With the belted opening line of a song’s chorus, I’m once again an awkward divorcee with a crush on a man who will always view me as a replacement for the one he really wants. I can feel my old cell phone in my hand, singing those lyrics to me, the ringtone I used to mark his calls and texts.
A song change and I’m standing in my mother’s kitchen, surrounded by pictures of my brother. I can feel the tears stream down my face as we prepare the picture boards for his upcoming funeral. The lump in my throat is ever present, the fog of Ativan settled on my shoulders like a shroud.
Another song plays, I’m eating Chinese takeout and watching a movie with the man who has stolen my heart. I can close my eyes and see the laughter shining from his face, taste the sweet chicken and fried rice.
It never ceases to amaze me, this connection between music and my memories.
There are times the memories overwhelm me, and I have to change the song. There are other times it in inspires a cheerful change in my mood, the uplift I needed. Always, it touches my heart.
I’ve mentioned my love of music before, it isn’t a huge secret.
But as my mind struggles with to-do lists a mile long, finances, and pesky issues I’m unsure how to handle, the music once again soothes me.
As I sing along, I’m left wondering two things:
Will I ever be able to conquer my stage fright to be able to sing in public again? I love the emotions that come over me as I sing, I love the release I get from letting go. Sadly, the fear of judgement and rejection keep me silent. Each month I review the local community calendar and note the dates of the Open Mic Nights. And each month, the dates come and go without my involvement. Maybe someday, but for now, I remain silently singing.
What memories does music remember for you, my readers?