The Soundtrack of a Life (and Love) in Motion

Cue the music, folks—no really, hit play. The right song has a way of turning even your most mundane Tuesday into something cinematic, a swelling score framing your cereal-eating, traffic-dodging existence. It’s true in life, it’s true in love, and for me, in the sometimes chaotic, always beautiful mess of creating.

Growing up just outside Santa Fe, music was as much a part of my life as the adobe walls that glowed pink with the setting sun. It was the pulse beneath my mom’s whispered critiques of turquoise jewelry displays at their gallery. It was the flamenco guitarist performing at the weekly farmers market, and the low, resonating beats of Native drumming heard from a nearby festival. My soundscape as a kid was as vibrant and eclectic as my parents’ art collection. Looking back, I realize music shaped much of who I am—and, in turn, how I love, how I create, and how I connect.

Let me walk you through my personal soundtrack, one track and one transformative chapter at a time. Maybe along the way, you’ll start hearing your own story in the lyrics and melodies too.

1. The "Meet-Cute-Moment" Songs

Or: That track playing when you first spot someone across the room and feel the ground wobble a bit. (Hopefully because of love, not cheap tequila.)

If my life were a rom-com, Fleetwood Mac's “Everywhere” would be the guaranteed opening credit roll—glittering, infectious, practically designed to transport a meet-cute into legend. Maybe it’s because that’s exactly what happened once. Picture it: me, freshly 23, downtown Santa Fe. I’d walked into a café-gallery hybrid where both overpriced pottery and very single screenwriters tended to congregate. While waiting for my chai latte, “Everywhere” began to play, and suddenly music wasn’t background noise anymore. It felt prophetic. I spotted him in the corner, sketching something gorgeously chaotic in a leather-bound journal. I’m embarrassed to admit it now, but I preemptively decided we were soulmates. (Pro tip: Never give a stranger a starring role in your fantasies before first learning their coffee order).

Spoiler: That mysterious artist eventually became my boyfriend and later my break-up inspiration, but the magic of that moment? Unshakable. Lesson learned: always keep a killer opener on rotation. You never know when the stars—and Spotify shuffles—will align.

2. The Dance-Through-the-Kitchen Anthems

When there’s no audience but your reflection in the microwave door, your personal hits take center stage.

Creating, whether it’s a short story or a swoon-worthy roasted green chile stew, requires more than inspiration—it demands a rhythm. For me, that rhythm has become the realm of Nina Simone. Specifically, “Feeling Good.” In the kitchen after sunset (preferably barefoot and stirring something self-congratulatory like risotto), Simone’s voice winds itself straight into my creative soul.

But here’s the thing: it doesn’t only fuel artful progress. It lifts heavy hearts mid-dating disasters too. When that aforementioned artist-turned-boyfriend called it quits—his words were flowing with “it’s not you, it’s my creative process” vagueness—I coped solely through stovetop therapy and Simone. Sometimes empowerment comes from the simple act of chopping cilantro while shouting, “It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me!” over and over again until you believe it.

Trust me, everyone needs one go-to kitchen anthem. Break-up or bliss—it’ll work louder than the vent fan.

3. Long Drives and Life Lessons in Tempo

Roads are where the soundtrack of your inner monologue gets its most epic airtime. Find a banger for the scenery—and the self-reflection.

If Santa Fe’s surrounding desert is a sea of golden waves and purple shadows, then Florence + The Machine’s “Dog Days Are Over” is the vessel slicing through its currents. One epic playlist later, and I’ve reached my usual destination for clarity: the mountains.

Cue vivid imagery: the sun arcs low, painting highways gold; cacti stand sentinel, stoic and sharp; my beat-up Subaru is mostly crammed with gallery brochures but houses one excellent speaker. This is my thinking space, my processing haven, and my “why does love feel like free-falling off a mesa sometimes?” therapy session. Something about songs this endless and lush gives me permission to make peace with the high cliffs of heartbreak—or the daily micro-frustrations of miscommunication—without crashing emotionally.

Pro road-trip-to-nowhere playlist tip? Balance your theatrics with rest stops. For example: follow “Dog Days” with Simon and Garfunkel's “America.” Startling delight and wistful nostalgia pair oddly well here, much like pistachio ice cream and first kisses gone slightly wrong.

4. Rainy Day Melodies for Creative Blocks

The trickiest challenge: what do you listen to when nothing (or no one) makes sense?

Writer’s block is frustrating enough without rain—a rare event in New Mexico, might I add—pounding down like it’s personally offended by your latest lack of ideas. But during one such gray morning huddled over a blank notebook, I discovered what quiets mental friction, at least for me: The Postal Service's “Such Great Heights.”

Soft, lilting crescendos meet simple lyrics that land like tiny affirmations disguised as electronica. I might not literally believe I'll “feel it in [my] bones,” but hearing the line makes me sit a little taller, breathe a little deeper, and—who knows—sketch the first outline of something half-decent in response.

Here’s the bigger revelation, though: there’s always music for creative stumbles, just as there’s music for dating ruts. Don’t overthink finding the perfect “fixer” song—just hit play on the nostalgic tunes you adored at 19 (or 9, I’m looking at you “Sugar, Sugar”). Your brain will do the rest effortlessly.

5. The Warm Glow of “Forever” Tracks

Lasting connections, with art or people, deserve steady background melodies that don’t drown anything else out.

Here’s the wild thing about curating a soundtrack of your life: the tempo inevitably slows in parts. Somewhere between my parents’ legacy of connecting artists to their truest voice, my winding path through creative self-discovery, and my exhausting but rewarding search for lasting love, I’ve landed on a truth. The soundtracks of our lives aren’t static—they grow, warp, and refine with us.

My enduring soundtrack? Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic.” It’s complex enough to evoke something deep during late-night gallery installations—it’s simple enough that I hum it sometimes without realizing while telling my best friend about a date gone sideways. It’s a garden centerpiece, easily adaptable; a permanent sort of artistry. And maybe the goal, eventually, isn’t discovering The Perfect Song for fleeting moments like flirting or even heartbreak. It’s finding the ones that linger. The ones that teach us not just how to love others—but how to love the complicated process of being alive.

Closing Note:

So here’s my call to action: Create your soundtrack. Actively curate it. Whether your playlist reads like an indie film score or a club’s Saturday night banger, make it entirely yours. Life, like love, rarely follows a predictable beat. But when the right song hits, trust me—it’s magic.