Thank you for sneaking into my playlists for the past 7 months and being born to make me happy (.mp3).
Exactly 7 months have passed since I barely managed to get home from London to Latvia. It’s a whole other story about how I got home in 10 hours since finding out Latvia was closing its borders to everyone in a day. The process involved risky decision making, severed work ties, unsaid good-byes, spending money I did not have and some Home Alone-worthy airport running.
I spent the first month after my arrival in complete isolation, as I am sure most of you did, too. I did not see anyone but my mom and our dog while my dad and sister were still stuck abroad. Yes, the first half of quarantine was relaxing and only slightly worrying – baking cakes, long walks, re-organizing the closet and binging The Leftovers. Even though I was having not that bad of a time,
it was unavoidable to feel the stress of the uncertain times we found ourselves living in.
Plus, given my history with overthinking and exaggerating the importance of my problems, I was bound to get anxious. By the way, do you even remember how crazy March, April and May was? The three erratic sisters of 2020!
Anyhow, there were times when I was feeling very, very low. Self-isolation did not help at all. And when I feel low, I turn to my sad playlists I created on Spotify years ago. Some James Blunt, Coldplay, Joni Mitchell – you know, the melancholy classics. However, there’s one unlikely artist that seemed out of place in there. Britney Spears.
Suddenly I found her songs in all my playlists, no matter the “mood”. Her Womanizer joined the likes of Johnny Cash, James Blake and Moby. Overprotected was now…my quarantine jam (all rights reserved).
This is not where my affection for Britney ends.
While reading Britney’s Wikipedia page in the wake of her rising popularity in my world, I found that there were several documentaries about her, as she had caused some wild controversy in the past and many were trying to make a sense of it (little did they know how much showbiz had damaged the girl). But only one is autobiographical – Britney: For The Record (2008). Of course, I had to watch it.
On camera, with her natural blonde locks barely grown back from her infamous interaction with the electric shaver, desperately covered up by fake extensions, she did not seem very focused on the whole ordeal. She didn’t even seem quite there. What she did get across in the documentary, however, was that an inhumane life is all she knows. Trained to be a ‘star’ since 12 years old, meaning diets, rehearsals, home schooling and premature sexualization. This -
© 1998 Sony Music Entertainment via Youtube
is how she looked at 16. She was on the top of the world! A superstar! Well, she was also destined for ruined mental health. An inability to deal with human problems when they arose should not have come as a complete surprise to the world.
This young lady looked so… sad. So broken. I, a 22-year-old student about to have a Bachelor in ARTS, with debt to my ears (what an AWESOME combination, arts and debt. Geez, Katrina, good decision making), was feeling sorry for this mega star. All of a sudden, my lows seemed more bearable than Britney’s lows. And I do not want to thrive on other people’s misfortunes, but this unprecedented 2020 Britney-fest gave me energy, enthusiasm, good solo dance parties, and most of all - perspective.
Even the mighty have to face their demons.
Dear Britney, if you’re reading this, know how sorry I am for your troubles and I wish your life had been less of a business and more of a ride. Thank you for being the mascot of my quarantine and I hope you have found peace in living.
P.S. What happened with you and JT?
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