Emily Hurd

My son challenged me to a game of basketball last week.  I’m competitive at sports, and we both play hard. It was a dog-eat-dog game, and when he went to steal the ball, I felt a pop in my finger. I looked down at it. 

My finger did not look like a finger. The adrenaline kicked in.  I tried my best to stay calm and said, “hey buddy, we gotta take a trip to the ER.”

An hour later, I was alone in the waiting room at the ER, still hoping to be seen by a doctor. I could hear over the loudspeaker that they were busy.  Lots of code blues and calls for doctors needed in surgery. So I tried my best to breathe through the pain.  After all, I wasn’t as bad as the people in the operating room.

As the minutes passed, the pain got worse. My finger turned purple.  The pain was shooting up my arm.  But I said nothing.  I didn’t want to burden the hospital folks who needed to help the people worse-off than me.

Finally at the two-hour mark, I cracked. My wet eyes started sobbing, and I couldn’t stop.  I found the closest person that looked like they worked there and said, “I’m sorry.   I think I need something for pain.”

In less than 30 seconds, I had two nurses and a doctor in my room.  They took an x-ray. Shortly after, I was receiving a giant shot of lidocaine. The pain was gone. The doctor encouraged me to look away, then he stretched out my finger, put it back together, and splinted me. 

Later, when he handed me my discharge papers, he looked again at the x-ray and said, “That was a painful injury.  Why didn’t you say something sooner?”  

I didn’t know how to answer.  There I was in a hospital.  I had paid a $500 co-pay to get help. People everywhere could help me. And I was sitting there suffering because I had created a narrative in my mind, that somehow asking for help meant denying help to someone else “more deserving.”

Reader, as I type (very clumsily) tonight, I want to share my lesson of the week: we need to ask for what we need.  You are not burdening someone by asking.  Advocating for yourself is important.  Hiding my pain at the hospital did nothing but hurt me. At the end of the day, I am my most important ally, and I could have spoken up for myself.

Go out there and be your best friend this week, Reader. I’ll see you next Monday. -Em

I have so many wonderful friends, and today I want to shout out one of them.  His name is Micky Rosenquist; his stage name is Micky Torpedo. Yesterday, he released the third album in his “Bird Songs” series in my hometown of Rockford. My kids and I were at the outdoor show.  It felt like being in a movie. 

Micky has played in rock bands and has shared stages with some pretty heavy hitters.  He still does that.  But he also listens to the sounds of bird species that are threatened by the quickly disappearing Great Salt Lake in Utah, then he writes songs based on their bird calls.  These songs are available for download here.  All the sales benefit the Great Salt Lake Audobon and Sinnissippi Audobon. 

How beautiful is that?

I bring up Micky for two reasons.  First: he’s a talented person that’s doing a lot of good for the planet, and I respect the hell out of him.  And second: there’s more to him that you may not notice without spending a few hours having a conversation with him.  He likes loud music and big drums and cool gear, and he’s also passionate about birds, soulful about melodies, and patient with children. I like to believe we’re all as eclectic as this.  

Reader, though we don't all have time to talk at length to everyone, we can believe the people we meet are complex and are doing their best. Since we all tend to act the way we’re treated, let’s believe in the depth of goodness in each other this week and raise each others' spirits. I’ll see you next Monday. -Em

Two of the staff members at my restaurant are getting married tomorrow, and I’m cooking the food, so no blog for me tonight. Reminder to be generous and kind out there.  We all need each other.  See you next Monday. -Em

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I had decided to name her Annie. I’ve always loved that name, and it holds a lot of importance for me.  When I went into labor, we drove to the hospital in a hurry.  I turned on the radio, and the first song that started playing was Bob Dylan’s “Visions of Johanna.”  I remember turning to my husband and saying: “I think we need to involve the universe in the naming of our daughter.”

Six hours later, Johanna was born.

The older I get, the more I realize how much more fun life can be if we’re a little less rigid. Plans are good, but sometimes it’s ok when they go in another direction. 

On Thursday, we shot pictures for my upcoming album in Beattie Park.  I had scouted out all the nice park benches and had chosen my favorites. When we arrived, all my favorite park benches had someone sleeping on them. There were only a handful of other benches, and they were all covered in goose poop. 

So we laughed, and I sat down on a poopy one.

But then the geese started waddling over.  Not just one or two.  Dozens. They assumed we had food.  Rather than get mad that my photo shoot had just become an episode of Wild Kingdom, we rolled with it.  My photographer and friend Mindy double-exposed the film, and now my album press photos are of me with geese superimposed all over me.  I may even change the name of my album to reflect how funny it was. 

Reader, the moral of my week is: none of us are the main character in the story of the universe. We’re all just existing together, and many times, the universe upends our plans in favor of something else. When that happens, go with it. Let’s keep it light this week, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em 

I had some great days in the studio last week.  My album is sounding better all the time.  I should be flying high. 

But when I got done recording in Chicago on Friday, I had a 2 hour-drive back home.  That’s when the self-doubt crept in. I started to spiral a bit, feeling down. This happens to me frequently, usually when I’m nearing the end of a project and fearing what others will think of it. 

The good news is, I’ve been dealing with this pattern long enough to know my way out of the despair. As counterintuitive as it sounds, for me, the way out of feeling insecure is to go support someone else. In an instant, I can go from powerless to powerful, from scared to confident and full of purpose.

So that’s just what I did. I drove to Madison on Saturday to see my friends Ernie and Brian play at the Bur Oak.  They’re two of my favorite musicians, and I knew they needed to fill seats. Being there for them reminded me that I have a lot to give, even when I feel low.

Especially then.

Reader, this week, if you feel lost and worried that the world is giving up on you, go make the world better for someone else.  Giving hope to others is a silver bullet for hopelessness. Let’s get out and be there for each other this week, and I’ll see you next Monday. -Em

I rarely play my oldest songs.  Probably because they just seem…old?  I’m not really sure.  I think I don’t play them because I’ve grown, and I have different things I want to write about.  

But this past week, I played a private show in Woodstock, Illinois, and the person who booked me requested my old stuff.  Some of the songs were more than 20 years old. I had to relearn them. 

I called my oldest musician friend and sidekick—Gregg Ostrom—and we pulled together a set that felt like going back in time.  I had almost forgotten how some of the songs went. I didn’t expect to like playing those tunes.

But I loved it. Belting out those songs felt like spending a night with old friends.  Some of them hit me with such force that I felt like I was back in my Chicago apartments, writing into the wee hours of the morning.  I felt the heartbreak I was trying to mend in my 20's. I felt the anger I had back then, and the joy. It was a therapeutic night.

It was like happy time traveling for me.  And it helped me remember that younger Emily was pretty alright.

Reader, if you're like me, you might look back to older times and cringe.  Maybe you regret decisions.  But if there's a way--through art or music or anything else--where you can not only forgive your younger self, but also enjoy your younger self?  Well that's about as big of a release as they come.

Wishing you deep self-love this week.  I'll see you next Monday. -Em

We passed a big milestone this week.  My daughter has been a Madison Children’s Hospital patient since she was born.  On Friday, we got the news that she’s in the clear, and we no longer need to see her craniofacial team. We celebrated with ice cream.

Reader, rather than reflect on everything this week, I wanted to ask a favor. As of May 8^th, there is a bipartisan bill that has been reintroduced to Congress. It’s called the Ensuring Lasting Smiles Act (ELSA), referred to as the “happy smiles” bill, and it would require private health insurance plans to cover medically necessary dental and reconstructive services for congenital anomalies or birth defects.

It would mean the world to my family if you could join us in calling your Congress-person and asking them to push through this bill.  Families shouldn’t have to pay tens to thousands of dollars to help their kids get a full set of chompers.  You can find your representative here.

Thanks for considering helping us.  Wishing you strength this week. See you next Monday. 
-Em

On Saturday, I went to Steppenwolf Theatre in Chicago to see the one-man play starring Brendan Hunt (aka Coach Beard from Ted Lasso). It was inspiring on a lot of levels. The stage set-up was simple—just a couch and end tables—but the performance was anything but simplistic. For 90 minutes, Brendan sent us all on an emotional roller coaster ride that left me in tears one second and in fits of laughter the next. I loved it.

But what I loved the most was his self-awareness.  That man loves what he loves, and no one’s going to make him feel otherwise. 

To me, there is no more attractive quality than a person who knows who they are. 

Case in point. I fell in love with my husband when we were teenagers because one of the first things he ever told me was how much he liked the band Hanson.  When he asked me if I liked them, I sadly had to tell him no. But I sure loved how fervently he loved them. And even though I still don’t love boy-pop, I’ve loved him ever since.

Reader, when we’re ourselves without caring what others think, we attract people.  Joy is infectious, but it's gotta be real.  I just thought I’d share a reminder as we go through our week that—if you want to find your people—be true to what you love.  Light yourself up, and they’ll find you. See you next Monday. -Em

Last week, I took members of my restaurant staff to Dancing Goat distillery in Cambridge, Wisconsin for their first ever Gin Academy.  We each got to use a still to craft a bottle of gin using our choice of 24 different botanicals.  We learned a lot and had a blast doing it. 

Later in the week, I headed to the studio in Chicago and wrapped up a project for a dear friend that I’ve been working on for months.  We recorded 5 songs in 6 hours, and I am so happy with how the tunes turned out.

Today, I’m back to finishing up my album and starting a new writing project.  I’ve got some books coming in the mail to do research for it, and I found myself checking the mailbox today with the energy of a 6-year-old.  

All this to say: I’m on a project-high.

My grandma used to say: “idle hands are the devil’s playthings,” and I remember thinking she was a bit intense. But the older I get, the more I agree. But more so about having an idle mind. 

Reader, having little on my mind can lead to needless stewing and rumination. But focusing on what I can create or build has been a brain-saver these days.  If you too find yourself spinning, trying to get a passion-project on your horizon.  It’s good for the soul. This week was a nice reminder of that.

Wishing you a clear head and passionate heart this week.  See you next Monday. -Em

OCD runs in my family. My dad had it.  I have it.  And my son was diagnosed with it. For us, it manifests as excessive checking, living our lives through rituals, and having cycles of intrusive thoughts.

We’re a lot of fun at a party…

My son’s therapist believes exposure is the best way to help him. What that means is: we face scary triggers so they stop having a hold on us.

One of my kid’s many triggers is an alarm sounding.  And if you live in northern Illinois, you know the wild weather we had last week; tornado sirens went off almost every night.  The first night was a panic. My family ran to the basement and curled up together. My son had a hard time catching his breath.

The next night was a little better.  We again curled up under a blanket, but this time we added flashlights and books.

The days went on, and each night was easier. By the last night of tornado sirens, we were casually heading into the basement, snuggling up, and putting random objects on our heads to “protect” ourselves.  We laughed til our faces hurt. 

We had changed the siren trigger from “we’re all gonna die” to “let’s get cozy in the basement.”  It was the first time I’ve been able to see first-hand how exposure therapy works. 

And it works whether we have OCD or not.

Reader, it is so liberating to face what makes us scared.  I tend to be the avoidant type, but this week made me want to stare down my fears. I feel triumphant. I wish this feeling for you and yours.  Sending you courage and face-hurting laughter this week.  See you next Monday. -Em