Tonight on the drive home I set my iPhone to shuffle. I frequently use shuffle, but this time was different in that I let it cycle through my entire library rather than a specific playlist or artist. I’m extremely particular when it comes to music. What I’m hearing needs to be exactly right for my temperament and I listen to the same artist or album or playlist solidly for weeks or even months, so setting to shuffle amongst hundreds of artists would never do. Tonight, however, I was up for it.
I skipped past about twenty songs before settling on A Well-Respected Man, which wasn’t going to scratch any itches but I had lingered in the parking lot too long and The Kinks will always do in a pinch. It played through and I skipped past a Led Zeppelin song because it wasn’t the one I wanted to hear then also skipped The Bottom Line by Depeche Mode. I mused for a moment before switching back to it. Yes, the time was right.
My mind was then flooded with the beginning of 2009. Early mornings commuting on the Richmond Bridge, torrential rain, getting ready before the sun was up, Amy’s Curry Lentil Soup, my fleeting stint as a student at The National Holistic Institute, flirting online with the man who would become my husband, the mental state of relishing life, love and the unknown. I could smell and taste and think and feel just as I did then. I didn’t just remember everything - I felt it. I felt the way I did during that time, living my life, listening to Depeche Mode with such regularity it changed my DNA.
I’ve always enjoyed repetition but at some point I realized I had been subconsciously creating time capsules of my life - sectioning off chapters with music. Locking my days in music is far more concrete than scents that trigger deeply ingrained memories you can’t always place. With music the transportation has frightening, lasting clarity.
I don’t know what the next handful of songs imprinted into my life will be, but I will listen to them. Over, and over, and over yet again.
