My old neighbor got me into journaling back in high school.
Sorry, that was a fruitcake of a first sentence. Hang in there, I promise there’s a point coming.
He would always tell me, “Delaney, when you write, always write for yourself — never for someone else’s eyes.” And that was a nice thought for me at the time — to have a space that was all my own that I could take my time in letting the words come out, without any expectation of cohesion, relatability, or perfection, all while having a knowingness that they would be kept safe. Unless one of my sisters snuck a peek, which happened every now & then. Bunch of turds. But I couldn’t blame them. I was a pretty closed off kid. I’d be curious about what was going on in my mind too.
The years have gone by & that space is still one that I hold tight to. She’s quiet & loving & free & will never judge my thoughts. Yet with all the people, the moments, the places, & the years I’ve gotten to share, I’ve learned that some stories are meant to be told.
This feels like one of them; where the details count for double.
I found Sienna Spiro through her Instagram covers last summer. She sang the music that moves — Donny, Etta, Sam, Aretha. All of the greats. And she sang as if she had lived the words. I hadn’t heard someone sing from a place like that in quite a while. So, naturally, I was drawn to her, hit the follow button, & decided it was a necessity to see her in-person.
I got tickets to her NYC show in October. A work trip came up & I had to skip out, unfortunately, so I planned to see her Toronto show in March. It was the only weekend I was home in Buffalo that month & I decided it was more important to spend time with friends, so I opted out once again. So, then I got tickets to this sick, Norwegian festival called the Slottsfjell Festival in July that I knew she was playing at right after her album release. Wiz Khalifa, Blond-ish, a boat load of sweet, Scandinavian artists — all in the rolling hills of the Tønsberg countryside. I mapped a two week, European escapade around this festival. It had all the makings for greatness. But things got hectic at work & it felt like the wisest decision to keep my travel to one, action-packed, majorly restful week in Spain. So, I forfeited those tickets as well.
As you can imagine, I was quite bummed. It’s like this was the Little Concert That Couldn’t. But not seeing this girl wasn’t an option, so I checked her tour dates again to see if there was a chance she had a show in Europe I could catch before I flew home. Lo & behold, July 3rd she had an album release concert at a small chapel in London. So, I got on every waitlist I could, scoured the internet, & rerouted my flights to leave me in London for 24 hours to see what kind of damage I could do.
I was a bit preoccupied with my Spanish wanderings & paella, but I still checked waitlists & researched tickets whenever I was on reception. Turns out, when you’re person number 3,000+ on a waitlist for a 900 seat venue, not much movement happens over the course of 5 days. The math was not in my favor. I don’t even think Girl Math could make that equation work. But Delaney Math voided the equation & said something would fall into place.
Aside from me being an eternal optimist full of blind faith, trust, & pixie dust, my people were definitely not helping in the Reality Check Department.
I told my boss the situation & he said, “you’ll find your way in. It’s you.”
I told this guy I met watching the World Cup in Barcelona & he said he had a good feeling for me. And he said it in a way that made me believe him.
I told my mom & she said tickets would find their way into my lap.
How’s that for people supporting me? Or feeding my delusions. I choose the former.
Touchdown at Gatwick. Just me, my trustee, 20 year-old Jansport, a dream, & an Airbnb that took me twice as long to get to, because I kept getting on the wrong trains. But I’ve known myself long enough to buffer in time for that. We were right on (Delaney) time.
I get to my house in Richmond, and my host is everything & a cup of tea. Her name was Sarah. Still is, I hope. Mother of 4, no bra on upon my entrance, worked in the entertainment industry her whole career, golden retriever named Otis, insane amount of natural light in her house, recent divorcee that is free as a bee & ready to take on the world. She’s what they call a woman. Too bad I didn’t have more than a few hours to spend with her. I’ll be back.
So, we chatted, and, in the back of my mind, I knew I had a reservation 45 minutes away in Kensington & still desperately needed a shower. But if I was a few minutes late because I was hanging out with my new best friend, so be it. Straker’s probably wouldn’t understand, but I knew if I told them why I was late with enough enthusiasm, they’d let me keep my res.
I freshened up in record time & didn’t look half bad, might I add. Hey, that rhymed. Just as I was rushing out the door, Sarah asked what I was getting up to. I gave her the short, short on the Spiro sitch & the last thing she said as I walked out was, “ask not, receive not. Everything in me is crossed for you. You’ll find a way in.”
Talk about a pre-adventure pump up!
Uber said I was going to be 15-minutes late. Awesome. Little did I know, Jagindar (my driver) was a mother effing G. This guy whipped with such intent & elegance that a red light wouldn’t even know he ran it. Wanna know how late I was to my reservation? 1-minute early with a hair flip to spare. Big, big tip for my guy.
My early bird special dinner was magic. I romanced myself with small plates that I couldn’t have dreamt up if my life depended on it & a hand-cramping level of journaling. God, I really know how to get myself going. Going where? To the bathroom for a dance session, of course. How come in London, everywhere has a great soundtrack? Just overall, good music taste. There was no need for that froofy, little restaurant to have such sweet saxophone sounds coming out of its speakers on a Friday afternoon. Yet there I was, wiggling away as I washed my hands.
Anywho, I got to the venue way early to see what the deal was. A bunch of teenagers were already lined up & a couple security guards were outside. I walked up & told him I had no tickets, but I’d love to hear her sing & wondered if they had any extra. He asked around for a minute, came back with a warm “no”, & I walked away. In terrible walking shoes, might I add. But, while they may not have been comfortable walking shoes, those puppies were meant to strut, so I headed south & made my presence known on the Islington sidewalks (no one cared).
Lucky for me, I had three hours to devise a plan, some workout clothes in my bag, & a hankering for a coffee. I grabbed a coffee (doesn’t matter what number it was that day), window shopped a bit, booked a reformer class, & started working my way down the street. It actually worked out perfect, because, not only did I get my caffeine fix & a workout in, but they also had a charger at the Pilates studio, so I went from 15% to 85% like it was God’s work. Quite an efficient couple hours.
It’s 7pm at this point, 30-minutes til doors open, and still no signs of tickets. I worked my way back to the chapel with 5-minutes to spare, looked at the long lines for a minute, and decided that the reformer class quite literally kicked my butt, so I took a seat in the park next door. I thought maybe if I waited until everyone was in, I could ask if they had extra seats or would at least let me stand in the back. I mean, it was pews in there after all, and I didn’t see any birthing hips on any of those 20-somethings standing in line. I’m sure they could make a squeeze. I kicked my shoes off, sat down in the grass, & started writing. Apparently, this time to God. It was a desperate, over-the-top, dramatic plea for a door to be opened, so I could just listen to this girl who was no more than 50 steps away. Short, sweet, & adamant, but God was officially alerted. I put my pen down & let the sun blind me for a second, then my mind whispered, “go up to the line & ask someone if they have tickets.” Pish posh. No shot. But Sarah told me, “ask not, receive not,” so I rolled myself over & up to my feet.
I reluctantly made my way towards the two lines in front of the church — to the right, there was a short line & to the left, a long one. I saw a pregnant lady standing by herself at the end of the short one, so I walked up to say hi.
“Hey! Super random, but I wasn’t able to snag any tickets to this show. Would you by chance know if anyone has any extra?”
Her face lit up & she goes, “that’s so funny that you ask. I do. My sister bailed on me last-minute & I have been trying to find someone to give hers to! Do you want it?”
First person. You’re joking.
I gave an enthusiastic ‘yes’ & told her the short version of how I ended up there that day. She looked at me & said she got goosebumps as she listened to my story. Her name is Reina.
The doors open only 2 minutes later & we quickly get to the front of our short line. The bouncer asks if we were guests of Sienna. We say no. He told us we were in the Guest Line & points for us to go to the end of the long line (it was quite long…), because that’s where all of the GA folks are supposed to be. As we start walking that way, another employee gently grabs Reina’s arm, looks at the bouncer, & goes, “man, what is your problem? She’s carrying a child. Right this way, ma’am.”
We get escorted into the church & are some of the first ones in. They gave us CDs & had a bar inside the church. It took a while for the show to start, so we had plenty of time to talk. And what are the odds that quite possibly the kindest, wisest, down-to-earth, most gorgeous human was the person I was now attending the show with? Turns out she’s not only a knockout mother of 2, but also an Arabic pop artist from Jordan. Her music is phenomenal, she has an album coming out in August, & she’s just an overall inspiring woman. Go give her a listen @reinakhoury on Instagram or Reina Khoury on Spotify!
Also, she’s going to be in Toronto come October & going to visit Niagara Falls. What are the odds? Needless to say, I made a meant-to-be friend that day.
And the show? Using words to explain won’t do it justice. But one thing I can say is, once she started singing, I understood why I chased so hard to be there. She played 8 songs in that quaint, intimate chapel, and my whole body was numb with overwhelmment & awe the entire time. It was the kind of experience that makes you put your hand over your heart for fear it’ll swell out of your chest.
There are some moments in life that are so perfect, you couldn’t dream of recreating them. That show was one of them. In such an imperfect world, to have moments & feelings so full & pure exist is a phenomenon that I can’t fully wrap my head around but will never overlook. I wish for everyone reading this to be able to let those moments happen, fully live in them while you’re in them, & appreciate them for what they are when they come your way. Funny enough, I think the more open & appreciative you are to those moments, the more they come your way.
So, here’s to music that can de-thaw a soul, Pilates studios that charge phones, & asking humbly, so you may receive.