Have you ever noticed yourself getting really excited over a “throwback” song that comes on a radio that takes you back to younger, freer days where acting silly with your friends was all that mattered. Or back to that day you and your first significant other danced so awkwardly at that middle school dance. Or to the first mix cd your high school boyfriend made you. Or the annoying pop hit that you and your freshman roommates in college blasted at all hours of the night. Or the endless amounts of John Mayer that you and your current boyfriend played over and over for three months.
For me, songs are always tied to emotions. I can hear “Sugar We’re Goin’ Down” by Fall Out Boy and immediately am taken back to my seventh grade days with my then-best friend Maddie screaming our lungs and jumping into the pool chasing after our “soulmates”. “Wasted” by Carrie Underwood was the song I slow-danced to in the eighth grade with my best guy friend/crush. “The Girl” by City & Colour was the song my high school boyfriend used in a video to ask me to my senior prom.
I can clearly remember each and every one of these moments. There are songs that instantly make me cry. Like “Cinderella” by Steven Curtis Chapman. My relationship with my dad is definitely the best in the world, and certainly quirky at times. Any song that has to deal with that bond changing sends me to tears instantly.
I’m weird like that. I associate songs to almost every extremely memorable event in my life. I often quote songs randomly because whatever emotion is happening then happened before, so that lyric becomes familiar, becomes a staple. I know people who cling to one song like it’s their only string of vowels and consonants that’s ever going to mean anything to them — I’m not like that. I just have a mental library of songs. I consider myself a human jukebox. Don’t believe me? Test me sometime.