I was 14 when Fiona Apple’s TIDAL was released. There’s something special about the music you fall in love with at 14. It never really leaves you. 24 years later, she’s released FETCH THE BOLT CUTTERS, and 38-year-old me needed it even more. If you didn’t love her like we did then, it might take you a few listens to get into this one. But stay with it; she’s doing wondrous things with music here.

Being able to toss a little bit of money to the artists I appreciate is a good feeling. Because the Canadian government takes (pretty good) care of marginalised people, I find myself a Have in this current crisis of Have-Nots. In an effort to redistribute a bit of that wealth, I’ve donated to the Downtown Eastside Women’s Centre, I ordered a case of cider from Twin Island on Pender, and I can’t wait to buy a bunch of local food at the White Rock Farmers Market next Sunday.

Am I ready for opening day? Probably. Do I feel ready? Absolutely not.

I have product packaged, stamped, and sealed, my starter is on the counter getting bubbly, and I’ll begin mixing up dough on Thursday or Friday. But I won’t start baking for Sunday morning until Saturday, and this in-between waiting time is sure to make quarantine feel even rougher.

My particular brand of depression comes with a familiar refrain: “I should be doing more, I should be farther along, I should be less lazy, I should be more…anything…everything.” “Should” is my watchword. It tells me I’m not enough because other people are more. Comparing oneself to others is particularly insidious because you only see what you can see. You’re comparing your insides to their outsides, and that’s just not fair to either of you.

The Internet was a great source of inspiration to me when I was younger (read: in my 20s 😅), but it feels more like a distraction today, a place to wallow in my insecurities because everyone on my feeds is better than me. This is one reason why I’ve never let go of making physical products and selling at physical markets. Real Life isn’t “more real” than the Internet, but it feels more grounded. The feedback is immediate, even when customers do nothing more than give you a smile as they walk by your table.

After the craft fairs of my teens and zine fests of my thirties, this will be my first farmers market. This is the first time I’ll be selling my baking after daydreaming a bakery for years. I may not feel ready on this Sunday, but we open next week, and I’ll be there.