I am a writer in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I work in radio at one of my favorite stations in the world. Whoa.
I live in Jackson! It’s hitting me now. (in a good way. for a while it was hitting me in a bad way.) It’s been a hot second since I introduced myself here and it’s also like I’ve been reintroducing myself—my current reality—to myself. I live in a bonkers-expensive community that I absolutely love. I’ve been obsessed with this place, these mountains—the Tetons!—since I was a 20-years-old. I moved here in 2007, introducing myself to this place and this community and these people and I barely knew who I was. Now, I’m back and I—adamantly, unabashedly—know who I am now… well, I know myself a little bit better. Allow me to reintroduce myself…
I am Rachel. Named after the one in the Bible. My last name is Stevens. My husband’s name is Evan Smith and it makes me so so happy when people think his name is Evan Stevens. Very these vibes.
I’m from Texas and while I don’t think I could ever live there again (especially because my mountain man husband would die on the vine), I love that place so much and plan to get the state of Texas tattooed on my ass within the year.
I am a writer. I have been a storyteller since before I really could write and would do stand-up routines for my babysitter. But in second grade, my teacher, Mrs. Haley, said I was an amazing writer and so I glommed on to that and have tried to make that a priority through many iterations of different careers/jobs. Before this here news(love)letter there was this here blahg that I started during my time in Jackson the first time around and throughout there have been several journals/diaries filled with random musings.
Hundreds of people read this here weekly news(love)letter! (isn’t that cool?!) Readers of this Substack (god, I love YOU) are friends (though, my closest friends don’t read it and that’s FINE), writing partners, colleagues, internet friends, my parents, my parents’ friends, my Aunt Judy, and a community of lovelies who I have never met, but maybe have DMed about some serious life event, because the internet is so weird and also magic.
I write personal essays that might feel like overshares, but I promise I keep the most personal/shocking/intimate stuff for actual humans in my life who I love. (but no yeah I will share embarrassments, insecurities, failures, body stuff, and all my guilty pleasures.) I feel like my writing emulates a love-child of David Sedaris, Miranda July, and Samantha Irby, but then with real Cup of Jo vibes, because I’m also obsessed with her.
I used to be a climber. I am a runner. I am a skier. I am a swimmer. I love a good back-dive. When I’m not outside, I love media. I love podcasts. TV is my muse. I love Drag Race and many other reality television shows I rarely admit to. I quote The Office as much as is socially acceptable (same with Arrested Development and 30 Rock), but love the dramas (dramadies, let’s be real), too: Mad Men, White Lotus, Mrs Maisel, The Bear, Only Murders, FLEABAG.
My nails are always red. My lips are usually red to match. I feel like the only person in Jackson who wears lipstick. About a month ago, I was walking downtown and an older man passing me, looked at me and said, “Whoa! Lipstick!” and just kept moving.
I grew up in the Christian church and LOVED it. I loved being a Jesus freak. I am not religious anymore, but I am woo. I love astrology and Tarot and meditation. It feels like great self-reflection. Add me on Co—Star! (@rlmstevens)
Thanks to my parents, I am obsessed with all things live music and public radio. My dream is to have a story on This American Life, but also I love community radio stations. There is something so cool about tuning into terrestrial radio and connecting with a song brought to you by a live person.
I have some dislikes that confuse people, but I’m not sorry: watermelon (it’s just mealy water!), olives (though, I love olive oil), horses, the music of Shaggy, New Year’s Eve parties (unless it’s a wedding!), the sight of tissue boxes, the feeling of wearing the wrong shoes, and a home/party that doesn’t have music playing.
I love celebrities, but canNOT keep my cool around them. I have accosted too many celebrities on the street. I have embarrassed my friends and my husband and myself SO many times. BUT I am pretty good at holding it together when interviewing musicians. Even some of my favorites, I held it together pretty well: Sylvan Esso, Sharon Van Etten, Sleater-Kinney, Yard Act, ODESZA, etc.
My husband is the love of my life, but I definitely tried to break up with him in the early days. A few friends were surprised by our being together. He’s not like other guys I ever dated or was interested in—THANK GOD. Evan is FROM Jackson, which is the only way we really could come back here and feel so good about it. (turns out having family close is truly the best!)
We have a daughter, who I feel like we manifested (among other ways of making her happen). She is named after my grandmother—Marcelline—and was born on my great grandmother’s birthday, which also happens to be St. Patrick’s Day 2020, which also happened to be the ten year anniversary of Evan and me dating. Just last night, I told Marcie I would meet her in Dreamland and she sweetly said, “But Momma, we’re already here! In Dreamland!” (my freaking heart. she’s kinda right!)
I am messy. Theoretically and in actuality. That’s where the name comes from… I’m an essayist and I’m also messy. The Messayist.
Thank you for letting me take the time to self-indulge in an introduction. I truly believe that you can change and become whoever you want to be, while still honoring a you of yore. I walk around Jackson now with my head down mostly, but when I look up, it’s awe-inducing. This place is reintroducing itself to me: it is changed and still so much the same. It is beautiful and it has it’s faults, but we’ve agreed to accept each other for our faults. I cut through the town square and go under the antler arches of one side and have to make a quick decision: do I go by the man peddling balloon animals on the east side of the statue or do I brave the couple of missionaries on the west side of the statue? At other points in my life, I would’ve loved crossing paths with either, but today, I put my head back down and choose the balloon animal man, making sure I don’t make eye-contact. I smile to myself, knowing that we don’t have to like every part of ourselves or our town, but it’s nice to know how to navigate it all a little better.
A Little Woo:
Ch-Ch-Changes: I am FEELING this Libra season. It’s a time for all of us to reevaluate the imbalances in our life, make conscious change, and reintroduce ourselves to ourselves and then the world. Be who you want to be! Be who you are! Be who you know you’re supposed to be! I wrote a lot more about it for Angels on Earth (paid subscribers), but this weekly horoscope is feeling right for me.
Quick Hits:
Jam of the Week: Deep Sea Diver – Billboard Heart.
(full disclosure: I am friends with the lead singer of this band and her husband [the drummer], but this song is so fucking good and I love this video and they just signed to Sub Pop and I’m just so happy.)
I Binge Watched This Entire Series And Recommend It To No One.
(Evan and I did sit in awe a few times and kept saying how much we miss making documentaries. they are so fucking special.)A Favorite Shop Is Having A Sale!
(I have three quilts, a coat, and some stuffies from there—LOVE them.)
Jackson! I’m Going To See This On Friday.
(excited!)Um, Awesome.
(more randomness/weirdness/art please.)I Know This Is Old, But I Laughed So Hard.
(ahhh!)I Am Weirdly Obsessed With This Elizabeth Olsen Look.
(where can I get that outfit? what will I wear it to? should I dye my hair that color? answer these questions for me please!)Unfortunately, This Is So Me.
(😂)
I love you. I want you. I need you. Oh baby, oh baby.
xxo,
rachel.
Hello Ms. Stevens, I remember that my 9 year old nephew was still wetting the bed. I read at the time that if a child is constipated, the pressure can cause the bladder to empty at night. Perhaps you can ask the dr.? Your little one might not be able to stay dry.