I had a super deep conversation with Mitski a couple of years ago, just before she boarded the rocket ship to Mars, and it has always stuck with me.

She’s such a powerful force, such a bright light — but also so sensitive and aware. It’s a really special mix of humanity and talent that she has so generously shared with the world, and I recall just wanting to shield her from all of what I knew was headed her way at the time.

The thing about the music industry, touring endlessly, and the commodification of one’s innermost self, is that the business model is very rarely centered around taking care of that individual’s human needs — and for anyone even remotely rooted in authenticity, navigating this shit is exhausting.

I blew up my major label deal and the career I had spent decades building back in 2010 and it was the best decision I have ever made. That pivot is ultimately why I decided I liked music again and made it possible for me to come back as my whole self later.

As Mitski the very successful artist deletes social media, hangs up her cowboy hat, and exits the public eye to become Mitski Miyawaki the person again, I hope you will all join me in wishing her well.

These stages are forever yours, darling. They’ll be here if you want them. Now go rest, feel proud, and EAT EVERYTHING.

💜💙

I want to take a moment to publicly thank Kendall Clawson, Sam Adams, Bob Speltz, Judge Kemp, Robert Goman, LeAnn Locher, Anne Viola-Krause, Tim Healea, Paul Fukui, Glenn Goodfellow, Neola Young, Nash Jones, Karen Petersen, Stacey Rice, Susan Kocen, Noah Wood, Dede Willis, Heather Nichelle, Ali Williams, Mary Emily O’Hara, Brian Charles Johnson, and all the other countless, caring, compassionate people who have bravely stepped up over the years to found, fund, build, sustain and, several times, fight to save the vital community resource that Q Center was designed to be.

Despite smoke and mirrors from my record label at the time, when I came to Q Center in 2010 I had nothing. Less than nothing, actually. I was traumatized by violence, was recently in recovery from a 16 year addiction to crack and alcohol which had left me ravaged physically and emotionally, had been freshly divorced while simultaneously being chewed up and spit out by the music industry, and I was living in a stranger’s converted garage. I was completely broke, starving, freezing at night, and, frankly, wanted to die.

One afternoon I found myself at Q Center and for the first time (maybe ever), I felt safe. I belonged. No one cared that I was broken. No one was scared of my need. In fact, they didn’t even see me as those things. They only cared that I was alive and that I was there — because that’s what family does.

Kendall invited me to come back the next day, so I did. When I got there, I told her I wanted to cancel my tour midway through, fire my team, turn my album into a fundraiser for the center, and keep showing up as long as I could be of use — and that’s what happened. I felt useful for the first time in years, and I stayed for the next 5 years.

While many of us have gone on to become successful after our time at Q Center, the truth is that none of us had much of anything back then — but we always had each other; And the people who did have resources gave everything they had to build a home for our community.

We fought for each other. We loved each other. We protected each other. And, most importantly, we created the first safe space many of us had ever experienced. We did all of this together, brick by brick, dollar by dollar, as a community, using our blood, sweat, intentions, and tears as the mortar.

When I literally had no food in my fridge and was too “famous” and ashamed to ask for help, Kendall fed me. I know she also had very little back then, but her care and concern for me and for all of our communities was always front and center. There were many days where the only food I ate was what was leftover at the end of the night after Q Center events, and I know I was not the only queer or trans person having their basic needs met within those walls, because I was often the one wrapping up to-go meals for other hungry queer and trans people.

Q Center saved my life, and it has saved countless others. This Portland Pride weekend, I’m using several copies of The Oregonian as a potty pad for my dog, and I’m celebrating Kendall and all of the people who made this big, gay, community magic possible to begin with — from founding board members and donors, to volunteers and program participants, to staff and community partners along the way.

I SEE YOU.
🌈❤️