Every life has a soundtrack. Mine just happens to oscillate somewhere between the classical grace of Debussy and the unapologetic confidence of Beyoncé. I mean, is there a better mashup for navigating Southern social circles while writing about love and relationships with a hypercritical pen? These are the songs that bubble up when I sit down to write, the playlists that untangle my thoughts during long walks through Piedmont Park, or the anthems that buoy me up after a date-gone-wrong. So grab your headphones and walk with me through my life in melody.
The Overture: My Buckhead Beginnings
Growing up amid Buckhead’s winding streets and perfectly manicured lawns, I was immersed in a world as curated and polished as a debutante ball. Naturally, my early soundtrack leaned heavily on strings and sophistication. Chopin’s Nocturne in E-flat Major was the kind of song my mom would hum while trimming roses, and its lilting romance taught me that beauty often hides subtle complexity. This made its way into my early perceptions of love, too.
But don’t let the classical facade fool you—being a teenager in Atlanta means you’re exposed to some of the quirkiest mashups of culture. I’d be at a charity gala one night, pretending to understand Monet, and cruising down Peachtree the next morning with Ludacris booming on my friend’s outdated car stereo. Cue Usher’s Yeah!—the track that got played at literally every high-school party, to the point where I still hear its rhythmic echo whenever I social-distance myself from the punch bowl at adult gatherings. (Did I just date myself? Probably. Let’s roll with it.)
London Calling: Study Abroad, Soul Expanded
Ah, London—a year that gave me both Adele’s heartbreak ballads and a crash course in personal independence. Late-night bus rides across the Thames demanded a brooding soundtrack. Florence + The Machine’s Dog Days Are Over turned up at just the right moment, as if whispering, “Pull yourself together, Carrie. Your world is bigger than the Augusta debutantes back home.”
London not only cracked open my worldview but also informed my evolving creative process. To this day, a rainy morning with a warm cup of tea demands some Damien Rice—melancholy, yes, but it’s the exact kind of melancholy that births good writing. The Blower’s Daughter has seen me through writer’s block and the occasional existential crisis. Turns out, sadness is excellent kindling for artistry, as my therapist and Spotify history will attest.
Dating Soundtracks: Amor and Awkwardness
Let’s skip straight to the messy stuff, shall we? First dates have one thing in common with Taylor Swift albums—they’re unpredictable. You either get Red, with all its high-energy, heart-on-your-sleeve passion, or Evermore, where you deep-dive into emotional waters you didn’t even know existed. Spoiler alert: If a guy’s Spotify queue is 90% Bon Iver, proceed with caution—he’s probably not ready to meet your parents.
Then there are breakups. Whew. If you’ve ever ugly-cried during Frank Ocean's Swim Good, know that you’re in excellent company. That was my anthem the time I split with “Good-on-Paper Greg,” an alum from my private school with impeccable lineage and a disturbing lack of emotional depth. The irony, of course, is that Greg wouldn’t know Frank Ocean from Billy Ocean, which confirmed that leaving him wasn’t just emotionally intuitive—it was a cultural necessity.
When it’s time to move on—and I mean really move on—I crank up Lizzo’s Truth Hurts. There is no better reminder that sometimes the best revenge is good lighting and a killer caption.
The Writing Groove: Classical Meets Current
Writing about relationships requires a playlist as nuanced as the topic itself. When you’re dissecting the intricacies of modern love, you need a mix of music that sharpens your focus but doesn’t distract from the emotional undertones of what you’re trying to say.
Mornings mean Max Richter—his reinvented versions of Vivaldi are like sonic caffeine. The steady rhythm pulls me into the zone, sitting at my desk surrounded by stacks of emotional post-its and vintage Atlanta postcards I collect for “inspiration” (read: procrastination). By afternoon, I shift gears to Erykah Badu’s Tyrone, because sometimes you need to throw a curveball at writer’s block. Badu is the voice in my head whispering, “Look closer. Tell the truth. And for goodness’ sake, call out that nonsense.”
By night, it’s all about Sade. Her velvety voice is like having a glass of wine without actually drinking one. And trust me, if you’re writing a steamy chapter where two characters finally collide under that live-oak canopy—cue By Your Side.
Sound and Memory: Building Connections
Let me tell you something about the power of music to strengthen relationships. I once dated someone who didn’t understand why Kanye’s Runaway is the perfect “keys-to-his-own-emotional-undoing” song. (Fatal flaw, I know.) But when you find someone who gladly jumps into a dance-off with you to OutKast’s Hey Ya! or puts Sam Cooke on mid-road trip without asking? You’ve struck gold.
Music invites vulnerability. Sharing playlists with a partner is secretly saying, “Here’s a roadmap to what makes me me.” It’s a tiny treasure chest revealing your heartbreaks, ambitions, nostalgia, guilty pleasures—even that middle-school emo phase no one needs to talk about. Relationship tip? Use that power wisely, my friends. An intentional playlist speaks louder than words (or texting “WYD?” at 11 p.m.).
The Encore: A Life Still Composed
If my life so far were an album, it’d be a hybrid of genres—a little Southern tradition, a bit of London grit, and just enough Beyoncé self-assurance. Music isn’t just a backdrop to relationships, career leaps, or awkward elevator rides—it’s the connective tissue that gives them depth and meaning. Whether I’m writing, dating, or navigating whichever weird social event involves finger sandwiches and antique centerpieces, there’s always a track keeping me company.
So, what’s your soundtrack? I’ll leave you with this: The songs we choose are more than entertainment—they’re guideposts, encouraging us to feel deeply, love boldly, and maybe (just maybe) dance in our kitchens while the world outside waits on us. Until then, I’ll be somewhere between Claire de Lune and Crazy in Love.
