The Eternal Wisdom of Alanis Morissette

Our lives would probably have been a whole lot easier if we'd just listened to her.

Photo by Marianne Van Meel

I have lived over half of my life under the influence of Alanis Morissette, and I feel I should have more to show for that. Sadly, I don’t. I don’t know that many of us do. It didn’t have to be this way.

It’s like we had the greatest GenX mentor right under our nose, and we missed it. We took her for granted. We dismissed her as an angry white girl. We let her fade off into the world of amazing work we also didn’t notice.

What have we been doing for the last 28 years since Jagged Little Pill came out? And yes, it’s actually been that long. If that album were a human, it would have had enough time to have earned a doctorate degree.

Last September, I saw Alanis for the second time in my life. The first was, indeed, 25 years ago. I legitimately still have the ticket stub to show for it.

I was in awe of this woman, rounding that corner toward 50 right there with me, killing it in glam soft pants and a sensible tunic, up on that stage like a damn midlife icon, belting songs out that served as a reminder that she was the beacon of strength I forgot I needed.