Back in the early and mid '90's much of my expendable income went to buying music . . . and in those days, though they existed, it was on cassette and not cd--compact disc, for those that know what "cd" refers to.
Cassette.
Had a cassette--or "tape"--player in the car. Driving is fun, but better when you can crank your tunes and let the music drive you: whether it be to sing at the top of your lungs or nod in agreement, "Yeah, yeah, I'm picking up what you're putting down." Lots of fond memories tooling around in the car, music blaring.
I was a social wallflower the first couple of years of high school--didn't do any organized extracurricular activities, went to school to go to school and that was about it. Sure, there were friends in school, and people treated me kindly, but I lived inside my head (there's a stretch, right?). That's what happens when you write . . . you're somewhere else, internalizing those thoughts and organizing (or reorganizing) to produce them on the page (whether real live paper or, these days, the old screen). Mental creation, not exactly a spectator sport.
Studies have been done that show having some sort of background noise--say, music--actually stimulates the brain, enhancing its capabilities. As soon as music entered the scene, it always accompanied the writing process in my world. It still does (this very moment, it's playing as I type). Through the years (let's face it, the '90's were awhile ago), the type of music that gets played has changed drastically (let alone how it's played). As a result, some songs/albums get left behind, and while they still exist they are left in the attic (both figuratively and literally). Quite often you hear a song, and it transports you back into time, back into time, back into time . . .
The other day I'm at an Irish wake. Someone sets up a playlist of music while we get down to a proper remembrance, in the traditional--albeit modern--way. At one point a song begins, and immediately I am transported . . . back to the '90's . . . as a song from the Judgement Night soundtrack is playing. Man, what a great album that was . . .is, is! (Just 'cause it's 20 years old doesn't mean anything).
Which prompts a trip, to the attic (both figuratively, and literally).
In my car, which is from the '00's, not the '90's, there is indeed a cd player. There is also a cassette player as well.
Cassette.
As the songs have played over the past few days while driving around, it's amazing how much comes back, all those memories. And the lyrics--still knowing some, yowza! And it is indeed like an auditory flux capacitor--let the music play, and it transports you back into time. For me, it's a great time to remember--maybe, perhaps, not the greatest of all because, Frankly, that would be depressing; Shirley you can't call it a mid-life crisis, right? Faith No More. But, during the '90's I started coming into my own as a person: more social, more outgoing, more confident. And that's when the great moments and events really started accumulating, for better or worse. Fondness abounds for that era, and so many positive aspects to that portion of my life easily lifts it to one of my favorite times, but again, perhaps not the best.
People talk about the greatest time of their life . . . and hopefully that's right now. It doesn't mean the rest of your life has been prologue. On the contrary, hopefully your life has been (and will be) a cumulative upward trajectory: ups, downs, but ever forward and onward and upward. We are all learning as we go, and subsequently those thoughts, experiences and hence memories are who we are. The past is locked, but it's there, and it's written. Once in a while it's great to look back, and no matter the catalyst, hopefully it's a good luck back.
Freak Momma!
See you next time.
No comments:
Post a Comment