Can't talk now, I'm meditating in public

Hey friend,

Here's what's new in my universe.

Transition-y things. 

I'm moving from one end of London to the other next weekend.

That's right, the gravitational pull of the hipsterdom of East London has finally won the day. Yes, yes, I'll be a Shoreditch kid from here on out.

And, no, I haven't started packing.

But the way things are headed, I should probably burn (read: donate!) all my stuff, buy a (faux!) fur vest, and call it a day.

And The Human Jukebox Project is back.

At least on Instagram.

If you've been following me for a long time, you know that I produced and record this cool crowdsourced album called The Human Jukebox Project (find it on Spotify & Apple Music), which was released in 2016.

While this was happening, I also turned myself into a one-woman all-request hour over on Instagram. You can go back and see proof of this on #thehumanjukeboxproject hashtag, there are dozens upon dozens of videos.

It's a pretty simple concept. You (yes, you) pipe up with songs you wanna hear me jam out on, I film a little music video of myself singing them, and I pop it up on Instagram.

If you wanna know more about how it went the first time I did this, you can read this article I wrote called What You Get In Exchange For 17 Hours Of Your Time.

And now, I've decided to bring it back.


With the moving logistics, and the summer turning into autumn, and me still acclimating to being a Londoner...

Basically, I need a borderline-ritualistic, relatively-foolproof way to remind myself that day-in-day-out that I'm still Alexa Shoen, Stormborn, First of My Name, the mothertrucking mother of drag--I mean, #ENTRYLEVELBOSS.

Because I still am. Gosh darn it, I still am.

And even when we get into ruts--whether they be massive black holes of existential career panic and despair or weeks of apathy where we can't remember why we ever set out to accomplish anything in the first place or days of merely coming down with the flu--we all still are.

You're still you.

And doing whatever you need to do to feel like you, to center yourself, to feel like your feet are firmly on planet earth and everything isn't going to crumble around you, at least not today--holy crap, is it important.

You cannot pour from an empty cup, you cannot build on an unsteady foundation. It's easy to forget that part, and start limping along frantically, blind to the fact that you've lost your footing.

I've gone through a few spells in my life where I thought I was about to lose track of that spark that makes me feel like me. And, frankly, I don't feel like ever doing that again.

So, for now, I'm singing. Just because it makes me feel like me. Consider it a form of public meditation.

Like yoga, but for your ears.

Big love,