09th May 2020
Rediscovering much-loved music has been a lifeline for our writer during Covid-19
My mother would say I was born a worrier. Always full of anxiety. Years back, I would have scoffed at the notion. “I take everything in my stride! I have expert coping skills! My glass is always half full!” would have been my response. For a time, that really was the case. From 16 -28, I did take everything in my stride: The mild Cerebral Palsy (and the daily fight with my body to just work so I could get on with things), college, career.
I could cope.
I felt invincible; there was nothing I couldn’t do if I set my mind to it. Only in the last couple of years, I found my outlook changing from a sunny disposition to one wrought with anxiety. My self-assuredness became clouded with a deep sense of Imposter Syndrome; I wasn’t trying hard enough to accomplish things – not just in my job, but in life. “Don’t be ridiculous, surely you know you’re just winging it?” is what now replaced my positivity.
I want to say it was some tragic event that kick-started my descent because I feel that would justify my having to write this, but it wasn’t. It was just life taking its toll unexpectedly.
And the pandemic has not helped.
I had gone from being a dreamer, content that life would just work itself out to being dosed in reality: certain things (marriage, kids etc.) wouldn’t just ‘happen’ without a lot of hard work and effort, I had chosen a fairly stressful career, and my energy was deteriorating naturally at a rate that shocked me. So imagine my surprise when I discovered I wasn’t handling it all that well? I had so much going for me; I was lucky. But that’s the thing about anxiety; it doesn’t listen to reason or take a life-altering event for it to rear its head – though, this time, I blame Covid-19 – an unexpected change in the pace of even daily activities can leave you feeling like you’re smothering and treading through superglue.
After a fretful past few weeks of lockdown, a day rummaging through a severely packed drawer brought about a surprise: my first-ever MP3 player with (much to my delight) all the music still on it. It wasn’t even an iPod (remember this was an era pre-Apple); it was a Sony variation, a slip of a thing; silver-chromed, pocket-sized and with a cracked screen.
Oh, how I had loved it. And at times, wanted to smash it. The frustration trying to get the songs to load, the way it would freeze at random and just turn itself off, just as I was all set to power through my beloved 90s playlist.
A scroll of memories
A brief scroll and the memories returned: me, thirteen in casts from the tips of my toes to the top of my thighs, unable to walk for at least six weeks surrounded by CDs, the Pulp Fiction theme getting blasted from our living room by Dad early Saturday mornings and my miserable attempt to tape always fuzzy sounding songs from the radio.
Then there was The Trip I’d take every Saturday with friends. Anxious to arrive at our tiny, go-to music shop – I still mourn the closure of Tape2Tape – so I could buy the Single of the Week. An actual album purchase was a big deal back then – a treat reserved only for Christmas.
In those times, music was my solace, my gateway to another place. My teenage years were hard but not in the way you’re thinking. Yes, there were the spots and the glasses (pictures of me from 12-21 are locked in a dark place where no one shall ever see them) but also the 4-5 huge operations; months in casts unable to walk or go to school, the sitting on our living room couch glued to MTV as I awaited the next challenge: learning to walk all over again.
I sought comfort in music; losing myself for hours in lyrics and melodies and naturally, their accompanying music videos. I remember never feeling anxious then because I had my prized music collection close by; whenever I’d get to a point that was too difficult for me to cope with emotionally my CD – and then MP3 player – would come out and after 20 minutes, my equilibrium would be magically restored.
I still can’t fully explain why music, in particular, has always had this transformative effect on me. Perhaps it’s because I’ve always thought of the artists’ songs like old friends; relatable, comforting and always there when life got too stressful.
Almost as soon as I turned my little listening project into a daily ritual, I began to feel better: less anxious, less burdened by an invisible weight.
It has been a lifeline as I’ve cocooned during Covid-19.
And plenty of artists are still releasing new music during the pandemic: Dua Lipa’s lastest Future Nostalgica is a bop, Lady Gaga will release her pop-infused Chromatica on May 29th and, in what is a blast from the past for my 15-year-old self, Evanescence are set to release their first new album The Bitter Truth in almost a decade (their new single Wasted on You is suitably melancholy).
Crank up your playlists.
You will feel better for it.
Main photograph: Unsplash
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