Not the Showgirl She Meant—But Definitely the One Writing This

There comes a point in every reinvention when the dust settles and something surprising starts to emerge: A pulse. A rhythm. A voice you haven’t heard in a while — your own.

And sometimes you arrive at a moment in your journey where all those things intersect. When you feel sound and rhythm at a new, cellular level and hear your own voice more clearly and more joyfully than you have in ages. In my case, this "moment" can be attributed to Taylor Swift.

Wait, wait. Before I lose you - because I know many of you are thinking "ugh, her again? I've had enough! I don't care!" I get it. I was you! No less than a year ago. I became a Swiftie under duress when my daughter fell head over heels for her music last year and ever since, I have slowly and reluctantly warmed to her, and to her music. (Say what you will, my girl is a gifted wordsmith and a prolific storyteller.)

BUT - as it turns out, it was my turn to fall head over heels because her latest album, Life of a Showgirl, has me OBSESSED. And as I listened to it on repeat all weekend, I have figured out why. It is THE soundtrack to this season of rebuilding I am experiencing.

T-Swift’s latest project is loose, fun, and unapologetically bold. It’s also one of her most polarizing—critics call it unserious, chaotic, a little too playful. It’s messy. Liberated. At times absurd. And yet, it cuts straight through to the emotional core in ways that feel both specific and universal.

Especially for women like me who’ve spent a lifetime self-editing for the sake of being “professional.” And as a working woman, a mother, a leader, a lifelong “eldest daughter” — this album doesn’t just land. It liberates.

Taylor’s lyrics (always) say the quiet parts out loud. There’s a through-line here—between lyrical honesty and what is referred to as Radical Candor. And between radical candor and confidence. So, in this next chapter of my Second Flight: In the Field series, I’m exploring what it means to do what (I believe) Taylor did in her album - rebuild confidence not by playing it safe, but by saying the true thing. Even when it’s not polished. Even when it’s loud. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s not polite. Even if it rattles the narrative you’ve spent years making palatable.

All of this made me wonder: What would happen if we brought even a sliver of that IDGAF energy into our own careers? Into our relationships? Into our writing? Into our leadership? Into our lives?

I know the answer already. When we stop over-editing our stories, we stop undercutting our selves.

Okay, but let's get specific. (Sidebar: I have a former colleague who used to always challenge others with "be specific!" whenever we were trying to give her or her team feedback. While it was irritating in the moment - and intentionally designed to throw you off, it rings around my head all the time now. She had a point. Specificity avoids all sorts of things.)

I'm here laying down on this mountain saying this album is my life's new soundtrack, so let's dive into the tracks that are keeping me company on my ongoing confidence journey:

💎 Opalite – ABBA meets disco ball therapy. It’s glittery, golden, and deceptively deep.

What I love most about Opalite isn’t just the bouncy rhythm or the crisp, euphoric visuals (though those are everything). It's a reminder that happiness doesn’t just “happen” — we build it. Like Opalite itself - a man-made stone. It's not a song about waiting for joy.

"You had to make your own sunshine."

In a season where I’ve been reconstructing what “worth” looks like — beyond titles, metrics, or someone else’s praise — Opalite feels like permission. Permission to lean into hope, even when the path ahead is foggy.

🐺 Eldest Daughter – an anthem so gut-punchingly honest, it might as well be required listening for every recovering overachiever. Eldest Daughter has hit me — and so many others — like a ton of bricks.

“Every eldest daughter is the first lamb to the slaughter. So we dressed up as wolves and we looked fire.”

This isn’t just a poetic line. It’s an entire ethos. We’ve been performing (and this applies to not only eldest daughters, of course). Complying. Making ourselves small and smiley and safe for so long, many of us forgot what it even sounds like to speak plainly. This song reminds me: Radical candor isn’t always about confrontation. Sometimes, it’s just about being honest with yourself — out loud.

🌀 Fate of Ophelia – a poetic reclaiming of narrative, reminding me that rewriting the ending is always an option—even if you're not Taylor Swift. This one surprised me. It’s drawing from Shakespearean tragedy while resisting it entirely. In Taylor’s hands, Ophelia doesn’t drown. She defies the narrative.

"Late one night, you dug me out of my grave and saved my heart from the fate of Ophelia."

There’s something resonant in that, especially for those of us who’ve spent years navigating the expectations of being polite, presentable, and professionally composed. This track is a soft rebellion — a reminder that you don’t have to accept the roles you’re handed. That even if the script is written, you can still choose how the scene ends. That it's not about rescue. It’s about reframing.

🕶️ Father Figure – a cinematic, tension-laced look at power, ambition, and control. Framed like a mob boss confessional to his protégé, it’s about the invisible contracts we sign in pursuit of approval or advancement. For many women, it hits differently — a reminder of the unspoken dynamics we’ve learned to tolerate in professional relationships, and the quiet strength it takes to rewrite those terms.

I'll be your father figure, I drink that brown liquor. I can make deals with the devil because my check's bigger. This love is pure profit, just step into my office. I dry your tears with my sleeve.

This lyric strikes at the heart of professional dynamics that often masquerade as mentorship. The blurred lines between support and control. Between guidance and dependency. Father Figure doesn’t just critique a single type of relationship — it holds up a mirror to every lopsided professional exchange we’ve quietly accepted in order to move forward.

It’s an elegant takedown of the kind of “sponsorship” many women recognize all too well: relationships that appear generous but are quietly transactional. Taylor uses mafioso metaphors to highlight what happens when ambition gets tangled up in gratitude, power, and performance.

For those of us reclaiming our agency and redefining success outside old frameworks, this song isn’t just about a mentor gone wrong — it’s about realizing we no longer need someone else’s permission to lead.

So, here's the takeaway. My self-assigned to-do's after spending serious quality time with Taylor over the last 96 hours:

• Creative audacity. Keep making things that are emotionally true before they’re perfectly polished.

• Professional integrity. Keep pushing myself to say the real thing — with care, but without apology.

• Personal resonance. Try to live in a way that matches the inner voice I’m working so hard to reclaim.

If you’re also in a rebuilding season — or craving your own Showgirl moment — I see you. And I hope you’ll give yourself permission to be a little more honest, a little less polished, and a lot more you. If you’ve been following my Second Flight journey, this is your reminder to hit play, speak honestly, and keep rebuilding—even if the only one applauding right now is your inner showgirl.

✨ More field reports to come. Until then: give the album a whirl and let me know what resonates with you (or not).

🎤 Curtain’s up. Let’s go.