While thinking about boxing up my room, I looked at my drawer filled with CDs. I have written them all down, just in the emergency that even one should get lost.
As I went through the CDs, I pulled some out, smiling at their covers, reading through the booklets, and occasionally pressing play just to hear the sound fill my room once more.
Every song is attached to a memory, and each note starts to bring a scene to life in my mind; the flash of a moment that feels like a lifetime ago. To this day, I can’t listen to AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” without thinking back to my singing along to it with my best friend from middle school, both of us grinning like idiots on the way to watch a movie about robots. He and I could sing that song again and again and never tire of it.
Some memories are silly and some are sad, but each album brings a handful of moments to mind.
There is also something comforting about them; the opening notes of a song can allow a feeling of familiarity and calm to wash over me. In some of the scariest, most stressful times of my life, I have found myself recalling the plucking of a guitar, slow and steady.
I look at the albums that I’ve cherished for so long, and remember tearing the neat, plastic wrappers off as fast as my fingers could manage, just to open the CD booklet and memorize every picture, and every line. By the time I finally heard the album, I knew every word.
When I was supposed to think about boxing, I instead fell back into my old pattern. I popped in a CD, lay on the floor in the center of the room, and closed my eyes.
And I can honestly say, I felt more at home in my room than I had in months.
That’s the magic of music, I think.
It can provide a comfort that is undeniable.
Even just stepping into your favorite venue can be the most settling feeling in the world; to walk into a building, and have a sense of excitement and calm all at the same time.
To many, home is where the heart is.
To me, home is where the music is.