My Soundtrack

Finding the Rhythm of Home

In my earliest memories, life was scored by the sound of the ocean. Not in the abstract, poetic way you read about in glossy travel magazines, but in the very real whoosh and slap of waves against hulls and the occasional creak of my father’s boat moored just off Kennebunkport’s rocky shore. For me, the soundtrack of life has always been tied to place—a piano concerto of clinking dishes and laughter at the lobster bake, the elegy of seagulls on fog-drenched mornings, the crescendo of a Nor’easter thundering through the pines. These sounds had a rhythm, and that rhythm found its way into me.

But no life is complete without music you choose for yourself—tracks that, somehow, translate the messiness of relationships, the spark of creativity, and the kaleidoscope of emotions we call being human. For better or worse, my playlist is inextricably tied up with my story. It’s been the unsung (or, mostly, sung) companion through triumphs, heartbreaks, and the zigzagging progress of self-discovery.

The “First Crush” Phase

Every great soundtrack starts with a giddy, offbeat opener, and if my life album had liner notes, my first choice would gleam like a scratched ’90s CD: “You Make My Dreams” by Hall & Oates. Somewhere around eighth grade, my best friend Cassie and I decided this was it, the ultimate anthem for the butterflies-and-notebook-doodles era of young love. Never mind that my own “romance” at age thirteen consisted mostly of interpreting minute details like whether Ben Hardy gave me the look while picking up his lunch tray (spoiler: he didn’t).

If you haven’t queued up Hall & Oates in a while, give it a whirl. I dare you not to feel the unbridled optimism of a crush—the kind you believe, however fleetingly, might make the earth spin in reverse. It’s the same energy I brought to the poorly-worded Postmates text I sent to a guy from Bowdoin two weeks after our first date. (FYI, misspelling "rom-com" as "rom-con" will not sustain fresh flirtation.)

My advice? Hold onto a soundtrack for those moments when you can’t stop smiling at the absurdity of your own heart. Sure, the person you're swooning over might ghost you, but Hall & Oates? They’ll always pick up the phone.

The Slow Burn of Confidence

Fast-forward to my days in England—studying English literature by day, pretending I didn’t desperately miss salty New England air by night. My “slow burn” track? Norah Jones’s “Don’t Know Why.” Every time those smooth piano keys drifted through my earbuds along the Thames, I could all but hear her telling me to relax—for goodness’ sake, relax. Romance (and, possibly, adulthood in general) couldn’t be rushed.

I carefully cultivated a “charming yet mysterious” vibe during this time, one I hoped set me apart in the bustling pubs I ducked into across London. In truth, my mysterious aura mostly consisted of politely declining darts matches while scribbling in a pocket notebook, wearing turtlenecks I couldn’t really afford on a student visa budget. But I digress.

Norah was right, of course. The best moments—in dating and in life—often come on the other side of stillness and slowness. The lesson? Choose your soundtracks wisely during periods when you need to remind yourself to exhale now and then. Play something gentle but powerful, something that lets you lean into stillness while rebuilding your self-assured glow.

The Breakup Ballad (Best Done with Style)

We all have them, don’t we? Those heartbreak tracks that dig straight into the marrow of our sorrows. Mine belongs to Billie Holiday. Just after graduating into the chaos of my mid-20s, I sat with her voice drifting from my record player as I unraveled the details of a messy breakup with James: a maritime historian (yes, really) whose passionate intellect unfortunately translated into equally passionate arguments about the difference between weathered clapboard rights-of-way and picket fences. James wasn’t a bad person—but he wasn’t my lobster (to borrow a phrase from a different soundtrack, Friends fans).

Cue Billie’s “I’ll Be Seeing You.” If you’ve been blindsided by love, her voice has a way of dragging your tears out of hiding and making you feel like the lead character from some glamorous, devastating Douglas Sirk melodrama. And, honestly, go with it. Heartbreak requires its own drama. It’s part of the catharsis—and Billie is there to help you rise from it as a slightly tougher, slightly wiser version of yourself.

Rediscovering Joy

There’s something ridiculous about realizing how much music connects you to the world, even when that world feels miles beyond reach. For me, joy returns each summer in the form of old-fashioned jazz standards (hey, I warned you I’d inherited old-school tastes). Picture this: the lilting brass of Ella Fitzgerald’s “Cheek to Cheek” curling through the salty Maine air. In our family, Ella is as essential to summer as Adirondack chairs, lemonade, and lobster rolls—and it turns out, she translates beautifully to the soundtrack of rediscovery on lazy bright days you’d rather think about anything but your inbox.

Joy, after all, isn’t necessarily lightweight. It’s reaching back toward the best pieces of yourself—the goofy, hopeful bits you thought time or rejection had buried under layers of doubt. If you’ve forgotten this feeling, may I suggest shaking up your routine with a song your parents swayed to? Put on Ella, or Sinatra, or something humorous like Louis Prima’s “Just a Gigolo,” and let yourself laugh at life for a little while.

Navigating Relationships in Real Time

Here’s a theory: everyone needs a walking playlist. Not for the gym, but for long, absorb-the-world walks when you’re half in your head and half marveling at whatever’s right in front of you. My go-to walking track? Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere.” Nothing brings me back to earth from a bad date or a tough conversation quite like Fleetwood—how they mix harmony and tension in equal parts, as though to say, love isn’t easy, but it’s worth it.

And isn’t that the truth? Whether you’re in the flush of a new relationship or attempting to understand the contours of a long-term commitment, the right music helps you carry your feelings without dropping them along the cobblestones. Fleetwood Mac taught me something else, too: it’s okay—good, even—to hold contradictions lightly. Love can be joyful and hard, frustration and contentment can share the same beat. Go ahead, put yourself in motion until your body understands what your mind is still trying to figure out.

Life Lessons from the Playlist

What’s on a life soundtrack says as much about us as our favorite books or even our first love (though let’s be honest—Ben Hardy, call me). From the uncontainable energy of young infatuation to the raw reality of heartbreak, music forces us to acknowledge where we’ve been and cheer us forward all the same.

One last piece of advice: keep revisiting your soundtrack. Make it messy; let it contradict itself. What mattered to you in one chapter may not resonate in the next—but every chapter deserves a melody. And if you’re anything like me, you’ll always find yourself returning to the songs that feel like home, the ones that bring you back to yourself.

Because somewhere between the Hall & Oates tracks that sing us into our earliest crushes and the Billie Holiday ballads that sway us through heartbreak, we discover pieces of our own rhythms—and, with any luck, the courage to dance through the changing tempos of life.