Music is truly magical. It reaches out and touches each of us in different ways. Across distance and time, across oceans and through the air, music has a way of making us feel.
When I think of different moments in my life, I think of the soundtrack: the first song played in my new car (Weezer, Buddy Holly), I think of riding in my dad’s truck listening to Dwight Yoakum and Randy Travis, of the music in movies I loved growing up. I think about opening a new tape or CD on Christmas morning, picking an album to download from iTunes. Getting my first iPod. I think about the music in Disneyland, and how I can still get teary eyed from it.
I think about taking my parents to see Rain, a tribute to The Beatles, and what that experience meant to all of us. I think about discovering old music, staying up far too late introducing my mother to some band, or shushing someone in the car to listen to a great bass line.
My son is growing up, and music seems to be an integral part of his experience. As I watch him grow and learn, I see that a love of music is bubbling just beneath the surface. His mother sings to him, Mickey Mouse plays some of his favorite hits almost daily, and I push the boundaries of what he knows. There’s music in the car, and music on walks, and music during bath. He is surrounded by music, because his mother and I place such importance on music.
Music is the fabric of my life; the tapestry of my story is woven together by threads of song. It can lift you out of a bad place, or help to ease the passing of time. It can be a balm on a terrible day, or the way to celebrate a great one. I don’t know what the world would be like without music, but I do know it would be a darker place indeed.