I don't casually enjoy music.
I become emotionally entangled with it.
There is no,
"Oh, I like this song."
No.
My brain hears one lyric...
One.
And suddenly I've entered a full-blown, emotionally committed relationship with a four-minute recording.
It starts innocently enough.
Spotify recommends something.
The radio plays a new song.
Someone posts a Reel.
I hear a lyric that punches me directly in the feelings.
And that's it.
It's over.
Congratulations to everyone else in my life.
You're about to hear this song approximately 7,000 times.
For the next several weeks...
I don't simply listen to it.
I study it.
I analyze it.
I assign meaning to lyrics the songwriter probably never intended.
I replay one line twelve times because...
"HOW DID THEY GET INSIDE MY BRAIN?"
My husband knows the signs.
He'll get in the car.
The song starts.
He smiles.
"Again?"
Yes.
Again.
And again.
And probably three more times before we get to Walmart.
Here's the fascinating part.
It's never random.
Every song arrives exactly when I need it.
When I'm heartbroken...
One song.
When I'm hopeful...
Another.
When I'm building my business...
Different song.
When life feels impossible...
Some artist I've never heard of somehow writes the exact sentence my soul has been trying to say for six months.
How do they do that?
Are musicians okay?
Who hurt them?
People ask,
"What's your favorite song?"
Friend...
That's like asking me my favorite child.
I don't have favorite songs.
I have...
Temporary Emotional Support Anthems.
They're assigned by season.
Like emotional interns.
My current anthem becomes...
Everything.
I clean to it.
Drive to it.
Cry to it.
Celebrate to it.
Stand in the kitchen dramatically staring out the window while it plays...
As though I'm in the final scene of a movie no one asked for.
Sometimes I don't even hear the whole song.
I hear...
That one line.
The one that somehow explains my entire existence.
I'll rewind it.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until I'm absolutely certain I've squeezed every last molecule of meaning out of those twelve words.
At some point...
The lyric no longer even sounds like English.
I've listened to it into another language.
Then...
One morning...
I skip it.
No emotion.
No excitement.
Nothing.
It's as though my brain quietly whispers,
"We've extracted everything we needed."
Mission accomplished.
The song has completed its assignment.
Thank you for your service.
It's honestly a little sad.
This song that carried me through an entire chapter of my life...
Suddenly becomes...
Just another song.
Not because it changed.
Because I did.
And then...
It happens.
A new song.
A random lyric.
A different artist.
One line.
That's all it takes.
My brain immediately announces,
"EVERYONE CALM DOWN."
"This is who we are now."
The funniest part?
If you scroll through my playlists...
They're basically an autobiography.
Not organized by genre.
Organized by emotional identity crisis.
"Anxiety."
"Hope."
"Courage."
"Building."
"Grief."
“This One Made Me Feel Like Maybe I Wasn't Completely Winging Adulthood.”
(Very niche category.
Highly recommended.)
I've realized over the years that music isn't just entertainment for me.
It's translation.
Sometimes a song explains what I couldn't.
Sometimes it gives words to feelings I didn't even know I was carrying.
Sometimes it reminds me who I am when I've forgotten.
And sometimes...
It just gives me permission to ugly cry in the Target parking lot.
Which is a public service, really.
So if you ever get in my car...
And I play the same song...
Again.
And again.
And again.
Please don't worry.
I haven't forgotten there are other songs.
I'm just not finished with this one yet.
I'm still wringing every last drop of hope...
Or courage...
Or grief...
Or joy...
Out of it.
Eventually it'll let me go.
Until then...
We're in a committed relationship.
Exclusive.
Possessive.
Slightly unhealthy.
But don't worry.
My brain has already started looking for my next emotional rebound.
Spotify calls it a recommendation.
I call it destiny.
Although...
If you ask my husband...
He'll probably just call it Tuesday.
