And now for something good.

Last night, my neighbor – who is rapidly turning into a dearly beloved friend – invited me to a cabaret in the West Village. She texted me as I was formatting my previous post. I was sitting in my pajamas, hair a mess, braless, hungry, and crabby. I debated with myself. A huge part of me wanted to sit at home and be sad, but then she said, “[It will be] light hearted and casual. Just what Hillary would want us to do,” and that pretty much decided it for me.

So I got dressed, threw my hair into a bun, put on my dark red lipstick (the shade is called Tannin and it’s by Bite, in case you want it) and went out.

I always love the West Village. It is beautiful. It is vibrant. It is historically significant. It buzzes with energies of the past and hopes for the future. As I walked past the brightly-lit Stonewall Inn to the Duplex Piano Bar, the haze of this week’s depression was slowly clearing away.

The cabaret – Madame Mathieu’s Soiree – was just what I needed. Billed as:

Eccentric cabaret patroness Madame Mathieu presents an eclectic evening featuring rising stars in stand-up, concert music, poetry, dance, songwriting, and performance art showcasing their work, and more established artists accepting creative dares that arise from Mme. M’s insane imagination. A true variety show with an avant garde twist, the Soiree is as unpredictable as the host herself. The evening concludes with a party in the outer bar, because the only thing more interesting that Mme. M’s show is her audience.

I felt honored to get to meet the host and many of the acts as they filed into the small yet cozy room. It did not disappoint. Last night’s show was an amalgamation of modern dance, poetry, singing, improv, poetry, and even a little bit of magic, with every performer expressing their feelings of dejection for the results of the election and elation for the community and hopes of the people around them. They all brought a sense of brevity to our shared circumstances and I was thrilled to be sitting in a room full of artists and actors (two are on Broadway!) who all feel the same way that I do. The show closed with a song from a children’s play called ‘Uncle Pirate’ called ‘Not Afraid’ and these lines really resonated with me:

There’s nothing to be scared of

And I am not afraid

And with those closing lines, the show ended and everyone in the room felt just a small sense of calmness.

My friend and I carried that calmness and joy with us to our next stop: a piano bar aptly called Marie’s Crisis. It is a historical landmark of New York City and a haven for the LGBT community. To say that I loved Marie’s Crisis would be an understatement. It is a really magical place, unlike any other that I have ever been to. The bar itself is simple. It has that typical dive bar feel with open beams, low lights, and hardwood floors, except they’ve strung multi-colored lights throughout the bar and in the center of the room is not the alcohol, no, it is a piano. People go to Marie’s Crisis to stand around the piano and belt out show tunes. They expect you to sing, and if you don’t know the words, that’s okay as long as you participate and are engaged. When we first got there, the room was packed and they were singing songs from Mary Poppins.

The atmosphere was so jovial! I wanted to shout LET’S GO FLY A KITE! along with everyone else but TRUST that you do not want to hear me sing with my toddler-esque voice. I was being needlessly self-conscious. The soon moved on to songs from Pippin and then…Hamilton. It was the most incredible thing and they were all so amazing that I’m sure Lin-Manuel Miranda would have been proud.

I really started to feel the magic in the room when the pianist moved on to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” – this is when I decided to join in. I looked around and saw that no one was listening to hear what you sounded like, they just wanted to be together in this place where it is safe to sing and it is safe to express yourself.

I don’t think I need to go into any more specifics about my night or my experience. Marie’s Crisis offers a safe space for the LGBT community, a space in which people could shake off their feelings of despair surrounding the election, if only for a little while. I am so happy that I got to go there and experience it, and I am feeling an urgency like never before. I don’t want places like Marie’s to go away, and I don’t want them to be the only places that the LGBT community feels safe. We need to do better. We need to be better. I, as a CIS white hetero woman, have a responsibility of using my privilege for members of the LGBT community who are feeling afraid right now. It is our responsibility to make sure that they feel safe, accepted, and equal in this society. Let’s never forget that.