—

Last summer on my birthday, I was at Brown Note rehearsing for a Red Rocks show. Four days earlier, the curtain fell on me for the first time in my career, and underneath that grief and anger and sadness, there was a relief I was not yet ready to admit or feel, a newness that was coming all along. I flew out to Denver with a pit of fear in my stomach along with the unwavering cockiness that can only be found in a Leo who was just told “We’re going to go another direction” during Leo season. If anything, I am a walking juxtaposition.

On my birthday last year, my sweet gang got me my favorite cookies, and somewhere in my camera roll is a video of them surprising me with the cookies and flowers Dan sent me they’d hijacked to include in the surprise along with the most beautiful rendition of the happy birthday song. Of course I cried; I’d spent that entire summer crying out of fear, anger, and sadness. So what was one happy cry while being surrounded by some of the best people on the earth? They were cupping their hands around a tiny little flame in my heart to keep it from burning out.

—

I wish I could look back on August 12, 2024, and say that’s where everything changed. I wish I could say that’s where the anger, fear, sadness, grief, anxiety, and hopelessness just up and left my body. Because those things can’t possibly stand up against all the love I felt around me while in Denver, right? Life’s just a series of phases, though. Sometimes it’s just a circle through the same emotions. Of course, I landed in London on August 20th and felt the anger and anxiety flood over me like water breaching a dam. “Finish the tour. You’ll be fine.” I lie to myself all the time.

I wish I could go back and change so much of last summer. I wish I could go back and tell myself to snap out of it. “Momma didn’t raise a quitter, and you’ve mentally checked out. Get your head back in the game.” To shut my mouth. To trust my gut and act on it. To admit, long before I did, that I didn’t want to tour manage anymore. To raise the red flags, and the white ones too. To get the work done. All of it, not just the parts I like or the work on the Red Rocks show because it’s the shiny one. To put my phone away on the tube so it doesn’t get stolen and, consequently, my light doesn’t go away for a while. Because I lost myself that night, too.

No regrets, though, right?

Truthfully, Katelyn was lost long before her phone and light were stolen in London. All those lovely people I met last summer never even met me.

—

As if being a quittin’ hater all summer wasn’t enough, last November, I quit a tour abruptly for the first time. Concisely put, it didn’t align with my values, and I refused to bend on what is just and fair. Almost immediately upon getting home from London in September, I’d thrown myself, my lost self, into working on this new tour. I tried to be happy with my new workbox that would go with me on my first arena tour, with being home for just a little bit. I bought myself a little treat to remind myself to do good and be better. I tried to be happy; fake it til ya make it. “I don’t want to tour manage anymore, and I’m going to get to do an arena tour as my last run as a TM! It’ll be okay!” I thought that was enough to keep me going. I got to see some friends for the first time in 10+ weeks, and most of them knew something was wrong. No matter how hard I tried to light it, the flame that had been slowly burning out all summer and was fully extinguished in London - was just gone. I withdrew from my greater circle. My close friends poked me if they hadn’t heard from me in a few days, made me get pastries or lunch. I kept saying I was fine, and then I went on the tour I ended up quitting.

—

I have been emotional for as long as I can remember. Everything makes me cry. Happy, sad, angry, afraid - I’m crying. All last summer I cried. Over everything. Everything was overwhelming, and I was angry all the time. I made every effort to not cry on and over my fall tour, and it worked. By late October, I thought I’d turned a corner.

Dan was the first call I made to tell him I was coming home in November. Later he told me that he knew how serious I was because I wasn’t crying when I called him and said “Book me a plane ticket home from Bridgeport, Connecticut. I’m coming home.” If my friends get worried about me when I get quiet and start ignoring their texts, Dan gets worried when I get quiet and make a decision without shedding a single tear. I think that November day is the one day Dan was actually terrified both of me and for me.

—

I wish I could say that if I lost the last shred of myself in London then I found a piece the day I left Bridgeport and kept repeating “I won’t compromise my values to be on a tour. I meant it when I said ‘do good.’” Maybe I did find a piece, and I’ve been collecting them ever since. Maybe I bent down to grab a shitty lighter in Bridgeport, and I spent the flight home twirling it in my hands. I fidgeted with my “do good” and “ be better” bracelets the entire way home while feeling both relief and embarrassment. Maybe those tears were lighter fluid just waiting on a little tiny spark from the lighter I’d just picked up.

When I got home, unlike returning from London, I had nothing to throw myself into. This time, I withdrew from everyone, including my closest friends. This time, there was no fake it til ya make it. I responded to an alarmingly low number texts and next to zero phone calls. It took me almost a full month to reach back out to people. I felt so embarrassed that I quit a tour. Maybe Momma did raise a quitter. I was so embarrassed that Katelyn Smith, the girl who espouses these values, got got. Me! Of all people got bamboozled.

The curtain fell hard.

By the grace of God, some incredible people pulled me out of a pit of despair.

—

I do think I bent down to pick up the first piece of me when I left Bridgeport. I think that’s true because that’s the first time I feel like I have ever truly bit back when someone barked at me. Ten toes down, stood on business, if you will. I don’t know who that girl was who said “Then I’m out.” Truthfully, that’s always the girl I’ve wanted to be.

If all my fire burned slowly out, starved of oxygen, over last summer and was finally extinguished in London… If the brief weeks at home between London and going on another tour were there to replace a wick… If that fall tour was me throwing kindling, twigs, leaves, logs, anything I could get my hands on into an open field for a bonfire… If I picked up a tiny lighter in Bridgeport when I decided to come home… If my tears last November and December were gasoline waiting to be poured… then my friends were the wind that would light this whole damn thing on fire again to start a regrowth.

—

But I don’t know when the fire started again. I don’t know when the new fire wained and gave way to the new growth I’ve been experiencing. If life is just a series of phases, then maybe my life can best be described like a slightly modified natural wildfire cycle. I had a little, tiny flame and lots of old growth snuffed it out. Despite the old growth being fun and beautiful, it was complacent and not allowing for new growth or change. I don’t function well with a dwindling light, and I certainly don’t function well when it’s completely gone. I collected all the leaves and trees and logs. I found a lighter when I was digging through the brush. I found some lighter fluid. And my friends helped me burn that old growth down. Now I’m growing some new things.

I’ve signed my emails “do the most good” for years now. It’s most often attributed to the founder of the Methodist church, John Wesley. Despite spending a good chunk of my childhood in a Methodist church in my hometown, I’d never heard this until Hillary Clinton used it often on the campaign trail in 2016.

Do all the good you can,
By all the means you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all the times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as you ever can.

It stuck with me. Five years later, I named my LLC after it. The seven lines of that Wesley-attributed quote are my creed, and I have seven values that I try to abide by in order to do the most good.

I exist to do good – in word & deed and at a show
I move in one direction, forward.
I keep going when it gets tough.
I speak clearly and communicate often.
I treat everyone I encounter with dignity and respect.
I chase excellency, not perfection.
I deeply believe that I will do good.

I fail, miserably, at them all the time in all areas of my life. Last summer, I was a quitter who didn’t keep going when it got tough. In fact, I dug my heels in and tried to not go forward at all. I failed at all of them in some magnificent way at least once.

Much like “do good” stuck with me in 2016, “be better” stuck with me last summer. I’d said “I’m sorry” after a minor flub and was met with “Be better.” Some things just stick like good food sticks to your ribs.

—

I wear my “do good” bracelet facing out because that’s what I’m supposed to be doing for other people. I wear the “be better” one facing me because that’s what I’m supposed to be doing for myself.

Other people and their actions, words, and selves are not wholly responsible for my fire burning out. In an effort to find and admit my own shortcomings in losing my fire, I’ve tried to be better. I’ve always wanted to “leave well,” and I didn’t do that last summer. I mucked up friendships left and right all of last year due to my anger and fear. I’ve apologized and tried to make amends. As I’ve picked up some of the old pieces of myself I’d lost along the way, I’ve realized some of them are burned into the ground from this fire I started to burn through the old growth. They’re likely to never be picked up again, and nearly all of them are stuck there due to my own wrongdoings. I’m sorry. I’ll be better.

I’ve also tried to get better. I don’t think it takes a mental health professional to ascertain that your girl was going through some shit all of last year. Earlier this year, I sought out a new psychiatric practitioner and got my anxiety and ADHD under control with medication. When I wrote that piece I just linked, I’d only been on my medication for like a week. The first week was brutal, like not being able to see quite right and suddenly getting a new prescription that takes a few days to get used to.

I’m now five months in, and the difference I feel in my mental (and physical!) health between last summer and this summer is astounding. It’s what’s brought all the clarity to admit and understand my wrongdoings of last year. Things that would have had me breaking down in tears in the back lounge of the bus are placed away, just past my peripheral, and sometimes I never even pick them back up to address them. I have not experienced catastrophic overwhelm and anxiety in months. Tough conversations that would have had me a mess in tears haven’t even had me choking back tears. I’ve cried so few tears and sent so few “I’m so fkn mad” texts, my close friends and I have laughed about it. In fact, one of the few times I’ve actually broken down sobbing this summer was when I realized how different last year could have been if I’d been on medication. How I could have been a better friend, a better tour manager, a better person. Better, better, better. It stuck with me. With clarity came such guilt.

I’m sorry. I’ll be better. I’ll get better.

—

I caught up with a friend briefly via text earlier this summer. I said “That stupid Maggie Rogers song ‘Back in my Body’ is the best way to describe what the last few months have been like… I am very much trying to practice not being angry all the time.”

I’ve been working out daily and willingly. My body is stronger. I had to buy new pants. I got to stage manage some big shows, which is quite honestly more ludicrous than me not crying like a baby every other day. I’ve actively practiced not being angry all the time, partly due to the meds. I have a small circle of friends who loved me enough to get me to love myself. I got to fully try on the production manager role, and I get to see how good that fits at Red Rocks in October. I’ll be right back in the place I was just before I lost the last piece myself. But I feel like I’m back in my body.

When I told Shelby about feeling like I’m back in my body, it hadn’t dawned on me that London is mentioned in “Back In My Body.”

I was stopped in London when I felt it coming down
Crashing all around me with a great triumphant sound
Like the dam was breaking and my mind came rushing in

I’ll be better.

—

I hope my Momma is proud of me and my tomatoes. I’m trying real hard to grow them and me.

This was supposed to be posted in June, a little halfway through the year peek at what I’ve been doing. In my defense, I did start this in June while on a flight from Detroit to New York for a show, but June was a little whacky.

Books I Read:

Us Against You by Fredrik Backman
The Winners by Fredrik Backman
Normal People by Sally Rooney
The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah
My Friends by Fredrik Backman

Booking I’m Currently Reading

Deep South by Paul Theroux
Hitting a Straight Lick with a Crooked Stick by Zora Neale Hurston
A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara
An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz
—
On one of the last days of 2024, I finished Us Against You by Frederick Backman. I KNEW I should have brought The Winners, the last in the same trilogy, but it’s almost 700 pages and I couldn’t sacrifice room in my backpack while we were traveling to Pennsylvania for Christmas and straight on to Seattle for New Year.

I was actually kind of mad I didn’t bring The Winners. I grabbed it as soon as we got home. It was great timing because my friend Emily had just finished it, and told me to be prepared. The text the night I finished it: “I sobbed through the last 75 pages.”

Backman is undoubtedly one of my favorite authors; he writes contemporary fiction that hits my being like no other author. I first read Anxious People; I grabbed it at an airport in 2021 while on one of my first tour dates post-COVID.

Prior to that, I kicked off 2025 by reading Normal People almost in its entirety on the flight from Seattle to Nashville on January 1. I’d never ready anything by Sally Rooney before, and I think this was a great introduction. I had zero clue that she doesn’t use dialog punctation. I really did struggle without the damn quotation marks. Cormac McCarthy famously does without dialogue punctuation too, and No Country For Old Men is one of my favorite books so I had to power through in hopes this would similarly affect me. There were so many times during the flight that I had to close the book and just sit in silence. (I had to do the same thing with all of the Backman books I’ve read too). It is such a beautiful look at young adult hood and what emotional intimacy can look like. It really did feel, well, normal to me.

I also started reading Deep South by Paul Theroux and Hitting A Straight Lick With A Crooked Stick by Zora Neal Hurston. Deep South is a travel narrative based on four years he spent traveling throughout the southern United States, a place I’m obviously in a love-hate relationship with having spend nearly 32 years in this place. Hitting A Straight Lick With A Crooked Stick is a collection of recovered short stories written throughout the course of Hurston’s career. I had to read Their Eyes Were Watching God in high school, and I’ve always wanted to read more Hurston.

I will fully admit that attempting to read both of those two after two contemporary fiction books was possibly not the move for my little pea brain. I’m well over halfway through Crooked Stick, and a handful of chapters into Deep South.

I also crushed Backman’s new book, My Friends, and I got to hear him talk about it with my friend Emily! I refreshed the Eventbrite page for this multiple times a day for 9+ days because it was sold out, and two nights before, I got tickets! This closest I’ll ever get to fangirling is gushing about Backman. I can’t adequately describe how meaningful these books are to me. My Friends is equally as lovely as all his other books. I had to read a few passages out loud to Dan. These are my favorite lines from the first chapter.

I was, am, and forever will be a Molly McIntire American Girl Doll girlie. She is 100% where my weird special interest in WW2 came from. I saved this from a TikTok earlier this year; it made me giggle because one of my top five favorite books is All The Light We Cannot See. My friend Taylor told me I needed to read The Nightingale. Incredible.

I’ve been trying to read more non-fiction, particularly because I want to back up with resources and research, the long-held beliefs I’ve had. So I picked up a copy of Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz’s An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States at my library. Possibly not the best time to do that, given the travel I’ve been doing. I had to turn it back in so I snagged the audiobook. Audiobooks count as reading. Fight me.

Things I Did For Work:

• Went to Florida to work a festival. Almost got snowed in.

• My 9th! Ryman show.

• Went to High Water in Charleston for the second time. Smashed the oyster bar again.

• Stage managed Ascend Amp for CMA Fest???

• PM/SMed for K-LOVE Fan Experience and Momentum.

• PMed some Lane 8 shows.

• Stage managed main stage for Nashville’s July 4th show.

• Went to Asbury Park, Wilmington, and Asheville for some shows.

• Started to work on Big Wild tour.

Things I Did for Fun:

• Saw Hans Zimmerman live at Bridgestone. Cried during Lion King.

• Watched the Super Bowl with some friends.

• Started making my own tomato sauce.

• Found a new psychiatric nurse practitioner and started taking Adderall. (Thank GOD.)

• Had approximately 50 brunches and lunches with my friends.

• Spent some time in Charleston with my friend Taylor.

• Realized that you have to HAND-POLLINATE the flowers on your tomato plants in your Aerogarden if you want to actually grow some tomatoes. (Pea brain.)

• Maybe this is for work and fun, but I started digging through two books about rigging because someone told me I didn’t know enough about rigging to PM. I want to prove them wrong.

• Started working out, and I actually love it.

• Paddle and hiked some.

• Grew, maintained, and then killed a sourdough starer; while alive, it made good bread.

• Learned how to make sandwich bread. Ruined Wonderbread for myself in the process.

Other Things I Read (on Substack) and other random thoughts

My friend Shelby recently climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro! She wrote this piece on returning to touring after coming back down the mountain. Shelby is a master storyteller when she sits at a switcher directing IMAG for live shows, but she’s an equally beautiful storyteller when she puts pen to paper. She and her fellow climbers filmed a documentary, and she’s now writing about the experience here, too. Learn more about them and the documentary here, and donate if you feel so inclined!

Shelby is truly a gem, and I’m so excited for this project. She met arguably one of the worst versions of Katelyn last summer and held space for me to feel so much anger, sadness, and grief. Fast-forward a year, in July, we were catching up and chatting about what’s been going on in our lives, and I said “That stupid Maggie Rogers song ‘Back in my Body’ is the best way to describe what the last few months have been like… I am very much trying to practice not being angry all the time.” I am eternally grateful that she is one of the very people who led me to those words.

Things I’ve Been Listening To

Lane 8 - Summer 2025 mixtape // Apple Music. Youtube. Soundcloud.
It’s not on Spotify, but trust me, it’s worth opening Youtube or Soundcloud to listen to.

Big Wild - Wild Child // Apple Music. Spotify.
New album comes out on August 29th! And then we start tour in Nashville on September 4th! Pre-add the album, listen to the four singles, and come see me on the road this fall!

Larkin Poe - Bloom // Apple Music. Spotify.
If this album doesn’t win a Grammy, I’ll riot.

(The above three artists are competing for my number one played song and artist categories this year.)

My new to me playlist. // Apple Music. Spotify.
Look it’s new to ME, not new to the world, okay. Don’t come at me when some of that stuff is pre-2024. Also I use Apple Music so I had to convert it to Spotify. Don’t hate me.

Tyler Childers - Snipe Hunter // Apple Music. Spotify.
If Purgatory is number one, this is number two.

A Teen’s Fatal Plunge Into the London Underworld. // The New Yorker + Apple News+.
I love listening to long-form articles. This one popped up on TikTok so I found it on Apple News+, and lucky me, it was an audio story. Wild story about a London teenager that will leave you wanting to google even more.

All The Buried Women // The Bible for Normal People + Beth Allison Barr and Savannah Locke // Apple Podcasts. Spotify.
Deep dive into the stories of women in the Southern Baptist Convention. As a reconstructing/recovering (?) Southern Baptist, this one had me punching the air and the wall at the same time.

The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill // Christianity Today + Mike Cosper // Apple Podcasts. Spotify.
Might as well be Southern Baptist adjacent. This one’s about Mark Driscoll. This came out before he got kicked off stage at James River Church’s men’s conference for saying what looked like a male stripper on a pole was the Jezebel spirit. That in and of itself was wild, but Mark has been saying superbly dumb shit for so long. Most recently, he has said that stay at home dads are worse than non-Christians. I’m not kidding.

bye bye for now

I am so grateful that you made it all through my little update. 💙
Sorry to end with Mark Driscoll, but I don’t have anything else to add.

Every time I step onto this wood, I think “This is it. This is the last time I get to do a show here.” Maybe that’s the thing that keeps pushing me forward? One side of me is constantly thinking the worst. The other side is too stubborn to let it be the last time.

But sometimes it is the last time.

I don’t know if this one was the last?

I recently went to a new psychiatric nurse practitioner. Like less than seven days ago recently. I went my entire life silently struggling with what I now know was undiagnosed ADHD and anxiety. Co-morbid, they say. Morbid is a wildly accurate way to describe it, if I’m being honest.

In summer 2021, an article about Simone Biles and her ADHD popped up in my news feed. I read it, and for the first time in my life, I saw the exact same things going on in my brain. I can’t find the article; I wish I had saved it.

It never occurred to me that I had ADHD until that moment. I knew I was anxious; I’d been in therapy since 2018. But my family and I thought I was just quirky… that I talk too much… that I word vomit the second I realize I like someone even remotely a little bit and want them to be my friend… that I can’t stay on task… that I can’t follow through sometimes. I was just Katelyn.

I’ve always been “just Katelyn.” I reckon I always will be.

I told my therapist “I think I have ADHD,” and before too long, in September 2021, I was scheduling appointments with a psychologist. All this in between my first shows back from COVID!

When I did the testing, I knew. The psychologist made me play with blocks. It was miserable. I hate failing, and I failed that. Or maybe I passed because I have ADHD, and that test confirmed it? I don’t know.

Along with the in-person testing, the psychologist sent these long questionnaires to my mom and Dan. My mom also did a rather lengthy phone call with her too. I asked my mom to not tell me about the call until after I’d gotten the final answer on do I have this or not.

In November, right before Thanksgiving, one of my best friends took me to my follow-up appointment. Trying to schedule any of these appointments was like trying to hit a bullseye a mile away. I was going to Pennsylvania with Dan to see his family for the holiday, and not being one to mess up a plan in place, I had him drive up as planned and decided I’d fly up after my appointment. Why on earth I thought I should get this dumbass diagnosis without my partner there, I don’t know. We spend 65% of the year apart anyway so I guess it was nothing new. But thank God my dear boy Caleb took me. I remember walking out with this thick pile of papers shaking it at him “I knew! I have ADHD!!” Of course, I cried. At least Caleb was there for a hug.

Later on, I told my mom, and she broke down crying; I did too. I remember her saying something like “I just thought you were quirky. I’m so sorry. I feel like I’ve failed you.” I never thought I’d be reassuring my Momma that she didn’t fail me. We didn’t know!! It’s everyone’s first life in this body. My Momma is just a big kid, too.

—

I saw this new NP on March 6th, and after a lengthy, lovely discussion *where I did not cry!!* she gave me, shocker, Adderall. Holy hell.

Due to my ~anxiety~ and other things, I decided to take it for the first time while Dan was home with me on a Saturday. I sent these texts to my best friends, Caleb and Jacob. ily both.

I guess it works? The jury is still out.

This past Monday, I had my first therapy session since going to the psych appointment. I told my therapist that it was maybe a bit too soon to say it works and is my miracle drug. I felt like my “bad brain” turned off and there wasn’t any noise, but it’s like my “good brain” couldn’t turn on.

I took my meds about 15 minutes before logging onto this session. After we chatted about the psych appointment, my therapist asked about how Million Dollar Show went. Like many things in my professional life, it’s a bit complicated. Like all good things, it’s hard work, and anything worth having is hard work. It’s a love-hate relationship, not unlike my love-hate relationship with doing shows in Florida.

In the middle of talking about this idea of “What if that was my last one? My last MDS? My last Ryman show?” and how those questions drive me to be insanely dedicated to making any show the best one ever, I felt my brain turn off.

I stopped speaking for a moment, and just looked at my therapist. “Hang on… I need you to know this. I took my Adderall about ten minutes before we started. I quite literally just felt my brain turn off. I remember what we’re talking about and exactly what I said, but for the last minute or so, I am so aware that I just went from spewing out whatever came to me to choosing my words very carefully."

After therapy, I text Caleb and Jacob - “Y’all holy shit. I took my Adderall ten minutes before therapy, and halfway through, [I] totally felt it kick in. Like my brain turned off, and I started thinking about all of my words.”

On a phone call later that same day with my friend Sam, as I was telling him about this new experience, he said “I can tell.” I wanted to cry, though not because I thought that statement was mean. Of embarrassment? Of guilt for being such a little turd for so long to people? For all the interrupting and talking over and word vomiting I’ve done? Of relief for someone noticing the difference, which must mean the meds are working? For little me who just wanted to be liked? For big me who still just wants to be liked? For big me who said to someone recently “Imagine the thing people hate about you is the one thing you can’t turn off” in tears at my kitchen island?

Monday afternoon, I posted a series of screenshots of texts I had sent people over the weekend about the meds. My dear friend Allyson, upon seeing she wasn’t the only one to receive a “the meds are working” text, told me “Who are you if you don’t word vomit?” I don’t know; I’ll figure it out. Because eventually the Adderall wears off, and I’m left with the same brain I've always had. Allyson knows; she got the word vomiting about a gig opportunity last night after the meds wore off. There were a lot of phone calls yesterday.

—

I don’t know if MDS 2025 was my last MDS or my last Ryman show.

When I realized my brain just turned off in therapy, it gave me the most crystal clear picture of what my work and life look like right now in this season of change and uncertainty.

There are two sides of me on any show, at any convening of the Bad Influences Council, at any dinner at Kayne Prime with Dan, on any phone call.

There’s the anxious Katelyn who says “What if this is the last time?” She always says “I love you,” to friends when she parts ways or hangs up the phone, even if it’s weird. She savors every bite of food as if it’s the last time she’ll eat that exact meal with those exact people. She never knows what to say so she just says it all. She cries a lot.

There’s also stubborn Katelyn. She is a bull in a china shop. She stops at nothing. She’ll create more work for herself just to prove a point. She’s the one who really runs your show. Anxious Katelyn plans it, but Stubborn Katelyn makes it happen. She also cries a lot too.

Sometimes one of them gets me into trouble, and I fail at making them work together. I definitely did last summer. Most of the time, however, they meet up and bully me into saying “Well. If this is the last one, it’s going to be the best one.”

—

I went into this one in a fog. Trying to transition from TM/PM to just PM in a year where touring is so damn expensive and hard is not very easy, and quite frankly, it’s weighing me down. So many “Am I doing the right thing?” moments have clouded much of the last three months.

I’d done all the work, did all the things, made all the schedules, sent all the emails, ordered the credentials. Anxious Katelyn was waiting for the shoe to drop, for it to all go to hell. It didn’t feel right.

The night before on Monday, I was sitting at Bridgestone with Dan watching Brooks and Dunn play a private gig. How cool to see Dan’s company go from doing tiny shows with nothing but a laptop to doing an arena show at Bridgestone at the same time as a massive general session in the expo hall at Music City Center. There was a tinge of envy and jealousy as I sat at FOH with him listening to artists I grew up listening to.

“What if I never get to do this again? What if tomorrow is the last show I do all year? What if I never get to PM? What if it’s my last Ryman show ever?”

—

Last Tuesday, I walked into the Ryman, and I didn’t hold my breath like I did so many times last summer, like I’ve been doing for the last six months. The Ryman feels more like home than any other venue I’ve ever been in. The wood and the pews and the stained glass windows breathe life into me. I know the team. There’s no introduction needed, no “real” advance needed. They say “Welcome back!” but I hear “Welcome home!” in their smiles.

I’ve fucked up big shows there, and lived to tell the story while laughing about it. (Because nothing is really that serious). I've grown there. I’ve pleaded with God and the TMs, PMs, and artists before me to have a good show there. I’ve cried at midnight on New Year’s Eve wondering if I was making the right decision to leave Old Crow. I’ve told Bobby Bones at least five times “Thanks for trusting me on this one,” when really I was telling myself “Good job for trusting your gut.” I’ve kept the most ridiculous soundcheck schedules there. I’ve laughed and welcomed people into that tiny production office there. I’ve failed there. I’ve lived there. I am me, there.

There. There. There.

What if it was the last time there?

—

“I heard God in the Ryman, I crawled out of the grave. I guess I’m still a true believer, babe.” Leave it to Jason Isbell to describe what happens to me every time I do a show at the Ryman.

That wasn’t my last time there.

You read this far so you should watch Walker’s yo-yo video. It is by far my favorite thing from the show. We planned this video during rehearsals as a joke, and I cannot believe he got these artists to do this.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BAJXxE_gHB

Editor’s Note (it’s me; I’m the editor) - I didn’t mean to start this on a sad/emotional note, but as I was listing out my thoughts on the Super Bowl in my notes app, I kept thinking about my grandfathers and community.

I am a Tennessee Volunteers fan. I was one before birth. I was one at age 3. I am one now. I will be one when I am 80, Lord willin’ I live that long. I will be one when I am 6 feet under. My entire family was, is, and will be. I am also an Atlanta Braves fan. I have never lived in Atlanta. I did not attend the University of Tennessee. Nonetheless, I am a Brave Volunteer.

My paternal grandfather’s obituary said he was a “dyed in the wool fan of the Tennessee Vols.” He died when I was in 7th grade; I didn’t know what “dyed in the wool” meant or what death really meant then. I don’t know why he was a Vols fan. I never asked; I just became one too. Through a series of unfortunate events, my maternal grandfather’s obituary made no mention of my mother, my brother, or me, or his love of the Atlanta Braves. I am a fan of the Braves because he was, and he was a Braves fan because they were the only MLB team near us, and he and my grandmother lived in Atlanta for a while. Despite that series of unfortunate events, when I see that Braves script A logo, I feel connected to him, even when I’m on the other side of the country.

I am not a Titans fan. Not because they’re terrible. No one in my family was a huge Titans fan. So I wasn’t. So I’m not. So I won’t be.

Sporting events, especially really big ones, have always felt like church to me; concerts also feel like church to me. The point of lowercase c church is community. The point of uppercase c Church is a different story I’m not willing to write today. My favorite part of going to church has always been corporate worship. Football games and baseball games and concerts really aren’t much different than that when you think about it. Communal. I miss that community right now.

I don’t remember the first time I personally had a Super Bowl party, one I hosted and planned a menu with my mom’s help and invited everyone. I do remember learning early on that people can’t follow driving and parking instructions to save their lives. Even middle school Katelyn knew show advances would be like pulling teeth long before she became a tour/production manager. I don’t know how many Super Bowl parties I’ve had. I’m at a point now where it’s assumed among my close friends that I’m hosting a Super Bowl party. I love hosting. I love convincing Dan to smoke ribs and chicken wings, and I love making crack chicken dip. I love watching the game and commercials with friends. I love dissecting the halftime show with production friends most.

All of that is communal. So I love it.

To start this, I googled “Super Bowl 2025 viewership numbers.” There isn’t a lot of data out there. I know at least 6 people watched at my house, plus two of my best friends at their places. So we’ve at least got 8! I do love data, and I’m excited to see viewership numbers when they come out officially from good ole Neilson. But Super Bowl LIX is my #1 game and the halftime show is in my top 3 halftimes. The ads are not even top twenty. Here are my highlights, that you didn’t ask for, but you subscribed. So read them. And make a friend subscribe or something.

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Eagles
I am married to a Steelers fan; the man does not own a single piece of Steelers gear so I’m not sure if we can say he’s a Steelers fan. Dan, like 95% of America apparently, was rooting for the Eagles. I’ve lived through an Alabama dynasty and a Patriots dynasty, and you know what, I just can’t keep doing it. Call me a hater. I don’t want to live through a Chiefs dynasty. FLY EAGLES FLY. Editor’s Note: Upon proof-reading this for me, Dan wants you to know that he “owns” a terrible towel and a hat… somewhere.

What a BEAUTIFUL game. The sack, sack, pick 6 for Mahomes in the second quarter sent me to another world. ESPN has a great breakdown of, well, the Chiefs’ breakdown. My favorite stat? “Mahomes became the first QB in Super Bowl history to take consecutive sacks before throwing a pick-six in a span of three plays.”

Social media before, during, and after large televised events like the Super Bowl and the Grammys is one of my favorite things about these shows. (Editor’s note: this is the sentence that made me go back and write an entire intro. I’m sorry.)

There are so many good memes and threads and posts, but I want to share this. May I present to you the best TikTok I saw ahead of the game: A Jewish congregation singing "Fly Eagles Fly" during a service. I saw this when it had less than 1,000 likes. I cackled. I love it. Communal!!

My Favorite Ads
I LOVE Willem Dafoe so I adored the Michelob Ultra + pickleball commercial. It did not convince me to drink an Ultra.

I also LOVE Harrison Ford. The Jeep ad was so well-written and well-delivered; I didn’t even realize it was two minutes. I loved the ending. I won’t spoil it if you haven’t seen it. For two minutes, Indiana Jones tells us about the best part of America “freedom of choice.” I just wish Jeep had chosen to show Indiana Harrison punching a Nazi.

The Weathertech grandmas had us rolling. Golden Girls meets music video. A+.

A local luthier got an adspot with Google. Delgado Guitars is based in East Nashville, and was chosen by Google to represent Tennessee in their 50 states, 50 stories of businesses using Google Workspace with Gemini campaign. Even if it was “just” a local ad run through Tennessee, that’s still a lot of eyes. Sometimes, I really do love Nashville.

Taylor Swift
Taylor Swift is one of my guilty pleasure artists. I don’t hate her, but I didn’t go out of my way to get tickets to the Eras tour. I love the re-records, not sonically, but just as an idea to stick it to a/the man with vault records. (Big fan of beefs with men, but sonically, OG Red is better than Red TV. I’m not sorry.)

But what did she do to YOU? Seriously. She didn’t do anything to you, an ordinary Philly or KC fan. Taylor Haters - you’re wrong for booing. She was just sitting there coming to support her partner. If you have kids, your little girls hear you. If you don’t have kids, children around you hear you.

Also, hire more women.

The Whole Poppi Vending Fiasco
Jenn Richter wrote a longer piece about this health soda trend, but pay particular attention to the part abut the vending machines.

Go ahead and type in “Poppi Vending machine” into good ole Google, and see what happens. Now look, you won’t catch me drinking one of these things. I’m going to hell drinking a Diet Coke. I wash my probiotics down with a swig of Diet Coke. Why on earth did they send a WHOLE VENDING MACHINE to these influencers? Why not put it in like, I don’t know, a hospital break room or teachers’ lounge at a high school or a women’s shelter? Apparently these things cost $25k each, which is just insane to me. This is over-consumption at its finest, and just ridiculously tone-deaf.

And then the ad itself. Jesus Christ.

Jake Shane saying “It’s a drive-thru, not a confession booth” did make me laugh though. I HATE rolling up to a drive-thru and my partner in crime doesn’t know what to order. Baby, we’re at McDonald’s. Get some nuggets.

I’ll stick to my Diet Coke, thank you.

Don Cornelli
One of my favorite moments from the broadcast was the announcers shouting out Don Cornelli and his retirement. Cornelli is in the Sports Broadcasting Hall of Fame and has worked in sports for longer than some of the guys on the field have been alive.

Kendrick’s Mic
After everyone went home, Dan and I were sitting at the table together when I saw this reddit post on r/livesound. (I *loathe* any audio/video/lighting/touring, etc. social media group, and do not frequent them. But MAN do they have some good content for laughter.) I actually laughed out loud over the post title. “Fake mic or model I’ve never seen before?” That sums up most people men in these types of group. Yes! Of course you have seen EVERY mic, and of course this one must be a fake!

It’s the Sound Devices A20-HH. Sound Devices is owned by Audiotonix, DiGiCo’s parent company. Dan got to demo these earlier this week, and according to him, it’s one of the most impressive wireless products he’s seen.

So, men on Reddit, it’s not fake; it’s just out of your budget.

Kendrick Lamar
Look, I really *do* want to be a lover. But I’m not. I’m a hater. Ask two of best friends, Allyson and Jacob. Ask Dan the Man. All three of them will tell you that I’m a hater and that I cry over everything. EVERYTHING. I don’t even know how you can be a hater and cry over everything, but here I am!

Jacob sent me this.

The invite to my Super Bowl party said “Only Grade-A Drake haters allowed. We stan Kendrick Lamar in this house.” I meant it too. I love Kendrick. “King Kunta” came up on a playlist once years ago, and I’ve been a fan since. Something about Drake just irritates me, among other things. So I was R E A D Y for this halftime show.

Kendrick inspires me to be a Grade-A Hater. What I will not be hating on is this show and production. Clean. Gorgeous. Perfect camera work and directing.

Live Design has an entire page dedicated to the lighting elements. Check out the lightning drawings for both the game and halftime show for sure!

To the Steadicam guys - you deserve the world. Your work was magical.

During the panelist discussion right before cutting to the show, we saw Kendrick hopping up on the car so we knew what the first shot of Kendrick would look like. I do wish they could have hidden that better. We all said “He’s on the car!” at the same time. The opening immediately made of think of Squid Games, and Samuel L. Jackson popping up on my screen, as Uncle Sam!, made me scream. But man, even knowing he was on that car didn’t prepare me for how beautiful the car would be. We should have expected it to be an entrance for dancers, though.

“The revolution is about to be televised. You picked the right time, but the wrong guy.” HELLO? The flag made out of black bodies during “Humble” of all things? Trump is out here b*tching about Taylor Swift, and this is happening in front of him? If there was ever a thing to go over his head, it’s this.

The usage of the entire field as a predominately flat stage was stunning. The look of simplicity was so refreshing.

Kendrick’s flare jeans *MUAH* chef’s kiss!

The X with the turf showing through during “Peekaboo” and cut to the ladies and the tease of “Not Like Us” might be my favorite camerawork of the entire show. The circles were beautifully executed.

Kendrick looking straight at that steadicam and saying “Say, Drake” with a shit-eating grin. Kendrick censoring himself on “pedophile.” The entire stadium screaming “A minor".” Serena freaking Williams. I feel like Sefon. This place has everything!!

Listen, if you didn’t like this, it wasn’t for you. All art is not for everyone. It’s okay. Also, if you’re upset about no white people being on stage, well, that’s no DEI for ya!

I leave you with this and my top three Super Bowl halftime shows.

1. Creed - This is technically not the Super Bowl, but I don’t care.
Reminder: please send me Creed memes. It makes me so happy.
2. Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, Eminem, Mary J. Blige, Kendrick Lamar, and 50 Cent
3. Kendrick Lamar

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I came up in the time of MySpace. Wayyy back in the day, I had a website where you could get little comment boxes and stuff that I created, rather poorly, in GIMP and whatever knock-off version of Photoshop I could get my hands on. I remember spending the entire summer before my junior year of high school learning to code. It’s all I wanted to do, honors reading projects be damned.

At some point, I got over whatever phase that was, and MySpace eventually gave way to Facebook and then Instagram. And eventually I stopped *curating* (because that’s 100% what it was) my Tumblr. All my little codes and dumb piczo websites were lost to time. But then your girl found out about blogging and hosting and then eventually Wordpress, and Lord, did I go through another phase.

Maybe that’s all life is? A series of phases.

I used to write just for me. I would like to write again for me, and now you, if you’d be so kind as to read it.

For the record, I’ve only been late to load in once, in London, because I’d had a craft cocktail called a Popsicle, some other prosecco-based cocktail, and then 4 or 5 strawberry mojitos. I’m not doing that again. Sorry about that.