Beyond the Static: Signals I Didn’t Yet Understand

Lauren Nixon-Matney • February 2, 2026
Beyond the Static: Signals I Didn’t Yet Understand

Fiona Apple: Criminal

Pixel art illustration of Lauren from a Searching for Stars universe alone in a dark room with her knees pulled to her chest listening to music. Creating a mood of tenderness and emotional reflection.

The first time I heard Criminal, I was ten years old.


We were living in an apartment in North Carolina then my mom, my brother, my grandmother, and me it was after everything had already cracked open. The divorce. The affair. The move away from Texas. The kind of upheaval that doesn’t announce itself loudly, but hums under your skin, day and night. I didn’t have language for any of it yet. I just knew I was angry. And sad. And flooded with feelings that didn’t know where to land.


Music was my escape before I knew to call it medicine.


I had a small TV in my room, the kind that glowed more than it clarified, and I watched MTV and VH1 the way some kids watched cartoons. I sat on the floor, close to the screen, letting songs wash over me not for meaning, but for relief. Sound felt like a place I could breathe.


And then this song came on.


I remember being frozen there, cross-legged on the carpet, the room suddenly very still. It wasn’t the video that caught me. It wasn’t shock or seduction or anything I could have named at ten. It was the tone. The piano. The weight of it. The way the song moved slow like it wasn’t trying to impress anyone. It felt transparent and raw…she seemed to embrace real emotional honesty unlike anything I had felt come through that screen before that day.


I didn’t understand exactly what she was singing about.

But somehow I understood the feeling.


It felt heavy. And real.

It felt like truth without decoration.


That was enough.



The song didn’t leave after that night.


It stayed tucked somewhere inside me as I grew quiet, patient waiting for me to grow into it. I didn’t think about it consciously at first. It would surface here and there, on the radio, on a mixtape, years later on a playlist, and each time it felt familiar in a way I couldn’t explain. Like running into someone you once knew in a completely different life.


When I was a teenager, I still loved it... but differently. By then, I was starting to understand weight. Emotion. The way love could feel tangled instead of pure. The way wanting something didn’t always mean knowing how to hold it gently. The song began to feel less like a sound I escaped into and more like something that watched me quietly from the corner of the room.


And then, sometime later without a clear moment to point to I caught up to it.


I learned what it feels like to cross an invisible line.

To care deeply and still cause harm.

To love and not yet know how to love well.


There were people I loved before I understood the cost of that word. People I confused. People I hurt without meaning to. Not out of cruelty out of immaturity, fear, longing, and the simple fact of being young and unfinished. I didn’t know then how easily hearts could bruise. I didn’t know how long certain echoes last.


When I hear the song now, I hear all of it layered together the child on the carpet in North Carolina, the girl learning the contours of desire and consequence, the woman who can finally sit with regret without flinching. It doesn’t accuse me. It never did. It simply tells the truth and waits for me to be honest enough to listen.


That’s what I’ve always loved about it.


The song didn’t teach me how to feel guilty.

Life did that.


The song just gave me a place to put it.


Music didn’t save me because it fixed anything.

It saved me because it stayed.


It stayed when my life felt rearranged and unfamiliar.

It stayed when I didn’t yet know how to name what I was feeling.

It stayed as I grew, and stumbled, and learned the slow lessons no one escapes.


That song became less of an escape and more of a witness. It didn’t rush me. It didn’t demand resolution. It just existed steady and honest while I learned how to live inside my own contradictions. While I learned that loving someone doesn’t automatically mean knowing how to protect them. While I learned that regret doesn’t always need punishment sometimes it just needs acknowledgment.


There are things I would do differently now.

There are hearts I would hold more carefully.

There are moments I understand with a clarity I didn’t have then.


And I carry that knowledge with tenderness, not shame.


When I hear the song today, I don’t feel frozen anymore. I feel grounded. I hear the accumulation of years in it the way a single piece of music can hold multiple versions of a person without collapsing them into one. The child who needed somewhere to rest. The young woman who made mistakes. The adult who can look back without turning away.


The music didn’t change.


I did.


And somehow, the song knew I would.


< Older Post

Newer Post >

RESUME THE RHYTHM:

DRIFT THROUGH A CONSTELLATION OF MEMORY

Searching For Stars

Last Kiss: Melodies That Break Us

By Lauren Nixon-Matney • July 5, 2026
Buddy Holly : Last Kiss Pearl Jam: Last Kiss Cover

Good, Strong Words That Mean Something: A Letter of Light Through Pixelated Waves (for Heidi Clements)

By Lauren Nixon-Matney • July 5, 2026
My favorite literary phrase of all time is spoken by Josephine March, written by Louisa May Alcott in Little Women. “I like good, strong words that mean something.” You, my dear, you say good, strong words that mean something. You put good, strong words that mean something into the world, and I thank you so very sincerely for that. You have made such an incredible impact on my life, and on my outlook on beauty and aging. ⸻ I stumbled across your incredible fashion sense on Instagram and was completely hooked on your vibe. I absolutely love fashion. I always have. I’ve definitely had my own kind of zany style over the years. So when I saw you, I was like, OK, yes, she is amazing. I love this energy. ⸻ The way you put things together, the confidence, the energy, it makes you wanna get up, go into your closet, and actually enjoy getting dressed again. And for a woman approaching 40, who’s had three children and has had many of her own struggles with who am I, what’s my fashion, what’s my energy, or what’s my style, You just felt so damn refreshing and inspiring. So I hung around, but what really hooked me wasn’t just the style, it was you, the essence of you. The way you talk, the honesty, the fact that you just say things straight, no fluff, no sugarcoating, no trying to be anything other than exactly who you are.. and somehow that makes everything you say sound even more profound. ⸻ The impact your message was having in my life became undeniable. It wasn’t just something I watched for enjoyment anymore, it was something I actually began feeling, and carrying with me. I grew up in a time where it felt like there was an expiration date on women. Like if you didn’t fit into a certain mold, or size, or type… your worth somehow became less. And then life happens. You grow up. You age. Maybe have kids. Your body changes. Your priorities change. Somewhere in the middle of all of that, you can kind of lose your sense of… who am I now? What’s my style? Who am I supposed to become? Am I too late for something? What even feels like me anymore? So for a while, I think I actually bought into that idea without even realizing it. The idiodic notion that maybe I had passed some invisible point where things were supposed to quiet down. Tone down. Fit into something more “acceptable.” Or the grand illusion that I was out of time to follow my passions! But watching you… that narrative just started to fall apart. The way you show up, the way you speak, the way you move through the world so fully as yourself… it made me realize that aging isn’t something to fear or shrink from. If anything, it’s where things start to get really good. It’s where you get bolder. More comfortable. More you. More beautiful. ⸻ What you’re doing matters so much. The way you show up, the way you speak, the way you fully own who you are, it doesn’t just stay on a screen. It carries through pixelated waves. It reaches people like me, in real life, in real moments, and shifts something quietly but powerfully within us. So I just wanted to say thank you. For your honesty, your energy, your style, your voice… all of it. You have inspired me, Searching for Stars, and undoubtedly countless women all over the world more than words can truly translate. Thank you, for being you!

Getting Your Pink Back: Answered Prayers, Quiet Signs, Bluebirds and a Business Professional Poodle (A Letter of Light for Lindsey Gurk)

By Lauren Nixon-Matney • May 6, 2026
Okay, so I asked God for a sign this week… and I didn’t make it easy on Him. I had just seen this video about asking for a sign, about how God answers, about how He delights in it… and something in me just… recognized that. Like, oh. I’ve felt that before. Lindsey, it was your video. And the second I heard it, I remembered something. I remembered a time, years ago, back in that early, foggy, pinkless season of motherhood, when I had asked for a sign too. I had prayed, really specifically… really honestly… “God, just show me I’m okay. Show me I’m on the right path.” And I asked for a blue butterfly. I didn’t see it right away. I waited. I wondered if I had imagined the whole idea in the first place. And then, not long after, life moved us somewhere new. A new place, new energy… the kind of move that feels exciting and terrifying all at once. They handed us the keys… and right there on them… was a blue butterfly. And I remember feeling that same quiet recognition. Like… okay. And then, a couple months after that, with prayers inside us building for a second child, we went to a park. One of those ordinary days that turns into something you don’t forget. And there were butterflies everywhere. Hundreds of them. Yellow, filling the air, lifting all at once like something out of a dream. And right in the middle of it… one blue butterfly. I just stood there, overwhelmed, because I knew. I knew I had been heard. Nearly one year to the day later, our second child was born. And then… life kept moving. Time passed. Things got busy. Full. Loud. Beautiful… but a little hazy, too. Somewhere along the way, I think I stopped asking like that. Fast forward. I’m sitting with my kids on New Year’s Eve, going into 2025, talking about goals and dreams. The kind of things you say out loud but don’t always fully claim. “I’ve always wanted to write.” And my daughter, so sure, so certain, just looked at me and said, “Then make it your New Year’s resolution.” And something about the way she said it… she didn’t question it. she didn’t overthink it. She just… believed it was possible. So I did. I started building something I’ve carried in pieces since I was in high school. Old notebooks, scattered thoughts, songs, memories… things I’ve never really known how to explain out loud. And for the first time, it felt like someone actually got it. So I got to work. Writing with a baby asleep on my chest… voice notes, typed drafts, music playing in the background… piecing together old memories with new ones. And I love it. I really do. But if I’m being honest… I started to wonder. Is this meaningful? Is this worth the time? Is this something good… or just something I want? And more than anything… I wanted to know if it was something God saw as good. Not just something that looked meaningful… but something that was. So I sat down, quietly, and I prayed. And I said, “God, if this is something I’m supposed to keep building… if I’m on the right path… if this is your will for me… please just show me. Give me a sign.” And I paused… because I knew I couldn’t ask for something easy. I had asked for butterflies before and blue jays have been unusually common in our backyard lately. I needed something specific. Something I wouldn’t just brush off. I looked over… and saw this little pink and white poodle sitting on my daughter’s shelf. And I laughed a little and said, “Okay God… show me a poodle.” almost sarcastically thinking… well, this one’s going to take a little more effort. But of course… Not even 48 hours later, we ran into Burlington. We were just there to grab socks and shoes for my toddler, her sandals were bothering her. Quick in, quick out. We ended up wandering a little. We’re headed to checkout… and my husband steps down an aisle, picks something up, and goes, “Okay, I know this is ridiculous… but we need this for the office.” And he had no idea. Nothing about my prayer. Nothing about the poodle. I’m barely paying attention yet. And then he turns it around. It’s a painting. Of a poodle. Not just a poodle… a poodle in a full business suit… sitting at a desk… reading a newspaper. I just… stopped. A business professional poodle, for the office we’re building together, a space where I can write. Like everything in me went quiet for a second. Because of all the things in the world I could have asked for… of all the ways that prayer could have been answered… it was that. I remember thinking, smiling, fighting back tears of joy… of course it is. Because I had asked for something specific. And apparently… He has a sense of humor. Also, just to make sure I didn’t miss it… because let’s be real, God definitely knows how to show out… the very next place we went… was Petco. And there was this real poodle. Then again. And again. Every aisle I turned… I kept running into it. And that feeling came back. The same one from before. Quiet. Certain. seen. beloved. Lindsey… Thank you so much, you reminded me to ask. You reminded me that God doesn’t just hear us… He answers. Not always in big, overwhelming ways… but in ways we’ll recognize. In ways that feel personal. Specific. Sometimes even funny… like they were meant just for us. And Lindsey… I just want you to know how much I appreciate all of what you’re doing. Your energy, your humor, the way you show up so fully as yourself… it matters more than you probably realize. You make people laugh, you make motherhood feel seen, and you bring light into spaces that can feel heavy sometimes. But there is also so much more than that… God really radiates through you. In the way you speak, in the way you encourage, in the way you remind people to keep going and to keep believing. It’s powerful. And it’s beautiful to witness. What you’ve created with “get your pink back”… that message, that reminder… it’s reaching people. It’s lifting people. It’s giving something back to women who feel like they’ve poured everything out. And that matters. It really does. I’m so grateful I came across your video when I did. And I’m really looking forward to everything you create next… especially your writing. You’re doing something good here. Keep going. Please never stop casting your light into the world… it really does break through the darkness.
Show More