Prince Taught Me How To Be A Diva
As I sit here recovering from a long week, I’m reveling, once again, in the music of Prince.
The day I found out Prince died I was sitting in my doctor’s office. My friend texted me right before I went in. All I saw in the text were the words, “Prince” and “dead.” I couldn’t even speak. All I could get out was, “Prince is dead”. The words fell out of my mouth into my doctor’s orbit, a very millennial-ish doctor, who may or may not have been a Prince fan. She replied sincerely, “I heard. That’s so sad. Do you know what happened?”
“I have no idea,” I murmured back.
For the rest of the day, I was in shock. I mean, I’m also a huge Bowie fan, but I wasn’t as shocked by his death. I mean, a little shocked, but I had seen the paleness of his skin while watching Lazarus and I remember thinking. “Wow, he’s aged a LOT.”
Like many, I’ve been pondering the brevity of life. I too was curious how a seemingly grounded, spiritual vegan dies at the age of 57.
I mean, on a larger scale, our life expectancy, isn’t much beyond that in America, but this is a dude who didn’t drink and petitioned against sheep shearing. His health game was on point.
No other loss has really affected me in such an intrinsic way. Maybe because met I him on the Musicology tour (shoved right past security) and he commanded them to unhand me: “Nah she’s cool,” he said with that deep, cadent voice.
I mean, I wanted all five feet of him right then and there. Let’s be honest. Prince was complete and utter sexiness. I wanted to be him, love him, talk to him compose a song and share a tofu melt all at once.
Would you let me wash your hair?
Could I make you breakfast sometime?
Well then, could we just hang out
I mean, could we go to a movie and cry together?
‘Cause to me baby, that would be so fine
Prince embodied bravery and attitude. Attitude that definitely channeled through me that night because I don’t push past giant bouncers on the regular. Gender bending. Race blurring, rule breaking love-child. Fluidity. Grace. Rock n’ roll. Soul. Punk.
I brought myself to that Musicology concert that night with a lot of baggage. Life baggage. Family baggage. Everyday baggage. We all got baggage. Half the female audience was invited on stage. Prince was always about embracing yourself, especially as a woman, and we can go on and on about the myriad of women Prince empowered.
I can’t really put into words what it’s like to be in the presence of someone so gifted and so full of sincerity and vulnerability . I don’t get awestruck very often. I didn’t realize how short he was. Short and sexy as hell.
I wonder what he would have said to me that day. I wonder sometimes if the ones that seem the strongest are the most delicate on the inside.
We need to share our vulnerable parts with people who can support us. We need to uplift each other.
I’ll never really know what happened to Prince. None of us will.
Touring does a number on your body and soul and we all no how serious addiction is.
I think the sad part of celebrity-ism is the isolation and isolation and addiction are like two devil’s shaking hands.
We need to talk to each other more, play more instruments. Stare at more stars. Start listening to each other, instead of yapping so much on social media.
Stop setting the jumps so high. Start small. Aim for small, everyday growth.
Prince taught me that anything worth doing is worth doing imperfectly, because all of our parts are what make up our beauty.
I could write forever about Prince’s influence on me, but instead, I leave you, beautiful ones, with my favorite song off of the Musicology album. Pure, raw, vulnerable and sexy.
Have a blessed rest of the week. Rest in peace, Prince.