My playlists are time capsules. Each one, chronologically sorted, takes me back to a specific moment in my life. Every song brings a flood of emotions and memories—an almost indescribable feeling of nostalgia mixed with deja vu. When I miss a person, place, or time of my life, all I have to do is find that one corresponding playlist and press play. Instantly, I’m comforted. It only takes the first few notes to transport me out of my current reality and into a past version of myself.
Some people keep journals to memorialize their highs and lows, documenting their every thought, feeling, and memory. I’ve always admired people who can clear their minds enough to sit down and journal, but I’ve never had the patience. Instead, I make playlists.
Creating these playlists is a dynamic process. I collect songs as they cross my path—a mix of those that are new to the world and those that are new to me. I get one from TikTok and another from my roommate’s speaker when we’re getting ready. When I find these new songs, I’ll often listen to them on repeat until I start to get sick of them. Then, they find a new home on my time-vault playlists, tucked away to be rediscovered later.
My music taste is eclectic and diverse. There is no single genre, no single artist or mood that could even begin to define my playlists. Each playlist is a chaotic jumble of country, oldies, classic rock, and top hits. Yet, there is something deeply personal about this randomness. I don’t put a lot of thought into curating my playlists. I just collect the songs that bring me joy in that moment, combined together in one central location for me to return to for years to come.
Even when my memory fails me and my best and worst moments begin to blur together, I scroll back to my playlists. Suddenly, I am there again, and everything becomes clearer. I feel fully immersed, as if I were living these moments all over again, even remembering the little details I didn’t know I had forgotten. I am 19, sitting on the bus back to Newton after a long night at the library. I am 21, walking the streets of New York City on the way to work. I am 13, getting ready for my first day at a new school.
The combination of songs is arbitrary and insignificant to anyone else but me, but together they tell the story of my life. The lyrics, genres, and melodies themselves don’t hold significance—only the emotions they evoke and the memories they bring back
Photos can help you remember, but only music can make you feel those moments and emotions. Even though songs are not visual, I can close my eyes, and the images come rushing back. Years from now, I know I’ll stumble across my Senior Spring playlist and feel this very moment rush back. My complex emotions—excitement about the future, sadness about leaving the past—will return. Mundane moments, like a walk to get coffee before class, will slip away, yet my “morning routine” playlist will always be there to transport me back.
Spotify is my time capsule, holding on to my emotions for when I’m ready to take them out again.
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