police officer put his knee on his neck brought me to tears, over and over. How miserable is it that--if that video hadn't surfaced--we white people wouldn't get such a firsthand feeling of how Black Americans feel, everyday. </p>
<p>Barry Mann, Cynthia Weil, and Brenda Russell famously wrote "None of Us Are Free (if one of us is chained)." The first version of the song I heard was sung by Solomon Burke. I listened to it again today. Today, every word hits hard. And it should.</p>
<p>When will it hit us that we are the same? The man under a knee is me and my kids and my family and my friends. When we live in a world where black people are so clearly hurt (economically, socially, mentally, physically) everyday, then we are a part of a world that condones the treatment of all humans this way. I can't help thinking: <em>what if it had been you or your children under that knee, or jogging down that street, or selling those CDs, or any of the other instances where black humans were killed?</em></p>
<p>Empathy and understanding and active planning and then changing. That's how we start making it better. Protest, yes. Loot local businesses, no. I'm ready to listen and work. I'm ready to work to the bone, dog tired, and collapse into bed each night (I've got a lot of practice). Out of quarantine, into the fray I go. -Em</p>
<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="eFkmRp_G2uo" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/eFkmRp_G2uo/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/eFkmRp_G2uo?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/63296702020-05-25T13:56:51-05:002020-05-25T13:56:51-05:00Week 10 of Quarantine: creating without commentary<p>Owning a restaurant during COVID-19 has been interesting. The news we receive from the government changes weekly, sometimes daily. Two weeks ago, we were told we couldn't open until June 26th. Last week, we were told we could open in some capacity on June 1st, though we won't receive any guidelines until tomorrow.</p>
<p>I'm getting whiplash from it all.</p>
<p>Rather than respond quickly to the news, I've decided to wait until we have concrete information, and move from there. So, back to house work, family time, music, and food experiments I go.</p>
<p>One of the things I miss the most during this quarantine has been feedback. Not just on things I create, but being able to share in the creations of my friends, family, and staff in ways that really can't be accomplished via Zoom and social media.</p>
<p>I miss asking a friend what they think of something I've written, then making adjustments, and in the end, making something better. I miss telling my bartenders their cocktails need a little more citrus, and them creating an improved version of the drink. The critiques and suggestions we give each other make such better end products, and we get to share the fruits of our labor with the ones we love. </p>
<p>Plus, we get to stroke each others' egos, which we all know feels great.</p>
<p>But here we are, creating without commentary. It almost makes you wonder why you create at all...</p>
<p>Almost.</p>
<p>Reader, these times will never feel natural to me. Every cell of my body wants to interact with my friends. This past week, I wrote a song that I liked a lot, and I also made some halloumi cheese from fresh milk. The first thing I wanted to do was get feedback on the song, and ask the chefs at my restaurant how I could make the cheese better. It's human nature to want to share what we make.</p>
<p>But that's not the point of creating. When I write and cook, I feel a deeper connection with myself. The practice feels almost religious. There is something very personal about bringing something to life. It dawned on me today.</p>
<p><strong>I create for myself, I share for others. </strong></p>
<p>And there will be time for sharing soon enough. Until then, I'm going to try to keep creating for myself, regardless of commentary. I hope you're able to do the same. When this quarantine time ends, I look so forward to tasting and seeing and listening and holding everything you've made during this time. I leave you with this picture of the cheese I made (I think it might need salt). I'm looking so forward to enjoying our creations together in the real world soon. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/515aa18741d878d02ac8daf10c621ccf2de4d4af/original/cheese.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/63211122020-05-18T14:03:01-05:002022-02-05T09:20:40-06:00Week 9 of Quarantine: Breaking Character<p>It was an industrious week.</p>
<p>On the restaurant front, our staff made a few video cooking demonstrations, and we started a big clean-out for reopening. On the home front, I planted the rest of my garden (helloooo rhubarb and concord grapes). And on the music front, I wrote a few new songs to see if any of them would help round out the new record.</p>
<p>Then I looked at my website for the first time in a long time, and I realized it needed some updating.</p>
<p>It's been 5 years since I've had pictures taken of myself. And with a new album on the horizon, I figured it was time. So I called up Mindy Young, and--keeping on our face masks--we walked out into the world to take a few pictures. Nothing glamorous, just two women trying to capture the city-at-night feeling of the new album. </p>
<p>I thought it would be awkward. I haven't worn make-up in years, let alone entered into a photo shoot. But I slipped into that shoot like it was a pair of old brown shoes. It was easy and comfortable and a lot of fun. </p>
<p>When I got home, I felt instantly guilty and questioned myself. (Isn't that just like guilt to swoop in and ruin a good time?) I wondered: <em>can I really walk around claiming to be a down-to-earth humanitarian and still enjoy getting my picture taken?</em></p>
<p>Yes. Yes I bloody can.</p>
<p>Reader, I gotta say: I'm tired of guilt. The jig is up, and the illusion is shattered. I'm not just a woman who puts all of her efforts into helping others. I apparently also like to have my damned picture taken.</p>
<p>As I evolve during this quarantine, <strong>I'm finding tremendous relief in breaking character</strong>. If you also find yourself having a hard time holding yourself to the persona you've invented, I invite you to join me in reinventing it. It's a waste of time to beat ourselves up for stepping outside of a role that we didn't need to hold in the first place.</p>
<p>With that, this mama is off to make a little supper. Go easy on yourself this week. I'll see you on Monday. -Em<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/8baf0c928ff95bc4e9569bd3338d601fb86aed4d/original/emilyhurd2020-143-copy3.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/63123812020-05-11T14:34:00-05:002020-05-11T14:34:00-05:00Week 8 of Quarantine: I Am The Glue<p>Well. More jarring news this week. The governor ('govnah,' as we call him) has said that the earliest restaurants will open is June 26th. I was certain we would be announcing to the public that my restaurant would reopen on June 2nd. But here we go again: change of plans. Rather than panic about it, I'm trying to evolve a bit emotionally and take it in stride.</p>
<p>So I've started to think about my next record. </p>
<p>I've got 36 tunes that I've written since my last album. Most of them aren't going to see the light of day...they're just rubbish (I'm not sandbagging; they're actual garbage). But some of them feel true, and I'm trying to sort through them all to make a collection that hangs together. </p>
<p>The older I get, the harder it is to make records. Mostly because of my commitment to making something authentic. You would think that--as we get older and become more self-actualized--it would be easier to make records. </p>
<p>Not so.</p>
<p>What makes it hard is that I've had so many experiences that have shaped me differently. In the earlier days of putting together an album, it was easy. I just picked all the tunes about a common topic like grieving the loss of my dad, becoming a mom, getting over a lost love, or capturing stories from my hometown. But these days, the topics of the tunes are all over the place. </p>
<p>Yesterday, I spent so much time looking through my old notebooks that I started to get dizzy. I found blues tunes about stones and bluegrass songs rife with political trash talk and swanky soul numbers about booze and bars. </p>
<p>My mind was racing last night. <i>H</i><em>ow do I make something cohesive with all of this? What's binds these tunes together?</em> </p>
<p>It came to me this morning. Glue. Glue is what holds things together.<strong> And I am the glue.</strong></p>
<p>Reader, it's easy as a creator to have a crisis of identity. We want ourselves to be one slick, easy-to-brand thing. But that would be false. We're all of our experiences. We are concurrently skipping stones and singing the blues while talking political trash and tapping our toes while waltzing into late-night dives and being over-served.</p>
<p>All at once. It's all us.</p>
<p>With that, I'm off to sift through more songs with a bit more confidence. I leave you with this picture of my Mom. Happy belated Mother's Day to all you mamas, especially you, Joan Hurd. See you next Monday -Em </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/c1cdf049a4147ab782ba43d4e7419b6dd0705958/original/joan.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/63049142020-05-04T20:17:30-05:002022-03-27T20:15:29-05:00Week 7 of Quarantine: Voluntary Evolution<p>A thing I never thought I'd say: I'm making wine out of our weeds. </p>
<p>Tonight, the kids and I collected enough dandelion heads to make dandelion wine. I'm using a depression-era recipe, which seems only fitting, considering the times we're in.</p>
<p>And oh...what times they are.</p>
<p>I've been thinking a lot about these times. I imagine years from now, my kids will ask: "Mom, what was it like for you during the quarantine while you couldn't play concerts or work at your restaurant?"</p>
<p>To which I will reply: "I made you pick dandelions, and we turned them into alcohol." </p>
<p>And we'll all laugh and laugh. </p>
<p>But I got to thinking a bit more. As much as I love that I've written a lot of music, grown vegetables, finished house projects, and baked more banana bread than any person needs to, I'd like to get more out of this quarantine than a simple accomplishment of tasks. That's only one kind of work. I'd like to actually walk out of my home when this quarantine is over as a slightly different, better version of myself.</p>
<p>Don't get me wrong: I like who I am. I've become a relatively well-adjusted person through the years, just by having lived life. I've evolved as a result of my experiences and hardships. </p>
<p>But there are some parts of me I wish I could change today, right this moment. Namely, how quickly I become vulnerable and feel my efforts are futile when I'm insecure at work. Now, I haven't felt this way very much in quarantine, but I know I'll feel it again as soon as I'm out in the world, I'll feel that futile feeling again. So how could I change during this time without external pressures forcing me to change my ways?</p>
<p>It struck me today while picking dandelions: I'm going to have to change on my own. I'm going to need to elect to evolve, without practice or cause directly in my face. I'll need to make an internal game plan for how to respond when I feel vulnerable at the restaurant or playing a show. And I'll need to do it during these times in isolation.</p>
<p>I'm up for it.</p>
<p>Reader, <strong>the hardest kind of change to make is the one you don't need to make.</strong> Changing when you're "getting by" as is and evolving when things don't feel dire is counterintuitive. Still during the final three weeks of quarantine, I'm going to try my best to use this rare stretch of time to do a little self-work, some strategizing for how to emerge from this time with a little more depth of awareness and confidence. Like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon.</p>
<p>A beautiful bloated-on banana-bread-drunk-on-weed-wine butterfly, but a butterfly nonetheless.</p>
<p>See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/1ccfae6c75edb3b569ef79b6878ec6e4eaf8e1cc/original/dandelion.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/62961942020-04-27T16:15:24-05:002020-04-27T16:15:24-05:00Week 6 of Quarantine: The Artist's Responsibility<p>The weather was less shifty this week, and I got ready to plant a garden (pumpkin patch, here I come). The daffodils and wildflowers are popping in our woods, and I felt inspired to write a lot of songs. </p>
<p>This quarantine has been a great time for artists to create. I've written 2 dozen tunes since Illinois was ordered to shelter in place. Some of the songs are unremarkable, but some feel like the muses were working through me. If that's ever happened to you, you know: </p>
<p>When the muses use you, it feels like magic. </p>
<p>The magic disappears, however, when we start trying to direct the muses. And that's what happened to me by the end of the week. </p>
<p>I've been glued to the news in recent weeks, wondering how our government is handling this pandemic, wondering how other Americans are handing it, wondering how the world is handling it. Some days I'm irate, some days I'm grateful, and some days I'm full of sadness. Because I'm so full of feeling, it seems like I should be writing about those feelings during these times. </p>
<p>And yet, when I sit down to write, I don't feel called to write about my government rage. I don't feel called to write about my sadness about the casualties of the virus. And I really don't feel called to write about my financial uncertainties. </p>
<p>Instead--for a reason unbeknownst to me--I'm writing songs about the moon, celestial events, and the colors of flowers at dusk. </p>
<p>It got me thinking about an artist's responsibility. Because I can write songs, doesn't that mean I'm responsible for penning tunes for the times? As a creator with a conscience, it sure feels like I should. But then why does it feel so unnatural? The answer hit me this morning: </p>
<p><strong>Because artists are not journalists. We're not historians. We're not even storytellers. We're creators whose sole responsibility is to follow inspiration, regardless of its relevance, accuracy, or goodness.</strong> </p>
<p>Reader, if you're a fellow artist, take heart in knowing there is no right way to make, during this quarantine, or ever. Listen to what calls you. In honoring that calling, you're honoring your craft. </p>
<p>With that, I'm off to write another unforced tune about God-knows-what. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/3eeaa4099ae38de3c819f710a66b53e1acc9cd9f/original/daffodil.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/62886572020-04-20T21:30:13-05:002022-03-19T05:49:08-05:00Week 5 Of Quarantine: Letting Go For Dear Life<p>Nothing surprises me anymore.</p>
<p>I went from picking fresh daffodils outside of our house one night this week, to shoveling the front walkway of 3 inches of snow the next morning. I had to laugh, watching those giant Charlie Brown snowflakes falling down in the middle of April.</p>
<p>At some point, all we can expect is for things to not go as planned.</p>
<p>This week was hard. An old friend passed away, our finances went haywire, and my kids' homeschooling went out the window. And I noticed that the harder I tried to hold onto my original plans, the more I got upset. For me, there's little that's more stressful than trying to hold onto something that's moving beyond my control.</p>
<p>Which is just about everything these days.</p>
<p>Even more frustrating than losing control was losing the calm mind that I've been experiencing all month. Lucky for me, I'm stubborn. And I wasn't about to let that stress back into my life.</p>
<p>So Saturday morning--for the first time in my life--I figured out how to use my determination in a different way. When plans changed, I forced myself to stop. I didn't move forward. I didn't try to push or manipulate the situation. Instead, I pushed myself by mentally saying goodbye to what I thought was going to happen ("so long, dear sweet plan #1"). And then I greeted the new plan with fresh eyes and acceptance ("hello, you new weirdo plan, you.") </p>
<p> It didn't feel natural. It didn't feel good. But it did work. By Saturday night, I was back to feeling the same peace I've been cultivating all month.</p>
<p>Reader, there's a time to hold on, and there's a time to let go. Both require effort. If you're also struggling to hold on during this time, I invite you to join me in escorting out the original plan and welcoming in the bizarre new one. Grasping at old realities doesn't fix our new ones. <strong>The worst thing we can do when our best-laid plans go out the window is to jump out after them.</strong></p>
<p>Who knows what this week will bring; I'm ready to have to loosen my grip, yet again. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/1587d92baadaf25003e5beb87bed74e7821bf9fb/original/snow.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/62810582020-04-13T12:53:31-05:002020-04-23T22:43:21-05:00Week 4 of Quarantine: my alter ego is Rumplestiltskin<p>I might be cracking up. It might not be a bad thing. </p>
<p>My dreams have been vivid since we've had to shelter in place. This week, I had a string of those terrifying dreams where you're being chased, but you can't run. You need help, but you can't scream. You're being hurt, but you can't wake up. The dreams take you hostage, and you feel like a helpless mess.</p>
<p>I'm a little frightened to fall asleep lately.</p>
<p>Every night for the last 8 days, I've woken up at about 2 am, a victim to my unconscious mind's nightmares. What's felt worse is that the dream state doesn't wear off for several hours. I feel like I'm still bound up by something until about 4:30 am.</p>
<p>So this week, in the wee hours, I've left bed in a bizarre headspace to sit down at the piano to write. To my surprise, writing has been effortless. But the "voice" that's writing the songs doesn't feel like mine. The words don't sound like mine. And the stories that are pouring out onto paper are definitely not mine. </p>
<p>Or are they?</p>
<p>Today I'm looking at my piano at the 9 songs that somebody wrote in the middle of the night. And apparently it was me. Though I feel like I can't claim them. It's as though my alter ego is Rumplestiltskin, coming into my house every night, but instead of turning straw into gold, he's turning out beautiful music. And I wake up in the morning and get to take credit.</p>
<p>(No I'm not taking any fun drugs).</p>
<p>Today, I'm sitting here trying to reflect on how this could be happening. Here's my best guess. </p>
<p>The subconscious mind holds more than we'll ever know; the conscious mind is such a terrific gatekeeper and doesn't often let us see our own secrets. Something about my mind being "bound up" by dream state is making room for a deeper voice to come through. The voice is so natural. It's imperfect and more honest.</p>
<p>And I love it. Even if I am losing it.</p>
<p>Reader, these are bizarre times. I don't know how they're transforming you. But whether you're an artist or not, if you're sheltering in place, it's a great time to observe ourselves, since we have less interference. Last week, I noticed my mind being free of distraction. This week, I feel an emergence of something deeper. Who knows what next week will bring. Maybe I'll be levitating by then...</p>
<p>All this to say: let's not miss out on this rare opportunity in our lives to get know ourselves a little better. We're a lot more interesting than we think, if we can learn not to think so much. See you next Monday. -Rumpstiltsk-Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/c37cae583a220d5d4e8965a8ec4d511c47e0b2fc/original/piano.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/62737272020-04-06T16:24:04-05:002022-05-11T09:35:43-05:00Week 3 of Quarantine: the death of Monkey Mind<p>Something changed in me this week.</p>
<p>Usually, I'm restless. I worry about what others think about me. I crave being understood. I'm anxious about making the right decisions. I feel guilt. I feel fear. And I even feel envious of others who don't seem to feel these heavy, distracting feelings.</p>
<p>(For those of you thinking I just need a drink, you're incorrect: booze is no match for my unsettledness).</p>
<p>But when I woke up on Tuesday morning, my restlessness seemed to have dissipated. Overnight. As if by magic. Poof.</p>
<p>Bye bye, Monkey Brain.</p>
<p>The concept of Monkey Brain was first introduced to me by a friend who explained it to me while we were walking in a department store. I was asking why he thought most shopping aisles have an end-cap section. To which he replied: "because the store knows we all have monkey mind." Meaning, the store puts attractive items in prime spots because they know our capricious, fanciful natures will tell us we can't leave the store without the shiny thing on sale.</p>
<p>Through the years, I've been aware of my Monkey Mind, that whimsical, unevolved part of my mammal make-up that's operating on full steam when I feel out of control. But something in this quarantine period silenced it. I feel at peace this week. I feel calm and focused. I sit here wondering why, and it's a simple answer:</p>
<p>Because (outside of media), there is nothing in front of my face telling me I'm missing out, that I'm wrong, that I'm not enough. There's little to distract me, aside from the spring flowers in our woods. There is just my little family and our home. </p>
<p>And apparently the little we have is bringing out the most in me this week. </p>
<p>Reader, for the first time in everybody's life: there is NOTHING to miss out on, except the present. We're all inside in our homes. It's a great time to work calmly, get things done, and enjoy. I'm off to enjoy a little walk with my old dog, Hank. See you next Monday. -Em </p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/78415e94830279724e90d0882dffcf78fc5bbea2/original/silla.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/62668212020-03-30T19:36:28-05:002020-03-30T19:36:28-05:00Week 2 of Quarantine: too hot out of the gate<p>This week, I tore down the posters for all the concerts & events that we missed hosting at my restaurant since the quarantine began, including what would have been a nice rosé wine dinner last Friday. I downed a bottle in its honor. </p>
<p>Then I got to work. </p>
<p>I filed applications for every SBA loan our country is offering. I applied for grants. I helped my employees w/ their unemployment claims. I planned out family dinners. I made a daily home schooling schedule for my kids, including a big focus on literacy, math, and music.</p>
<p>(Full disclosure: my lesson plan has devolved into around-the-clock gym class. I'm rolling with it). </p>
<p>I wrote and charted 4 new songs. I watched the first non-kid movie that I've seen in months ("Inside Llewyn Davis" was a winner). I cleaned every room in the house. I organized the damn freezer. I taught the kids how to make bread, cookies, & play dough.</p>
<p>Amidst the flurry of initiative today, my son put his hand on my arm. He asked to whisper in my ear. So I put my head by his mouth and he said, "Hey Mom, could you slow down and hold us a little?"</p>
<p>And there it was.</p>
<p>Reader, there is such a thing as too much initiative. No sense burning out just yet. We're going to be holed up for a few more weeks at least. This isn't the Quarantine Olympics, and they aren't giving prizes when it's over. To all of you still working your jobs out there, thank you. To all of you suddenly at home with a lot of free time on your hands, let's not forget to enjoy the opportunity to not be on our A-game every second of the day.</p>
<p>With that, this non-medalist is going to hold the kids a little. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/12bad26fcf1fdc3e339949c25c91c532b9169d82/original/rose.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/62597072020-03-23T20:11:33-05:002020-03-30T18:48:44-05:00Week 1 of Quarantine: the end of bullying<p>I just spent a week doing things I never thought I'd do. </p>
<p>After laying off all my employees (and myself), I filed for unemployment. It didn't take long, and it didn't feel good. It was a reminder of just how fast everything can change. Last week, we had a humming restaurant. This week, all the lights are off, and all of us are sheltering in our respective places.</p>
<p>I also made the tough decision for our restaurant not to remain open for take-out and delivery, despite the government calling it an "essential service." The decision was based on two realities. First: I couldn't ethically make it work in my mind to tell my staff to work during a pandemic so that others could stay home as instructed. We have diabetics on staff, staff members with ailing parents or children, staff that have pulmonary issues. As essential as brunch can seem, it's not worth spreading a disease that kills people. I'm still not certain why the government considers to-go grub essential.</p>
<p>Second: my restaurant just doesn't have the infrastructure in place to give staff enough hours to survive that kind of pivot. Only .05% of our sales come from take-out. If I thought I could have done something to make ends meet, I would have. But I just couldn't pay staff what they would have needed to make it through this strange time anyway.</p>
<p>So after turning off every light, all the heat, and emptying our fridges at the restaurant, I then proceeded to try home schooling my kids. It hasn't been effective yet. I've just been too distracted, mentally beating myself up for my decisions, wondering if they're the right ones or not. I've been spinning my wheels all week, moving quickly, but not actually getting much done. I've been worried about my staff, worried about my restaurant, and worried about my family's financial future, as well as their health as this virus spreads.</p>
<p>Basically having the same worries as every other person on the planet right now.</p>
<p>Reader, if anything gives me solace, it's this: everyone's world is upside-down right now. Not just mine, not just yours. We're all facing problems we've never faced before. There isn't a right move, and we won't know what will come of everything until it's "over," at some undetermined time in the future. The only thing that's certain? </p>
<p>Beating ourselves up isn't helping anybody.</p>
<p>So today I focused on enjoying the kids. We built a snowman. I made hot chocolate. They colored. We sang songs. I got in a pillow fight. We built a tent. We then proceeded to destroy the snowman, because it just felt good to destroy something.</p>
<p>But at least it wasn't ourselves. So I count today as a win. Internal bullying and self destruction have come to an end. Finding the best in the uncertainty starts NOW. </p>
<p>See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/fa4079cb9307fd4aa1eb9a55412e8c6a7f5b6dbd/original/john-jo.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/62516632020-03-16T20:58:06-05:002023-12-10T10:59:32-06:00No words<p>I have no words tonight; I just had to relay to my 30 restaurant employees that they no longer had jobs, as of today, and that they needed to file for unemployment. Even though that's their best option, I still feel as though I failed them. I'll need some time to collect myself before I can speak about it. Until then, be safe, be smart, & be kind. -Em<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/e94e6af213389dd230c11b4650f072490eb68b00/original/staff.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/62433112020-03-09T21:32:45-05:002020-03-09T21:32:45-05:00Taking hits<p>I got to play a show on Saturday night in Chicago. It was a small but warm crowd, and I decided to play several of the new songs that I wrote in Colorado. I felt so happy. I felt alive. I felt like myself again.</p>
<p>After the show, I asked a friend in the audience what she thought of the new songs. She said, "Honestly? I couldn't relate to them. They made me sad that you don't live in Chicago anymore. I like the old stuff better..."</p>
<p>And just like that, I felt torn apart. I felt embarrassed. I even felt a bit of shame.</p>
<p>I was wallowing in self-loathing while I drove home. After about 30 minutes, I did a little self-assessment. Was I really letting one comment change my feelings about my entire experience? Am I walking around completely at the whim over every person who offers a critique? Could I really be that much of a pansy?</p>
<p>Well for 30 minutes, apparently I was. But that was enough of that.</p>
<p>Reader, when it comes to criticism, we can either allow it to wound us, or we can learn to take the hit without being hurt by it (I guess we could also fight back, but I'm not much for sucker-punching my old pals). Anyway, as you're dealt blows this week, remember it doesn't have to hurt you. You can absorb it, and then get along with your day. Learn, move on, and keep at it.</p>
<p>With that, this resilient writer is off to write more un-relatable tunes to everyone but herself. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/b808dd71b4ff88d3b849be8b11b5fcb58d371593/original/em-plays.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/62344212020-03-02T09:45:52-06:002020-03-02T09:45:52-06:00Who Done It <p>I wrote nine songs last week. Today, I'm charting them, and I'm suddenly feeling insecure.</p>
<p>I noticed that some of my chord progressions sound oddly similar to the Sharon Jones records I've been listening to this month. And as much as I didn't intend to lift any of her ideas, I've apparently done so.</p>
<p>"Copycat," I hear an inner voice say.</p>
<p>It's funny, because I've noticed all week that people in my life have also stopped themselves in the middle of creating for fear that they're copying someone else. At my restaurant, our chef didn't want to make fritters because her mentor made them. At our bar, the mixologists had the same issue making original drinks. And at home, the kids have been mad at each other for who decided to dress up in costumes first.</p>
<p>It's bizarre. Why do we stop ourselves from creating the next good thing because we weren't the first?</p>
<p>Reader, everything is derivative. If you find yourself stymied in your creativity because you weren't the first, take heed: it happens to the best of us. As for me, I'm going to focus on being grateful for the all the talent that went before me, sparking my own desire to keep making things. (I'll likely spend this afternoon once again unconsciously stealing from others at the piano). And my kids are apparently off to continue their dress-up, regardless of who did it first. </p>
<p>I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/84f6da2b1fe3b4648ce0af507de4e182b7ee2f96/original/johanna.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/62259852020-02-24T14:10:33-06:002020-02-24T14:10:53-06:00It Wasn’t A Good Time<p>It wasn’t a good time to take a vacation. </p>
<p>We have too much debt. The restaurant isn’t running very smoothly. The kids have been needy lately. The house is a mess. My dog is getting older. I’m behind on paperwork... </p>
<p>In other words, it was a perfect time. </p>
<p>I rented myself an old one-room cabin in Estes Park this past weekend. I had no screens with me. Cell service was patchy. My closest neighbors were pine trees & a herd of elk. </p>
<p>In the mornings, I took long hikes in Rocky Mountain National Park. Then I would head back to the cabin & write songs until I fell asleep, exhausted, but the happiest I’ve been in years.</p>
<p>I even saw a moose.</p>
<p>Reader, there’s never a good time. We’re never ready. But man, we all need breaks. A person isn’t meant to work for a hundred straight days before they get to rest. </p>
<p>I would know. </p>
<p>This rejuvenated writer is off to catch up w/ her family. I’ll see you next Monday. -Em<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/7f27b309c66a3ccfbba4f1d66c5e788fb7be28f1/original/e6a8cad6-dcad-472d-beb1-0f1f8ac40221.jpeg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/62184762020-02-17T20:01:22-06:002022-03-18T06:54:16-05:00True Love<p>I--Emily Hurd--am going on vacation. </p>
<p>Having just worked every day since Thanksgiving, this is a wee bit overdue.</p>
<p>A week from tonight, I'll be flying home from a tiny cabin that I rented in Estes Park. It's right on the border of Rocky Mountain National Park. I'll be doing some hiking, songwriting, and bonding w/ a moose or two. </p>
<p>It's my dream vacation. And I'm living the damn dream.</p>
<p>The funniest part of this vacation? I'm taking it alone. Even funnier? My husband bought me the plane ticket. He knows how much I've been craving solitude and space. So for my birthday a few weeks ago, he got me the ultimate space.</p>
<p>And that, dear Reader, is true love.</p>
<p>In the wake of Valentine's Day, I've been thinking about what love is. I used to think it was a feeling of irrepressible desire for somebody, to want them, to want them to want you, to feel lit up by their presence forever and ever until your guts exploded in a puddle of love-steeped goo.</p>
<p>Today, I can say that for me, love is just good old fashioned listening. It's caring for a person's heart, even when it isn't in alignment with your desires or what lights you up. It's breezy. True love doesn't have wants or feel a sense of ownership. It is selfless. It's respectful, playful, and simple.</p>
<p>And it's what I've got. How much more could a girl ask for?</p>
<p>(Besides a cabin and a moose). </p>
<p>I'm off to read books to the kids. Wishing you playful and kind love this week. I'll see you back here next Monday, hopefully with back country moose stories. -Em</p>
<p>P.S. This pic by Owen Slater is the image that I'm trying to hike to see. Wish me luck.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/37d438e6a9d6ba6ae9d2513c079209a55b2bd1d6/original/3-male-moose-standing-wm.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/62111952020-02-10T22:16:40-06:002020-02-10T22:16:40-06:00When Logic Fails<p>I like to think things through. </p>
<p> A LOT. </p>
<p>Because there's a feeling of security when thought goes into something. The more we think, the more we think we understand. If we put our minds to it, we feel a bit of certainty, maybe even a sense of rightness. </p>
<p>The trouble is, our thoughts--as thoughtful as they are--sometimes are just not right. In fact, sometimes, you can't trust them at all. They're sneaky buggers.</p>
<p>For a few weeks now, my thoughts have been lying to me. </p>
<p>Lately, I've been noticing my staff has been really stand-offish at my restaurant. It's been taking me down, mentally and emotionally. I'd even call myself depressed. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that my team has lost respect for me, that they feel I'm not working hard enough, and that they just don't like me at all. </p>
<p>Until they threw me a giant surprise party last night. </p>
<p>So much for my damn logic. </p>
<p>Reader, in the words of my dear friend Mike Werckle: we need to stop believing our thoughts. Just because we think them doesn't make them "right." Bad thoughts can make us spin out of control, spiraling downward over something that may not even be true. And that's because thoughts tend to intermingle with our fears and insecurities, making us draw faulty conclusions that feel very real. </p>
<p>With that, this over-thinker is off to spend a little more time observing what's happening and a little less time trying to think about everything all the time. I leave you with a picture of me on my FORTIETH birthday this week. No make-up, no filter, no glamour, but I've got a good life, and I'm looking forward to the next 40. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/2dd936f7e7ebed5820bc9c690df09dc7dfffd13c/original/hat.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/62024992020-02-03T21:21:28-06:002021-09-30T12:15:12-05:00Birthday Eve<p>No blog tonight; I'm celebrating the eve of my birthday w/ family. </p>
<p>Keep on fighting the good fight this week. See you next Monday. -Em</p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/61866412020-01-27T20:10:31-06:002020-01-27T20:10:31-06:00New versions<p>When I was a kid, I knew--unequivocally--that my very favorite food was bread & butter, my favorite movie was The Great Muppet Caper, and I wanted to be just like Whitney Houston when I grew up. These were cold hard facts, and they were set in stone.</p>
<p>Until I got a bit older. </p>
<p>At which point, my favorite food was vindaloo curry, my favorite movie was Cool Hand Luke, and I wanted to be just like Jane Goodall when I grew up. I was an adult, and I knew myself well.</p>
<p>Until I changed again. And again and again. Today, my favorite food is a raw oyster, my favorite movie is probably a bunch of This Old House episodes (played back-to-back), and as I age, I just want to be a bit more like my mom. She's more patient than me.</p>
<p>It's funny to me to think how much one person can change. If you would have told me 10 years ago what I'd be into, who I'd love, and what I'd be doing with my life, I never would have believed it. </p>
<p>And that's pretty great.</p>
<p>Reader, I find it tremendously liberating to know we are constantly shifting. We are as inconsistent, as wavering, as unpredictable as the weather. We ebb and flow, ever evolving, ever returning. There's no need to make decisions based on who we think we are, because we are mutable. New information, new people, new circumstances: all of it can (and will) change us.</p>
<p>Lately, I've been at odds with myself, wondering if I've compromised who I "really" am. I spend less time outdoors and more time with my kids and at my restaurant. The songs I'm writing have gotten more sultry, and the clothes I'm wearing have gotten more conservative. My tastes have changes completely. At my restaurant, I opt for salmon with a poached egg yolk on it over a grilled cheese. Who am I any more?!</p>
<p>I'm me. Version 156.0. </p>
<p>With that, this mutable but strong woman is off to play a little piano. Go easy on yourself this week if you find yourself at odds. You may just have changed when you least expected it. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/3dcc23772eb162bfe629f60fa78e7936674b1c20/original/smorrebrod.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/61376082020-01-20T23:24:22-06:002020-01-20T23:24:22-06:00Expression<p>This week, I miss singing. </p>
<p>I miss it on a visceral level. I miss the feeling of a long exhale with a tone and a word on top of it. I miss the sound of a piano reverberating in my ears I miss the air inflating my lungs and giving me permission to let forth a huge belt or a little whisper.</p>
<p>Mostly, I just miss expression.</p>
<p>One of the few things they don't tell you about running a business and a household is how much you have to hold back. Your temper, your true feelings, your needs, your judgements, EVERYTHING must be kept in check and under control. In order for everybody around you to flourish and feel at peace, you must squelch everything about yourself that might make them feel uncomfortable.</p>
<p>It's enough to make a woman scream...if she could.</p>
<p>Music has always been an outlet for me, a chance to be honest without the scrutiny of others. Lately, it's fallen to the wayside. My restaurant and family have required too much of my attention. But I've noticed only recently that music isn't just a hobby for me. </p>
<p>It might be the only thing that has kept me sane through the years.</p>
<p>Reader, it dawns on me that a soul simply cannot hold it all in. We have to express ourselves, through art, through conversation, through exercise, through anything. I have to believe that we are meant to do more on earth than to simply 'hold it together' and die.</p>
<p>I leave you with a picture of my daughter in a state of unbridled joy. It shouldn't just be the children, our coworkers, and the ones we love who get to feel this way. All of us should be allowed to express ourselves at our utmost. We aren't meant to be tamed at all times. This songwriter is looking forward to a little more time set aside for belting it out with reckless abandon. I'll see you back here next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/bdf44cd9bb21497a3b36bc5529e4441155e00709/original/johanna.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/60962402020-01-13T14:52:00-06:002020-01-13T14:52:00-06:00The Pay-Off<p>Yesterday, I felt the pay-off.</p>
<p>(Sadly, it wasn't monetary).</p>
<p>Nonetheless, I got paid. The past month at work has been wrought with stress for me. I thought my restaurant might die a death by a thousand cuts. So many small problems were hurting staff morale, customer support, and overall operations. I've been working what feels like around-the-clock hours to try to put out fires and create better systems or organization and communication. </p>
<p>And I've never used so many file folders in my life.</p>
<p>After all the scurrying, all the sleepless nights, all the meetings I took with staff, we finally had a smooth day yesterday. I couldn't believe it. Our team morale improved. Customers got good service. The systems I put in place worked. And I exhaled deeply for the first since Christmas day.</p>
<p>Earlier this week, a picture of my Dad working in the woods fell out of an old book that I happened to find. And I felt so proud to be a part of a line of hard workers. There's no better way to control a problem than to simply get to work. My dad must have discovered that truth, too.</p>
<p>Reader, some days we can feel like we're knocking our heads against a wall, working our fingers to the bone, and nothing is changing. But things are changing. Every bit of work we do adds up. It may not add up quickly. It may not add up to money. But work pays off in some way, in the end.</p>
<p>And I'm off to keep at it. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/cfd2ea91f2d9e982334ddd7e31f7051e2e49e132/original/dad.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/60659632020-01-07T11:37:14-06:002020-01-07T11:37:14-06:00Time Warps<p>Lately, I've been waking up in the middle of the night, wondering where I am. It's been a bit alarming.</p>
<p>On Wednesday night, I woke up thinking I was in my old Chicago apartment, where I haven't lived in 6 six years. On Friday night, I woke up from nightmares that I hadn't prepared lessons for my music students, students I haven't taught in 8 years. And just last night, I woke up to lights outside the window, and I thought I was in my college dorm room, which I lived in 2 decades ago.</p>
<p>(Read: this may be the week I start losing my mind.)</p>
<p>It's incredible to me how time puts us so squarely in one place, yet how keenly our bodies can remember being in another. And as scary as it is to lose touch with present reality, it's not only fascinating, but also comforting to me that older realities never really leave us. Time may move forward, but our experiences remain a part of our make-up forever. </p>
<p>My dad passed away on January 4th, 7 years ago. This week, I felt the anniversary more heavily than past years. It's as though the cells of my body were recounting his heart attack all over again. But this morning, I forced my body to remember farther back, back to when he was healthy. Times of hiking, playing cribbage, building bar tops, sharing scotch. Those memories came flooding back just as vividly, and I've had a nice time letting myself swim around in those times today.</p>
<p>Not many weeks have morals, but this one apparently does. And here it is:</p>
<p>Be present. Live so fully in the moment that it becomes a part of you, that it steeps into your soul and leaves an indelible mark, that you can bring it back to life by closing your eyes. Time passes, but it does not steal. We get to keep it all, everything we've ever seen, everybody we've ever known. Watching my babies sleep is a memory that will never fade for me (thanks not only to living in the present, but also smart phones). I hope you're enjoying every minute of your life, Reader. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/1c2a0d4c24c4b1e6e419e1d4391f2e32f8e77ba4/original/jo-sleeps.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/60528092019-12-31T07:50:18-06:002019-12-31T07:50:18-06:00Beginnings<p>I hate when chapters end. Even bad ones. </p>
<p>I remember as a kid in high school, watching the inseparable bonds I'd formed w/ elementary school friends separate. I was a wreck. And of course I'd make new friends. And of course it was all ok. But in the moment, knowing a chapter was closing forever would devastate me.</p>
<p>At the end of 2019 and the brink of 2020, I only have one firm resolution:</p>
<p>Be less devastated by uncertainty. Look around. Move forward. Repeat.</p>
<p>Reader, I'm often filled with doubt and fear. The voices in my head are loud. <em>Will I be able to afford the healthcare our kids need? Will I earn enough money to record an album this year? Will my restaurant survive?</em> And I don't know the answers. I can already feel that some chapters are about to close.</p>
<p>But I do know that the clouds will pass, and the horizon goes on forever. What feels murky now will become clear later. And I'm putting my faith in that beautiful phenomenon. Wishing you the happiest New Year. See you in 2020. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/315978f8305e905c296430369c76b13fd633689d/original/sunset.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/60440062019-12-24T07:38:16-06:002019-12-24T07:38:16-06:00Fueling the Fire <p>Merry Christmas Eve, Reader. I've had a week full of ups and downs, mostly ups. Last night, I hosted my restaurant staff at the house. We laughed, we ate, and we ended up in a sauna. My team works so hard for me, and it felt good to work hard for them. </p>
<p>Tonight is Christmas Eve, and I'll be creating the magic of Santa for my kids. We'll be leaving out the carrots for the reindeer, and my husband will leave ashy boot-prints from the fireplace to the chimney. They believe in it all so much, and I find myself excited to feed their enthusiasm.</p>
<p>Tomorrow for Christmas, I'll be cooking again for my restaurant guests. I'm serving holiday deviled eggs and chestnut tiramisu, amongst other things. As much as I'm tired, I'm looking forward to spending time feeding our neighborhood.</p>
<p>Cliché as it is, giving to others from a place of gratitude doesn't tap my energy supply at all. I'm fueled by it. As we get closer to the end of the year, I look forward to using this energy in every way I can. I've never felt so simultaneously tired and energized in my life. Giving begets giving. I wish you this same feeling this week. Merry Christmas to you and yours. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/12c6bbcd51da59c6698ae28ccd11accb923e2508/original/group-christmas.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/60279732019-12-17T20:04:18-06:002019-12-17T20:04:18-06:00That's All She Wrote<p>I can't believe it. More than 5,000 people came through the outdoor market that we created outside my restaurant. I've spent the last few days cleaning up, & I'm absolutely wiped out. My heart is full, & my body is exhausted. If you came to Snømarket: THANK YOU. More from me next week. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/bad4c26f7d9fc1ca2ec78a09cea957a86e9bc905/original/snomarket.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/60006842019-12-09T21:38:22-06:002022-05-11T12:04:00-05:00Come to Snømarket<p>Tonight's blog is a quick pitch.</p>
<p>For the past 2 months, the staff at my restaurant has poured themselves into a major event: Snømarket. We've built a Nordic fishing village in our parking lot, where we'll be selling everything from cookies to akvavit, from marionettes to bandanas. There will be a raw bar, horse drawn carriage rides, & you can even get your picture taken with a yeti. </p>
<p>I've never been prouder to be a part of a team. The amount of work going into this celebration is astounding. </p>
<p>I'm off to make another batch of glögg. Please consider coming to the parking lot behind my restaurant--The Norwegian--at 1402 N Main Street in Rockford this weekend. We'll be throwing the outdoor winter party of our lives. Hope you're having a great holiday season. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/8ce8ec589927b466653215d3246c0e16900e41e1/original/scandi-cookies.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/59893272019-12-02T21:15:44-06:002019-12-02T21:15:44-06:00Perfecting Imbalance<p>For Thanksgiving, our little family headed up North to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan for a few days. We enjoyed a lot of snow, family time, and polar plunging into Lake Superior. It was nice to be off-grid, and I couldn't have been happier.</p>
<p>Except I spent most of the time missing my restaurant back home.</p>
<p>When our small vacation was over, we began driving home. In the car, I started getting back to work. It felt great to be plugged in again, answering emails and coordinating events. </p>
<p>Except I was instantly missing quality time with my kids.</p>
<p>When I got back to work on Saturday night, I was so euphoric. Being in the restaurant and catching up with my co-workers felt invigorating. I loved being brought up to speed, and the buzz of the place energized me.</p>
<p>Except I couldn't help but miss the tranquility of the Northwoods.</p>
<p>Reader, the longer I live, the more I realize: balance is not something we attain. It's just something we work towards. We will not be able to have it all the way we want it. I'll never have enough time for my kids, my songwriting, my restaurant, or my desire to be outside. But once we make a choice to spend energy in one facet of our lives, it's a waste of the present to wonder what would have happened if we had spent it elsewhere. </p>
<p>With that, this imbalanced songwriter is off to bed. I'm on a mission this week to perfect the art of living a life that isn't balanced, one where I may not be devoting as much time as I like to the things I love, but I sure as hell will love those things while I'm with them. See you next Monday. -Em<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/7616f4536fdfc41ed7fa081c9fbf9dc9d7098dd5/original/snow.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/59735342019-11-25T14:05:50-06:002019-11-25T14:05:50-06:00Power of A Tribe<p>Well, I gave my first public speech last week. I was asked to give a talk to a large group on "The Power Of A Tribe." I was conflicted about agreeing to give a speech. </p>
<p>First, because I don't like using the word "tribe" the way it's used today. Second, because I have absolutely no experience giving speeches.</p>
<p>But I actually do have quite a lot to say about how I went from working as a lone wolf to belonging to some wonderful groups of people. And so I took the time to write out my story and tell it.</p>
<p>Now, I've worked hard in my life to not to care whether people know my side of any story. I have nothing to prove. But I have to admit: it was nice to get to wax extemporaneously about my trials. Reader, I don't expect you to read any of this. But if you wonder what I've been writing these past few weeks, it's below. I'll see you for a normal blog next Monday.</p>
<p>-Em</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Good afternoon. Thank you very much for inviting me to talk with you today. </p>
<p>My name is Emily Hurd. Most of you don’t know me. By trade, I am a singer/songwriter, which means I’ve spent the majority of my life writing music alone with a piano, a pen, and a notepad. If you had asked me six years ago to speak about the power of working in and leading a group, I wouldn’t have had much to say, beyond how much I don’t enjoy working with others. </p>
<p>Today, I’m in a unique position to discuss it. Before I do, I need to explain how I went from suffering in isolation to belonging to some incredible groups of people that changed the way I think. The first part of this talk will revolve around my background, but I’ll get to the point, I promise. </p>
<p>In 2013, my father passed away very suddenly of a heart attack. At that time, I was living alone in Chicago, writing and teaching music in my 300-square foot apartment in Andersonville. My family has always been very important to me, and when dad died, it put me on my heels. I decided shortly after his passing to move back to the west side of Rockford, where I’m from, to be closer to my mother. When I moved back, my old high school boyfriend and I got back together, I got married, and then pregnant. </p>
<p>As strange as it is to say, I’ve never lived better than I did in the days following dad’s death. Sometimes it takes a tragedy to make us realize just how short our time here really is. Armed with that bittersweet clarity, I could see what I should be doing with my life. And it wasn’t just sitting alone with a piano, a pen, and a notepad. </p>
<p>So I began my search for a building to open a “place.” I’ve always wanted to bring people together in a physical space, and I’ve always loved making food and music. One day I was driving home through the North End, and I saw the building I knew I wanted. On February 5, 2015, while I was 4 months pregnant with my first child, I bought 1402 N Main Street in Rockford. It had been largely abandoned. The roof had collapsed. Walls were crumbling. Pipes had rotted. And yet my heart went out to it. The day I got the keys, I got to work. I decided to turn the first floor into a restaurant and music venue called The Norwegian, and the second floor into rentable spaces for fellow creative types to make and teach art. </p>
<p>I started my renovations upstairs, filling four 40-yard dumpsters with the remains the squatters had hoarded up there over the years. I did the work alone, because I didn’t want anybody else to have to face the gruesome job. It took a few weeks of clearing out dead birds, rooms of trash, and thousands of mouse carcasses before I could even start the project. I don’t know if it was all the hormones from being pregnant, but I got through it. </p>
<p>Once I got the space clear, I started a one-woman mission of tearing up 4,000 square feet of carpet. It was at that point, I hit asbestos tile. I was told by an asbestos abatement company that I would need to tear out the entire floor, and it would cost $93,000. I tried to get a loan with several banks and lending institutions. I felt alone and scared. No one was willing to help. So I did a crowd-funding campaign through Kickstarter that became infamous around these parts. </p>
<p>I told locals that for various levels of financial support, I would give them rewards at my new restaurant. Everything from free coffee, to playing a house concert in their home, from cooking a 5-course meal for 25 people, to building them their own bar stools with their name on it. For $50,000, I would even let someone name my unborn baby. Thank god nobody took me up on that one. </p>
<p>55 days after I started that campaign, I went into labor. 27 hours later, I had my first child. A boy, who I named John, after my father. 5 days after he was born, the Kickstarter campaign came to a close. I raised more than $100,000 to keep the project going. </p>
<p>Two weeks after that, I got back to work on the second floor of the building. For the next six months, I spent most every weekday upstairs alone, scraping tar, plastering, and painting walls. </p>
<p> On the weekends, I devoted my entire time to fulfilling Kickstarter rewards. I had to play 45 house concerts in the continental United States, most of which also came with dinner. I remember staying up late cooking food on Friday nights, then on Saturday mornings, loading up my keyboard, my prepared food, and my son, and driving to whoever I had promised a concert. I had a breast pump that was connected to the inverter of my car so that I could pump while I drove, then transfer the milk to a bottle and feed my son in his car seat. </p>
<p>When I would show up to people’s houses to play, I would hide how exhausted I was; I kept a lot of under eye concealer in my glovebox. I’d cook and play and entertain as best I could. Then I would pack up my keyboard and my son, and I would drive back home. I drove as far away as Cape Cod and Texas for these concerts. I would wake up Monday mornings completely drained, suffering in isolation. </p>
<p>When I was done with most of the ugly jobs upstairs at the building and had played the majority of the Kickstarter shows, I began getting down to the nitty gritty. At that point, I was feeling more nauseated than usual, vomiting on-site quite a bit. I discovered that I was 2 months pregnant with my second child. So I scrambled to get the upstairs finished. Almost entirely by myself, I stained, varnished, put in new plumbing, painted radiators, replaced ceiling tiles, added trim, and calked the trim. # One week after I finished renovating upstairs, I went into labor. 72 hours later, I had my second child. A girl. I named her Johanna Ruth, after her two great grandmothers. </p>
<p>Johanna was born with a very rare defect. We didn’t catch it in utero. The nurses at Swedish American noticed right away that she wasn’t breathing, and they kept her stable in the NICU with oxygen and feeding tubes. # It wasn’t until six weeks later when she was taken to the Children’s Hospital in Madison that we discovered that she had a rare syndrome called SMMCI. She would need several surgeries to give her nasal passageways. I felt alone and scared for her, but suppressed those feelings as most mothers do, suffering in isolation. </p>
<p>I spent weeks at the Ronald McDonald house in Madison while she had her procedures. The project at 1402 N Main Street was necessarily put on hold. After a few months, Johanna was stable. Her team of doctors told us she was safe to stay at home and only needed to come up to Madison for check-ups. For the first time, I was able to put both of my children in daycare, and I was ready to pour myself back into construction of The Norwegian. </p>
<p>Except now it was October of 2017. And some of the people who had once believed in me were sending me what can only be described as hate mail. They were frustrated with how long the project was taking. They called me a fraud because they weren’t seeing work crews in the parking lot. Even strangers were writing to tell me they were glad they didn’t support my crowd-funding campaign, or I would have wasted their money like I wasted everybody else’s. </p>
<p>I felt shrunken. I felt embarrassed and afraid. Whatever steam I was running on was gone. I had just spent years privately running myself into the ground. Despite the sheer exhaustion, I decided to get a building permit with the City of Rockford, and I began renovating the first floor of the building. I had made a promise to a lot of people, and as shriveled and alone as I felt, I was going to finish the project. </p>
<p>I remember Tuesday, January 2nd, 2018, like it was yesterday. I was tearing down walls, trying to salvage as much of the wood as I could so I wouldn’t have to buy new lumber. And my Uncle Dave walked into the building. He was wearing work gloves and had a crow bar in his hand. He said, “I thought you might need a hand.” </p>
<p>My initial thought was to refuse. I knew how gruesome the work was going to be. I knew I couldn’t pay him. But I was so tired. And I was genuinely happy not to be working alone, and so I said, “That would be great, thank you.” </p>
<p>Uncle Dave came by to help me every day. He let me pay him in Beef-a-Roo. We tackled some truly terrible jobs together, tearing out old HVAC systems, and unearthing a century’s worth of grime. </p>
<p>A month later, one of the neighbors popped his head in. His name was Bob. He was retired, and wondered if I needed help. He brought his toolbox with him. He said, “Just point me where you need me.” My first thought was to refuse. I wasn’t even related to this person. Why would they embark on such a miserable journey with me? Still, I pointed him toward the table saw, and gave him a job. From that day on, Bob was on-site almost every day until the project was over. </p>
<p>Another month later, one of my dad’s old friends showed up at the door. He took one look at how much work I had to do and said, “Oh Emily. What can I do?” I gave him a small job, not wanting to push my luck. He completed it in a few hours and said, “I’ll be back tomorrow.” </p>
<p>The next day, he showed up with most of my Dad’s retired friends. They were in awe at what I had gotten myself into. I gave them jobs, and they started in. All for the low price of Beef-A-Roo. </p>
<p>Everyday, I showed up to work nervous, not knowing what to expect. And every time a volunteer walked in to help me, I felt myself become energized and more confident. I noticed that they, too were becoming more energized. We were all falling into patterns, into rhythms, into inside jokes, and friendships. I could physically feel our steps becoming more confident. I grew into the role of general contractor slowly, without even knowing it. I was inadvertently belonging to and leading a group that today I cannot imagine living without. </p>
<p>A few days before we finished up our renovations, an inspector came in and loudly asked, “Who’s the guy in charge?” I can’t tell you how wonderful and comical it was to have 10 strong, male engineers point to me and say in unison, “She is.” </p>
<p>Nine months later, the project was complete. And all because I was surrounded by a group of people, working together for a common goal. The feelings of pride and relief that we collectively felt cannot be adequately described with words. </p>
<p>Now, I’m not an expert on what effects we all have on each other. I only have my own experience to share with you. And now that you’ve heard my story, I feel like I can tell you what a value it has been for me to belong to a group. </p>
<p>First let me say, as a mammal: being in a group reduces fear. Locking eyes with another human while you’re tearing down a wall or moving something heavy or facing any challenge takes away from the primal feeling that you can’t do it, or that you need to run away. Not only because there are people who have your back, but also because there are people who depend on you to keep going. </p>
<p>Second, let me say as a perfectionist: being in a group reduces stress. As an over-achieving only child, I get in my head and worry about most things, which generally leads to a downward spiral. But working with others allows you to be vulnerable, to be encouraged, and then to be brought back to reality by those who are thinking more clearly than you. There is a power to making light of things with friends. </p>
<p>Third, let me say as a woman: being in a group reduces the feeling that you’re being a bitch. The older I get, the more I realize what a tightrope a woman walks because of the real and perceived expectations we have about encompassing the entire spectrum of humanity at once. We must be firm, but still loving. Sweet, but sensual. Knowledgeable, but not know-it-alls. Motherly, but not overbearing. Feisty, but chill. Hard-working, but still beautiful. It’s not sustainable. But working as part of a team takes the focus away from how well I’m behaving and how I appear, and puts more emphasis on how well I’m getting the job done. </p>
<p>Fourth, let me say as a human: working in a group increases joy. Being elated alone is great. Being elated with a lot of other excited individuals is just tremendous. What’s more, if you work in a group and achieve the group’s goal, you don’t want to celebrate alone anyway. Cheering each other on and celebrating combined success is far more euphoric than rejoicing solo. Case in point, last week Rockford voted us its best new restaurant, of course as soon as I found out, I celebrated with my 25 wonderful employees that make up the group I currently love to belong to.</p>
<p>Fifth, let me say as a mother: working in a group turns the gruesome into comedic fodder. In the past 4 years, I’ve seen more more filth than most of my fellow Americans. I can tell you with certainty: when I was in that building facing the filth alone, things felt pretty bleak. I was hiding my fear and frustration, as so many of us do. But for whatever reason, facing terrifying scenarios with others is almost easy because you’re too busy commiserating and making jokes to place stock in just how vial the job really is. </p>
<p>Finally, let me say as a business owner, once you open yourself to being a part of a team, that mindset begins to spread. Since I bought the building, 3 more business owners bought derelict buildings on our block and began renovating them. We have become incredibly fast friends, helping each other with our projects, lifting each other up when we’re feeling discouraged, encouraging our customers to patronize each other’s businesses. Case in point, this Friday night, my restaurant is hosting a dinner with a theme that matches our neighboring theatre’s play. And on December 14thand 15th, our entire strip of businesses is celebrating our one year anniversary w/ a giant winter snømarket in our shared parking lot. </p>
<p>So now to recap. I’ve learned that working in a group reduces fear, stress, and guilt. It also increases joy and laughter. Which is to say: belonging to groups progresses us along. I would wager that working in close proximity with a team is how our species evolved to the place we’re at today. Sadly, as we became more fearless, more civilized, that comradery and dependence on each other went away. </p>
<p>I think a lot about how much of our lives is spent in physical isolation. It was bad enough when I was a kid, living in a house, leaving it in a car, exiting the car to be in another building, then inevitably ending up back in the car to drive home. Now a-days, people have phones to distract them in public and to keep them from having to look, speak, or connect with each other at all. </p>
<p>It’s funny to me now that I’ve been asked to give a talk about the power of a tribe (which is a word I don’t personally use in the way that it’s used today), and yet, our species has evolved beyond tribalism. We’ve evolved into a civilized life whereby our isolation has provided us with beautiful homes and cars and food, and yet we lack all the obvious benefits provided to us by being a part of small group dependent on each other. The sense of belonging, the confidence, and most of all, the support. </p>
<p>So how do we bring it back? </p>
<p>If I’ve learned anything in this process of building and operating a restaurant, it’s that nobody really thinks that much anymore about where each of us have come from. We all know what’s “real” to us, and we operate in that reality. I still have men coming into my bar and asking me to talk to the “guy” who installed my ceiling. Because to those men, women aren’t general contractors who are capable of installing a ceiling, much less leading a crew of grown men. </p>
<p>I’ve tried many approaches to change the way those kinds of people think. I’ve called them out on their stereotypes. I’ve explained rationally why they’re incorrect in their assumptions. I’ve even gone so far as to insult them. The problem is, I’m fighting them in their reality. And frankly, there’s no changing a person’s reality. </p>
<p>To me, the only real way to make change of any kind, is to create the reality we want to live in, and to encourage others to meet us there. </p>
<p>I know the reality I’m living in now, and I know what I need to do to encourage others to share in it. I need to create a safe restaurant space for my customers, one where they see clearly that there is a woman at the helm of a functioning business, one where they feel welcome to connect with others. I need to be vulnerable and compassionate with my incredible team of employees so that they will trust our little work community and feel their own sense of belonging to it. The more we all belong, the more energized each member of my team becomes. Finally, I need to pour myself fully and presently into my husband and kids when I come home, so that our little family will reap the benefits of belonging to our small group as well. </p>
<p>What I hope comes out of this talk foremost is that I’ve accurately relayed how I’ve grown into the revelation that working in a team is much more beneficial than proving that I can do it all on my own. My other goal is simply to connect with more of you who are also working to reshape reality, and to cheerlead you on so you’ll keep at it. The more of us who are confidently living a life that encourages women to belong to a team, to lean on a team, to also lead a team, the greater that reality will become and it will render the life of suffering in isolation obsolete. Thank you.</p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/59500122019-11-05T06:18:23-06:002022-07-21T11:26:18-05:00My first speech<p>No blog for me for two weeks. I've got to give a big speech to a large group of women at the end of November, and I'm using all of my writing time to make it the best it can be. I'll post it up here just as soon as I'm finished.</p>
<p>I hope you all had a good Halloween. This Lorax spent the day taking her kids out in the snow around the neighborhood. You never get too old or too cool to wear spandex in the name of fun. See you in a few weeks. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/78b1252f9497ed3ca683d686d359e2260526fce3/original/lorax.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/59420082019-10-28T21:37:15-05:002019-10-28T21:37:15-05:00Burnt Out IOS<p>I wish it were as easy to perform updates on ourselves as it is on our phones. </p>
<p>If I were my phone, I'd just plug myself in at night, wake up in the morning to a new operating system, take a self-guided tour of how cool I'm about to be, and start being a better version of myself.</p>
<p>But being simple flesh and blood, it's hard to make updates.</p>
<p>This week, it dawned on me that I've got a lot of unhealthy, antiquated habits that aren't serving me anymore. I respond to anger with anger. I am quick to judge. I work too hard on too little sleep. I don't eat enough vegetables or drink enough water, and I stretch myself too thin.</p>
<p>Upgrading to more useful systems sounds wonderful. But nothing is an overnight fix. I would need to start incorporating better practices into my day-to-day life. I would need to exercise daily compassion. I would need to buck my hardwiring and try to start forming new habits of self-awareness and self-care. And all of these things would take weeks, if not months. Who's got time and energy for that?</p>
<p>Me, from now on.</p>
<p>Reader, what we allow is what will continue. If we want to change for the better, we have to work for it, daily. There's no sense in holding on to bad habits, just because they'd take too long to fix. I know I for one don't want to be running on this same old burnt-out operating system next year.</p>
<p>This week, I'm going to start making small updates to my life. It won't be a quick solution to problems, but it's going to be a start. I leave you with this picture of me waving to the folks redoing my parking lot at work. Seems like everything around me is upgrading; it's time that I do, too. See you next Monday. -Em, 2.0</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/a4bf56a8cd6d7c9ccc9c514fa69d2ed90bbfaa61/original/em-parking-lot.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/59339462019-10-21T13:48:05-05:002019-10-21T13:48:05-05:00Til Death<p>Morbid as it sounds, I think about death everyday. </p>
<p>Not for long, and not to be macabre. It just helps me keep everything in perspective. As contrary as it sounds, nothing snaps me out of a funk faster than remembering we're all going to die.</p>
<p>(Bless my poor parents for dealing with a creepy kid like me.)</p>
<p>Anyway. Three friends of mine died this week. They weren't related. It just happened to be their time. And as much as I think about death, their untimely passings still put me on my heels.</p>
<p>I walked around most of this week in a bit of a daze, contemplating what my friends left behind. Kids, wives, friends, fans, band members, pets. It felt like a punch to the gut to think of everybody who would miss them.</p>
<p>I thought about all that they had made: art, recordings, movies, music. I felt the wind go out of my sails, hypothesizing what they would have continued creating if they hadn't gone so soon.</p>
<p>Then last night, I was lying in bed with my kids, taking turns telling spooky stories. (Not surprisingly, my children are naturals at being creeps). We literally laughed ourselves to sleep. It was a great night. This morning, I took my son to school. Hanging in the classroom, there was a sheet of paper with each kids' answer to what they would do under an apple tree (picture below). My son's answer broke my heart. And it hit me.</p>
<p>Bodies die. Love does not.</p>
<p>Reader, we will be forgotten. Our words will be forgotten. Our money will be forgotten. Our possessions will be forgotten. But the energy we pass on will continue to be passed. If we pass along hate, anger, and fear, then that is our legacy. If we pass along love, encouragement, and compassion, then that is our legacy. Let's remember this week that--for the people who want to sit with you under an apple tree--your energy matters. It will be passed from them onto another person. Let's keep that love going around.</p>
<p>With that, this creep is off to spend some time with her kids. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/82a28ca6f74b4ca09242cd0a3ed9faa2c606a286/original/johns-message.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/59265962019-10-14T19:32:00-05:002019-10-14T19:32:00-05:00Shaken, Not Stirred<p>Short blog tonight; the kids need their mama. But I wanted to let you know that I'm going to be a bartender this week.</p>
<p>This Wednesday, I'm guest-bartending from 5 pm to 7 pm at Abreo restaurant in Rockford, and 10% of all the money we earn will go to Gigi's Playhouse, an organization dedicated to changing the way we view people w/ Down syndrome and encouraging general acceptance of all humans. As many of you know, this mission is dear to my heart. </p>
<p>I spent some time w/ my mixologist buddy Greg Callahan at work yesterday, learning as many bar tricks as I could. Granted, I can't do bar slides. Or twirl bottles. But if you'd like to drink for a cause while chatting about woodworking & single malt scotches, then I'm your lady. Likely there will be spontaneous outbursts of singing. </p>
<p>I hope you'll let me serve you a mediocre Manhattan for a top-shelf cause this Wednesday at happy hour. (Non-alcoholic drinks are also available.) I'll see you back here next Monday night. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/e5b39ef3d4c78634f8e2c601756d17b356ed3256/original/greg-em-1.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/59184622019-10-07T14:47:21-05:002022-05-09T15:40:07-05:00Unapologetic Corn Angels<p>All my life, I've spent way too much energy and time caring what people thought about me. </p>
<p>And feeling sorry. </p>
<p>As a musician, I figured if people didn't like me (and-by extension-my music), they wouldn't buy my records. I've apologized to more fans than I care to admit for failing to deliver the sound they wanted.</p>
<p>As a restaurateur, I figured that if people didn't like me (and-by extension-my restaurant), they wouldn't support my business. I've apologized to more customers than I care to admit for failing to deliver the food they wanted.</p>
<p>The theme is unfortunately clear.</p>
<p>Reader, I'm tired of being sorry all the time. This week, I spent a great afternoon with my kids, doing corn angels in a silo and giving zero rips about what anybody thought of us. It was liberating. My mind actually felt lighter. I felt myself exhale for what seemed like the first time in weeks. </p>
<p>What a simple concept: stop caring if people like you. </p>
<p>As an overachieving adult, I know I've looked for ways to control most situations. But the simple fact is, you really can't control if people like you or not. And if people do happen to like you, they certainly don't want you to spend your time apologizing to them. They want you to be yourself, unapologetically. They want you to create from a place that makes you happy. And they want you to care about them in this same way.</p>
<p>Everybody else? Well, you can't please everyone. I'm looking forward to a very un-sorry week ahead. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/24b9511b83a5f7efd3e90c346ea174f36d082074/original/corn-angel.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/59109122019-09-30T19:44:21-05:002019-09-30T19:46:05-05:00Recollection<p>This week, a lot of things turned up, seemingly out of nowhere. </p>
<p>On the restaurant front, we came into loads of hen-of-the-woods mushrooms, watercress, & juniper berries. I could hardly believe my good luck. All of these treasures were just beyond the tree-line, waiting for me to collect them.</p>
<p>The next day, I got to play a concert with my old friend Ernie Hendrickson. I played songs I haven't played in years. The lyrics and chords still came pouring out, as if they were waiting for me to recall them.</p>
<p>Today, my son was sent home sick from school with a fever. I curled up with him on the couch. I started rocking him the way my mom did to me, using instincts that have been latent but still inherently there, waiting for me to use them.</p>
<p>And here I didn't know I was missing anything, until it all turned up.</p>
<p>Reader, it was a beautiful week, and I've got nothing but gratitude. Days like these remind me that there is so much waiting for us, just down the road, just behind our thoughts, just beneath our skin. How relieving to think that---even in dark times--there's something waiting for us.</p>
<p>This sappy post has been brought to you by a feeling of epic abundance (and a dram of scotch before bed). I'm off to rock a sick babe. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/f09e849b16bf5dfa7736cae89dd8d70fbc0b2186/original/hen-of-the-woods.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/59029572019-09-23T22:53:39-05:002019-09-23T22:56:26-05:00Lagom <p>A few weeks ago, one of the writers from Umgås--a Scandi magazine I reference all the time at my restaurant--contacted me out of the blue. I was dumb-founded and honored; he wanted to write a story about my journey through music and food. This week, the story was published. (If you feel like checking it out, <a contents="it's here)" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.umgasmagazine.com/singer-emily-hurds-nordic-restaurant-norwegian/?fbclid=IwAR35eyWimgX82FaS9fwDn4G9eH1aS073ZcvjQeBFPxScEPPXHy12mt0QMbI">it's here)</a>.</p>
<p>Anyway, I liked the questions that the writer (Sean) asked me. He was disarming, even over the phone, and I found myself able to talk to him candidly. I was surprised how naturally I could remember my Grandma Ruth, how readily I could discuss my own life philosophies, and how easily I could express my gratitude. Reading my own words in the article this week, it hit me:</p>
<p>The path I'm on is the one that suits me.</p>
<p>There are so many paths that used to call me, but they're not for me, and they never were. That path my parents walked? I'm too hot-headed, too stubborn for it. That full-time singer path I always wanted? I'm too rooted, too raw to walk it. That full-time chef path? I'm too much of a writer, too quiet to walk it. That full-time stay-at-home mom path? I'm too bold, too dreamy to walk it. </p>
<p>But the little path I've carved, the one where I wake up in the morning, write at my piano, play with my kids, spend the day running a brunch pub, and come home to my family and our home in the woods? Well I'm not too much of anything for it. It's made for me.</p>
<p>Reader, there's a Swedish adjective called "lagom," which translated, means: neither too little or too much...just right." Sometimes, it's easy to wish we were on somebody else's path, but it's really not for us. I hope your life path right now is as lagom for you as mine feels to me. (Truth be told, I'm sure I'll feel out of balance again by next week. But at least this week, everything feels just right.)</p>
<p>With that, I'm off to bed. I spent the afternoon gathering the last of the elderberries from our woods. I'll be cooking with them this Thursday night at my restaurant, if you feel like tasting my food. Then on Friday night, I'll be playing a show with my friend Ernie Hendrickson at Memorial Hall, if you feel like hearing some music. I'm all over the place, and yet right where I want to be. See you next week. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/1ac43ddf3d4a13c4629e503371f8a0a2033ac179/original/elders.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/58944992019-09-16T22:24:05-05:002021-12-24T09:28:00-06:00Forgetting Fault<p>We live in a world that loves to find fault. </p>
<p>At least I do. </p>
<p>When I was in undergrad, I took a personality test. The number one adjective that chocked me up? Fault-finding. No joke. I felt embarrassed; I remember hiding my results from my classmates. But on the walk home that day, I decided that the test was unfortunately correct. I was fault-finding. I took perverse pleasure in finding errors in my teacher's lesson plans, in typos in newspapers and books. I reveled in calling out my friends and family members if they were ever hypocritical. And to this day, I can't help myself from sifting through the internet and finding flaws in the logic of writers.</p>
<p>This is probably why I don't have many friends.</p>
<p>Anyway, as much as I've tried to improve since my college days, I'm not much better today. For the past few weeks, it's dawned on me:</p>
<p>Finding fault is my biggest fault.</p>
<p>Case in point: I've been hosting several events at my restaurant lately. The event tonight was a fall kick-off party for a club of professional women in my hometown. As they started arriving in their nice clothes, I felt my old hyper-critical self kick into gear. I tensed up. Then the familiar internal dialogue started. <em>Who do these women think they are? Oh my God they're all so proper. Are they doing enough to include everybody? Where are all the women of color? Wait, is this a racist club? I can't believe I'm hosting racists!</em></p>
<p>Irrationality at its finest.</p>
<p>As I sit here reflecting, the truth is staring me in the face. I'm finding fault because it's easier than finding something in common. Because I can get a quick jolt of energy from being right. Because I like to put distance between myself and people that I assume aren't like me. </p>
<p>But mostly...because I'm constantly finding fault with myself, and I'm jealous that other people aren't doing the same.</p>
<p>Damnit.</p>
<p>Reader, it's easy to find fault. In fact, it's downright primitive. I'm on a mission to evolve a bit, loosen up, extend some grace to myself and others, and maybe even find commonalities. The women tonight could not have been greater kindred spirits, and I'm glad I was able to forget my tendency to look for character flaws so that I could find all of our shared interests. In the end, it's nicer to be in a group of mutually flawed friends than righteous and alone.</p>
<p>I leave you with this picture of an 18-tiered Scandinavian cake I made this week. The picture on the left is what my first two cakes looked like. The picture on the right is the third cake I made. Hard as we may try, nobody is perfect. We're all flawed. And we could all stand to let go of the need to look for how much we're messing up so we can focus more on how to improve. With that, this flawed restaurant-running songwriter is off to bed. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/2f145182ca95dd539152b0085711f7772d041609/original/busted-krasekake.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/58864332019-09-09T21:47:23-05:002019-09-09T21:47:23-05:00Wee babe<p>I'm writing this blog with a 2-month old baby on my shoulder. (My friends' newborn has colic, and I offered to take him off their hands for the night.) So no blog from me tonight. I have so much to say, but it'll have to wait until next week when I'm not in such a precarious position. See you then. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/d7e3f103432f82d3cd195223201aa60ab82d392e/original/jack.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/58785202019-09-02T20:14:20-05:002021-06-02T08:24:55-05:00Delicate Ecosystems<p>When I was a kid, I was the crazy one. The dreamer. The prankster who couldn't stop laughing. The stay-up-too-late writing music chic w/ a pot of coffee I didn't even like to drink, but man, it made me feel alive.</p>
<p>And it's no wonder, because I was part of a delicate ecosystem. A family. One where my dad was serious, my mom was organized, and I knew that I needed to be the source of levity.</p>
<p>Now that I'm a restaurant-owning mother, I'm the serious one. The one who pays bills, keeps tracks of doctors' appointments, makes dinner, and cleans the house. I do these things not because I want to, but because I'm once again a part of a delicate ecosystem. A family. One where my husband is the fun one, my kids are crazy, my employees are the hands on deck, and I know that I need to be the one keeping us organized. If I don't, there's a good chance we'll fall out of balance.</p>
<p>The trouble is, as much as I love my family, I miss being the stay-up-too-late writing music chic.</p>
<p>And reader, there must be a number of us experiencing this dilemma. So I'll tell you what I think: </p>
<p>I think we need to belong to more than one ecosystem. Here's why.</p>
<p>When I'm checked out of being a mom--spending time with my kids, but wishing I was at the piano--then I'm not playing my role in the ecosystem. I'm not really bringing any balance to my family if I'm not balanced myself. There's no sense existing in that kind of false reality. </p>
<p>So this week, I'm planning to carve out a little more time for another ecosystem, one where I don't need to be the serious one. If you find yourself exhausted of the role you're necessarily in, I invite you to do the same. Let's be better by expanding our worlds. I'll see you next week, hopefully more refreshed. I leave you with this picture of the sunset I drove into on Saturday night, strumming my ukulele, feeling there's more levity ahead. -Em </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/a825d58a54be2e38c5905016e1e65c12b8205b0b/original/sunset.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/58709572019-08-26T21:10:28-05:002019-08-26T21:18:24-05:00Start Small<p>The Amazon rainforest is burning. It's hard to think about anything else.</p>
<p>It makes me feel tiny. And powerless. I find myself thinking disparate thoughts, simultaneously: first, I would do anything to help, and second, there's nothing I can do. </p>
<p>It was right in the middle of this futile mindset this week that I stumbled upon a quote by Alice Walker:</p>
<p>"The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don't have any."</p>
<p>The right words came at just the right time.</p>
<p>I've reminded myself before, and I'll remind myself again: we do have power. Maybe not the power to immediately fix the big problems. We can't put out an enormous fire or take down a corrupt government. But we are far from powerless. We can drive our car less often to lower our greenhouse gas emissions. We can try not to over-consume. We can support local businesses to minimize our environmental impact. And we can influence our friends, neighbors, and children through our example.</p>
<p>When I think about the small ways I can make changes in my own life, it makes me realize how much power I wield to influence the world at large. If you also don't know where to start, just a friendly reminder: start small. Start in your own life, and work outward from there. Don't let the magnitude of the problem stop you from starting at all.</p>
<p>I leave you with this picture of the barred owl in my woods. I'm continuing to take care of the woods so it has a place to live. It's small, but it's a start. See you next week. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/ace14b04d6cf4fbf78cdd8ac9c0c7484c96e6355/original/owl.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/58630782019-08-19T16:17:10-05:002019-08-19T16:17:10-05:00Unethical Ethics<p>Growing up, my family worked even when we weren't working. For fun, we raked leaves. For laughs, we split wood. For a real hoot, we cut our brush, made a bonfire out of it, and invited the neighbors over for a weenie roast.</p>
<p>What can I say. We know how to party.</p>
<p>And I've taken a lot of pride in our work ethic through the years. But this week, it got a bit out of hand at my restaurant. On Friday night, I missed my husband's high school reunion because I needed to work. On Saturday night, I missed family dinner because I needed to work. On Sunday morning, I missed taking my kids to a museum because I needed to work.</p>
<p>This trend is sadly unwavering.</p>
<p>Reader, there comes a time when it's fair to admit that too much of a work ethic is simply not ethical. It's morally inappropriate to miss so many family events, to not keep my word, to be absent in the lives of those who need me most. If you too find yourself working hard at all costs, remember that it really does cost something. And sometimes, it's not worth it. </p>
<p>With that, this songwriting restaurant-running mama is off to take her kids to the park. I leave you with a picture of beautiful farmer's market foods that I picked up while taking a break from work. I'll be cooking with them this Thursday night at The Norwegian if you'd like to stop by and taste the fruits of my break. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/ec00e8bafcfefd954bae9c6651798bea61928cca/original/farm-food.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/58557322019-08-12T18:27:19-05:002019-08-12T18:27:19-05:00Woman of No Mystery<p>I'm a woman of very little mystery.</p>
<p>Everyone knows exactly how I'm doing. I sigh audibly when I'm relieved. I bawl when I feel sad. I squeal when I'm happy, and I hug way too long when I'm in love.</p>
<p>In short, my feelings are irrepressible.</p>
<p>And for a long time, I felt like transparency was a strong suit of mine. It seemed to me that being bold enough to express myself was a feather in my cap, particularly as a songwriter. (We're expected to be a touchy-feely bunch of people, right?)</p>
<p>But this week, I started to wonder if maybe I shouldn't at least get a handle on one damaging emotion: </p>
<p>Anger.</p>
<p>On Tuesday, a particularly miserable customer came into my restaurant. He struck up a conversation with a friend at the bar, where they began insulting me while I was right behind them. I listened to them talk about me for a few minutes, growing increasingly enraged. Finally, I snapped. I yelled out to them. They were taken aback, so they changed positions in the restaurant. At which point, I followed them, and continued barking at them. Unsurprisingly, they left shortly after.</p>
<p>I felt invigorated by my righteous indignation for about an hour. But then, I became exhausted by it. Unlike my other emotions--joy, sadness, relief--anger had deflated me, and also distracted me. I was uninspired to work for the rest of the night. I was not plugged into my kids. I was unable to write music. And I was hardly able to sleep.</p>
<p>In short, it was a complete misuse of time and energy.</p>
<p>Reader, anger--as good as it feels in the moment--is a giant waste of our lives. I know I've had this revelation before, and I'm sure I'll have it again. But I feel like the more I acknowledge how terrible of an emotion it is, the less likely I'll succumb to it in the future. Besides, there are far more beautiful emotions for a woman to succumb to...like this beautiful, midwestern overcast sky. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/e2a638c32a5fd9a0e6904f16ef8bb88e16e26ae0/original/sky.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/58486412019-08-05T20:45:45-05:002019-08-05T20:45:45-05:00Take It All Home<p>Man, some weeks are just perfect on the home front. This was one of them. I wrote several songs, cooked up a storm, spent some time with friends, took my kids to a county fair, and even got to walk my dog a bit. My restaurant had a few hiccups, but nothing we couldn't handle. My husband and I even got to enjoy a bourbon together.</p>
<p>Swoon.</p>
<p>On the world front, this week was terrifying. In one day, our country had two mass shootings, and the NRA is still trying to protect Second Amendment rights over the lives of citizens. The city of Hong Kong has plunged into epic chaos. Thousands of human and animals are dying daily across Africa due to weather catastrophes brought about by climate change, change that half of our country still disavows as a true occurrence. </p>
<p>Unswoon.</p>
<p>As a person who takes everything home with her, I try to keep the two worlds separate. Every day it gets harder. It wasn't until this weekend that I made a conscious decision:</p>
<p>I'm not separating the two anymore.</p>
<p>On Sunday, I told my kids how sad I was about the state of the world. I let them feel sad about it, too. We talked. A lot. We made plans for how we could make things a little better. We picked up trash outside our restaurant for a bit. We spent time talking to neighbors. Then we went out for ice cream. And even though it didn't make any big change, it felt better to have let the outside world into our home, and then to have let pieces of our home into the outside world.</p>
<p>Reader, worlds bleed into each other. And that's ok. There's no hiding one from the other. And why should we? Sometimes the best way to influence the big world is through small changes at home. </p>
<p>I'm off to spend a little more time with my kids. Maybe some goodness on the home front will seep into the world at large. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/7ac80d0b6787a331340aad24a4aa5e8dd52e823c/original/ice-cream.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/58408922019-07-29T16:45:33-05:002019-07-29T16:45:33-05:00What Goes Unrecognized<p>On Thursday morning, I was driving the kids to daycare. My son said to me: "Mom, don't you think you need to see us more often?" My heart broke; I felt my face get red and my throat get dry. I wasn't about to let my kids' desires go unrecognized. So I took a few hours on Friday to spend time with them. We played with reptiles, ate donuts, and bought a Batman piñata.</p>
<p>On Friday night, a local band played my restaurant. Their soundcheck was great, and I made a point of telling them. I wasn't about to let their talent go unrecognized. The musicians were so grateful that I had taken the time to listen, and their music brought joy to a lot of people that night.</p>
<p>On Saturday afternoon, my restaurant participated in Bite Nite in downtown Rockford. I've never been a part of a food competition before, and I didn't care about winning. I was proud of the delicious, eco-friendly food that we prepared. Later in the evening, we ended up winning an award; the judges weren't about to let our food go unrecognized. We spent the rest of the night with an extra spring in our step.</p>
<p>Reader, of course none of us should NEED recognition. But that doesn't mean it isn't nice to get it. It's so important to notice the little cues from the people (and animals) that could use a little extra attention. When we recognize another thing for their accomplishments, their pain, their joy, their struggles--it generates empathy, fosters a spirit of awareness and responsibility, and makes the world a lot smaller. As we go through our week, let's not forget to give a bit of attention to the ones that could use it. We could all use an extra spring in our step.</p>
<p>See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/0f4f186b6f006e03aea2fd2bcbc6ca8f5e9d32bd/original/bite-night.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/58332492019-07-22T22:34:33-05:002019-07-29T16:07:31-05:00Make Things While You Get Destroyed<p>Lately, my life feels like the running of the bulls.</p>
<p>And I am the streets of Pamplona.</p>
<p>I can't remember ever feeling so trampled. I'm struggling to keep up with everything that hits me. Running a restaurant, running a venue, and running kids all over the place is running me ragged. There is a temptation at the end of the day to collapse on the couch in front of a screen and turn off my brain.</p>
<p>I'm resisting it.</p>
<p>Reader, when we are getting annihilated, I'm convinced there is nothing better for our hearts and our minds than to make things. Make music. Make food. Make art. Make anything. Creating while I'm getting destroyed helps me process the destruction. I've been amazed to see what comes out of my fingers on the tough days. The art I paint helps me understand how the tough day looks. The songs I write help me understand how the tough day sounds. </p>
<p>(And I'd say that the food I make helps me understand how the tough day tastes, but actually, the food tastes more like rebellion and usually winds up damned sugary).</p>
<p>With that, this maker is off to fight the havoc by playing a little ukulele. As long as I'm alive and able to produce new things, I feel pretty capable to handle the trampling. I'll leave you with this picture of some cakes I made this week: take that, bullish days. </p>
<p>See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/2bab8b4c736a3cc4fe4ef50905064975f3519854/original/bride-and-groom.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/58257782019-07-15T21:32:09-05:002019-07-15T21:32:09-05:00Rest Night<p>No blog tonight. I spent the morning foraging for elderflowers, the afternoon turning the flowers into cordial, and now the evening has gone to the kids. I need to give it a rest tonight. I have a lot to say, though, and I'll tell you all about it next Monday. -Em<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/7c6ba202918b7f6a78884f2fcc5592ea64b5608b/original/elderflower.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/58183252019-07-09T06:12:33-05:002019-07-09T06:12:33-05:00Adaptation<p>Darwin famously wrote: "It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change."</p>
<p>Smart guy, that Charlie Darwin.</p>
<p>This week, I felt flung about. On Wednesday night, we hosted a crawfish boil at my restaurant. I thought I was going to spend the night greeting guests, but instead, the crowd wanted so much infused vodka that I spent the whole night in the kitchen pouring akvavit into ice cube shot glasses.</p>
<p>On Thursday, it was the Fourth of July, and I anticipated a slow day at the restaurant. I thought I would spend the day getting paperwork done. Instead, the restaurant was absolutely slammed, and I spent the day running food, bussing tables, and making coffee.</p>
<p>On Friday, I thought my family and I were going to spend the day in Wisconsin. Instead, my family went to Wisconsin, and I stayed back home to work through all the backed-up paperwork.</p>
<p>Reader, life changes. A lot. I used to think the strongest virtue a person could possess was the ability to dream big. And while I still think it's a great virtue, I can think of a stronger one: the ability to adapt to what happens instead. If you're feeling flung about this week, don't forget how resilient you are. Life changes, and we can too.</p>
<p>With that, I'm off to work. I think I'll be planning out our next crawfish boil. We'll just see what happens instead. See you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/c6de0baf9dcaa80c49e008ef9916da83ef629ed6/original/fish-in-pot.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/58107992019-07-01T19:46:50-05:002019-07-01T19:46:50-05:00Better Than Perfect<p>I played a gig on Wednesday night in the South Loop of Chicago with my old friend Gregg Ostrom. The venue was outside; we played in the courtyard of The Glessner House Museum. Conditions were perfect for a show. The sun was perfect. The cool breeze was perfect. Our soundcheck was perfect. The lawn was full of people drinking wine and tapping their feet, and as we launched into our first set, everything felt as you might expect:</p>
<p>Perfect.</p>
<p>At the first set break, all hell broke loose.</p>
<p>The storm clouds rolled in out of nowhere. The rain poured down on us and our instruments. We quickly dragged them into the carriage house of the museum. The audience followed us. The interior of the carriage house was made of bricks and cement, and we all piled into it and flopped onto the cold floor like piles of wet laundry.</p>
<p>I knew there was no point to setting up our amps, PA system, and microphones. So instead, Gregg and I just sang and played--unamplified--in a dank dark carriage house. I belted out songs acapella. The natural reverberance wasn't perfect. The lighting wasn't perfect. And the poor audience would tell you that the seating wasn't perfect.</p>
<p>But I argue it was better than perfect: it was a night none of us will forget.</p>
<p>Reader, perfect isn't the best that things can be. Imperfections are the stuff of life. As we go through our weeks, it's nice to think that--when all hell breaks loose--we can wind up with a more memorable outcome than we ever planned for. With that, this songwriting cook is off to embrace the punches this week. Have a safe and happy Fourth of July, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/ad7dcee1363b809f6e56bed61cef28388fa5f54d/original/rolling-in.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/58030472019-06-25T06:55:59-05:002019-06-25T06:55:59-05:00Life as Pinball<p>The summer of 2008, I lived in a small but tidy apartment in Chicago. In addition to being a songwriter, I was working for the City of Evanston as an event coordinator. I paid my limited bills on time, took my dog for long walks on the Lake Michigan beach, and even had time to spare for parties, concerts, and small vacations.</p>
<p>Fast forward to the summer of 2019. My two toddlers have left my house a shambles. I'm typing with notes to myself written on my hand like a kid in middle school. My dog gets walked about 5 minutes a day. I wait to pay my bills until the second they're due, and I can't remember the last time I've been to a party or concert. Vacations are going to the grocery story and the community pool.</p>
<p>Sometimes I wonder: am I going backwards?</p>
<p>In the States, we seem to have an idea that there is one clear life trajectory: that we are born, choose a direction, go to school, amass wealth, retire, and die. There is a start point, and an end point, and the movement in between should be a straight shot. And while that may make sense on paper and in our minds, I have to imagine that--more likely than not--most of us will change courses, direction, and our definition of success several times throughout our lives. We veer. We ricochet. We stall. We redirect. We hit walls and bounce back.</p>
<p>Life is a game of pinball.</p>
<p>Reader, there is no such thing as a straight shot. If you too feel a bit knocked about, take heart in knowing this songwriter feels the same. Weeks never look the same. Goals change. Circumstances force us to pivot. This week, I plan on letting go of the expectation that life should be anything less than all-over-the-place. </p>
<p>And with that, I'm off to who-knows-where this week. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/092d6048a641f360bc4fd33621042f110bb71103/original/hand.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/57955992019-06-18T11:27:54-05:002019-06-18T11:27:54-05:00For What It's Worth<p>When I was a kid, I used to hate money. I remember wishing we could just go back to the barter system.</p>
<p>As an adult, I still hate money, and I wish we could just go back to the barter system.</p>
<p>This week, I did.</p>
<p>As a new business owner, a musician, and a mom of young kids with medical bills, it hit me hard this week: I'm not going to be able to make it through the month of June financially. My property taxes are just too high this year, and I don't have any savings; all of my income is wrapped up in my hometown restaurant. I'm faced with either closing down my business and selling my building, or finding another way to pay my taxes.</p>
<p>So I found another way. The way kid Emily would have wanted.</p>
<p>I bartered my wedding ring for my taxes. </p>
<p>My husband and I talked it over, and we decided it was the right decision. It dawned on me this week that life boils down to prioritizing what matters, and using our resources for all that they're worth to achieve what we know is important. </p>
<p>So what's important to me? Family, friends, music, and this restaurant. If a ring can be bartered for one of the most important things in my life, then it's worth a lot more than just the money my husband spent on it 5 years ago; it's worth another year of happiness as we pursue our small business dreams.</p>
<p>Reader, if you're facing any tough choices this week, I hope you too are able to be guided by your priorities. It's not easy, but it's empowering. I hope you have a wonderful week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/68d1ee2e825171011ad442868565b6af01186730/original/ring.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/57871292019-06-10T21:40:12-05:002021-09-19T07:29:53-05:00Hungover and Contemplative<p>Albert Einstein once said, "The only source of knowledge is experience."</p>
<p>That man was onto something.</p>
<p>Reader, I'm going to keep it very short tonight. (I spent a long weekend in Chicago at a bachelorette party at a Cub's game, and I'm still feeling a bit tired from the lack of sleep and the excess of alcohol.) But I'll tell you my takeaway from the week: life has more meaning when get out in the world. Every bit of fresh air we breathe, every bit of sweat on our brow, every time we step outside of our comfort zone--we come away with a little more knowledge about ourselves and the way we interact with our surroundings. As much as I'm not a Cubs fan, I'm glad for the experience. (If for no other reason than it helped me to remember how much I love a good sunset, and to learn how much I don't enjoy Wrigleyville.) </p>
<p>I hope you're making enough time to experience life this week, too. I'll see you next Monday. -Em </p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/e3cf9e1fdd9fb27af073e515cf97196ce957c870/original/wrigley.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/57779482019-06-03T06:25:54-05:002022-04-12T05:51:08-05:00Pushing Through Nostalgia<p><em>I'm missing out on today by missing what's gone away.</em></p>
<p>That's the mantra I made for myself yesterday. Rhyming helps me remember things. Super nerd, here.</p>
<p>This week, I found myself reminiscing until it became painful. I longed to be with my Dad, who's been gone for 6 years; I longed for my Grandma Ruth, who's been gone for 7. I longed for my days as a touring songwriter, and I longed for my little Chicago apartment. I longed for slow Saturday mornings with a cup of coffee and nothing to do. I longed for debt-free existence, having very little to my name, and being proud of my lack of materialistic tendencies. I even longed for my old body, without its wrinkles and maternal battle wounds.</p>
<p>And when vanity started rearing its ugly head, I put the kibosh on all that damn longing.</p>
<p>Reader, there is a rosy hew that hovers around most things that have gone from my life. And this week, I almost let it diminish the light of today. That's not to say that looking backward isn't relevant. Of course it is. But to dwell there is foolish; it leads to dissatisfaction with the present, and the present is pretty satisfying. The sun, the spring, the people I have in my life right now: that's where I need to live. The moment we believe our best days are behind us is the moment we stop truly living, and we miss all there is to be grateful for today.</p>
<p>Including hectic lives and mom-bods.</p>
<p>With that, this frenzied wrinkled songwriter is off to paint the office of her restaurant. Merrily. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/fddb9f7eef9509b48bf4aa61bd9ce516d6bd6528/original/nostalgia.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/57704092019-05-27T21:08:20-05:002022-05-31T01:25:13-05:00Dog In A Downpour<p>A doozie of a rainstorm moved into town on Saturday morning while I was working the outdoor market. In the middle of it all, I looked across the market to a neighboring vendor's tent, and I caught the eye of a dog hiding under a table, waiting for the storm to pass. The dog and I looked at each other a long time. I couldn't help but think:</p>
<p>I am that dog.</p>
<p>This week, a lot of things deteriorated. I flooded my kitchen at home. I flooded the dining room at my restaurant. Two shelves in my commercial kitchen collapsed, breaking almost every bowl I own. A bar stool fell apart. My bar printer broke. My dog got sick, I got in a heated argument with an old friend, and my kids' commitment to their tantrums was godlike.</p>
<p>(Truly. They deserve medals.)</p>
<p>Most weeks, I tackle these kinds of problems by putting my head down, forcing myself out into the tempest, and braving life's storms with exaggerated optimism and illogical stubbornness. And most weeks, it works pretty well.</p>
<p>But others, it pays to be the dog in the downpour.</p>
<p>Reader, when the lousy weather moves in, sometimes, there's no shame in just riding it out and waiting to make the next move until the storm passes. Nothing I did this week seemed to make an impact on my problems. In hindsight, I should've saved my energy and waited until the chaos died down. Next time, I will.</p>
<p>Or at least, I'll try.</p>
<p>With that, this old dog is off to bed. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/831316d4eab63050d9e13c2253a48787e8c7da77/original/dog-in-a-downpour.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/57623102019-05-21T09:00:46-05:002019-05-21T09:00:46-05:00The Pushers<p>Last week, I had a hard time getting things done. I felt lethargic and uninspired. I didn't write much music, and the food I made at my restaurant was mediocre at best.</p>
<p>I blame the pollen count.</p>
<p>Lucky for me, I've got a pusher in my life. Her name is Jen</p>
<p>Jen is the new chef at my restaurant, and she is truly remarkable. Just when I think I can't accomplish something, Jen nudges me. She encourages. She tells me she thinks we can do it. </p>
<p>Case in point: I've been dragging my feet on participating in our local farmer's market. I wrote the organizer, and told her I just didn't think I could make it happen this year. But then, our new chef sat me down and told me to buck up, and 'let's make it happen.' And so with Jen prodding me along, we rallied and pulled together a farm stand and some product to sell. </p>
<p>And we had a marvelous time doing it. </p>
<p>Reader, I can't stress how wonderful it is to have pushers in your life. Surrounding ourselves with people who inspire us to be more is one of the smartest decisions we can make. I hope you've got a few of these friends in your life, and that you're keeping them close. I know I am. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/29094766642cc5d1fb0a1f6a27831afe46ec7564/original/market.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/57527452019-05-13T11:58:38-05:002022-05-30T01:12:35-05:00Vulnerably Strong<p>A few months ago, my old friend Jimmy asked me to teach a songwriting workshop at The Old Town School of Folk Music in Chicago. Which is a huge honor; the school is my happy place. </p>
<p>But putting together the curriculum was challenging. If I've never mentioned it before, songwriting is a religious experience for me. It's a daily practice that is incredibly hippie and personal. </p>
<p>I sit at the piano. I start by quieting my mind of self-conscious thoughts, and then I picture a song floating above my head. I believe it's my job to channel that song from the sky and put it on paper. So I start playing the piano and singing as hard as I can. I blurt and sing and pound and blurt some more until I feel that I've sincerely captured a piece of a song. Then I build on that piece until I've written a full-fledged song, a song that I believe fell from the sky.</p>
<p>How the hell am I supposed to teach that?</p>
<p>On Saturday, I found out.</p>
<p>The workshop was this weekend. At the recommendation of some friends, I decided that the best way to teach the class was to channel a song right in front of them. I've never laid myself that bare in front of strangers before. I was terrified to be so vulnerable while people watched. My hands were quivering and sweaty. I had a hard time breathing. But I committed to it, and I blurted and pounded and sang my little heart out. The result?</p>
<p>The class had no problem doing the same. I watched them create some of the most beautiful spur-of-the-moment music I've ever heard. We all got vulnerable together.</p>
<p>Reader, this week, I had a lot of gentle reminders that there are times in life when it takes strength to being vulnerable. Putting ourselves out there requires tremendous courage. Life is too short not to take chances. I hope you get the opportunity to take some this week. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/ccb12a21099a21d2035026437db153fcce20c1a0/original/workshop-pic.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/57456352019-05-07T06:24:09-05:002019-05-07T06:24:09-05:00Better Things<p>Yesterday morning--with a hundred better things to do--I rented a 12-person van and drove my restaurant staff into Chicago. On the drive in, we wore matching Farm & Fleet shirts, drank coffee, and sang The Cure way too loud (funny how coffee does that). My plan was to drop them off at The Heritage Wine Gala at The Ritz Carlton; they would sample more than 500 wines, and I would work in the lobby.</p>
<p>But then yesterday afternoon--with a hundred better things to do--I walked around the Wine Gala w/ them, talking to vineyard owners, farmers, and other restaurant owners in the area. I tried some incredible barrel-aged wine, ate some fancy cheese, and got to know my staff a lot better (funny how wine does that). My plan at that point was to take them to a nice restaurant called Lula for dinner; we would eat quickly, and then get back on the road.</p>
<p>But then last night--with a hundred better things to do--we sat for hours at Lula, trying absolutely amazing food, sampling cocktails, and laughing about work (funny how cocktails do that). We shared plates and stories until we'd all had our fill and slowly ambled back to the van. We drove home content, chatting and giggling about who knows what. All I know is:</p>
<p>Sometimes it's better not to do the better things.</p>
<p>Reader, I hope you have a tremendous week. I'll see you back here next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/5263bcf4e77a9659e48421549412e4b95bd7069f/original/better-things.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurdtag:emilyhurd.com,2005:Post/57369642019-04-29T22:11:32-05:002019-04-29T22:11:32-05:00Big Picture Thinking<p>This week, I let a lot of small things get to me. </p>
<p>I hate when I do that.</p>
<p>Not only because it's a waste of time, but also because those things are just not going to matter in the long run. This week, I got visibly flustered by such ridiculous events as: running out of paper towels at work, burning toast, spilling grape juice on the couch, and losing my favorite chapstick.</p>
<p>Yeah.</p>
<p>Reader, I'm going to keep it short tonight. My friend Mike passed along a picture of me, from one year ago today I'm sure I had a dozen little things getting to me back then, too. Only today, I don't remember a single one. So many things have changed, and none of the little hiccups mattered. If you too are finding yourself getting wrapped up in the minutia, let's zoom out. Whenever we're able to think about the big picture in the heat of the moment, the small stuff just naturally slips away. </p>
<p>With that, this songwriting mama is going to slip into a glass of wine and a cooking magazine. I'll see you next Monday. -Em</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/218733/53fb61035234ef98e51bfdc358ecc5db599c5908/original/then-and-now.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>Emily Hurd