When I tell people I grew up along Maine’s rocky coastline, they always assume my life has a soundtrack full of fiddles and sea shanties. And sure, I won’t pretend I don’t have an affection for any song that so much as hints at the ocean (yes, I own a well-loved copy of The Decemberists’ The Crane Wife). But the truth is, my music taste tells a story far more layered than a salty breeze and fishermen’s lore. Like the tides themselves—sometimes calm, sometimes wild—my soundtrack is shaped by the chapters of my life, the messy emotions, and the places etched into my heart.

Is it a coincidence that my playlists evolved alongside my views on love and relationships? Probably not. If romance is anything, it’s a tuning fork hitting all the highs and lows of the human experience. Here’s how my life unfolded, one music queue at a time.

The Mixtape Era: Cassettes, Crushes, and Car Stereos

When I was thirteen, a kid named Ethan slid me a cassette at a school dance. In scratchy handwriting, it said, “For Abby.” His mix included The Smashing Pumpkins’ “1979” and Blink-182’s “All the Small Things.” It wasn’t love—it was puberty. But that mixtape marked my foray into the intensely personal connection between music and emotions.

Back then, everyone used mixtapes as a kind of low-stakes confession. You didn’t have to articulate how you felt—just hit “record” over whatever was playing on the radio. I crushed on boys, but the truth is I also fell hard for the music itself. Each new crush would inevitably come with a new anthem. (Exhibit A: A very ill-advised infatuation with a skater named Kyle had me memorizing Avril Lavigne’s entire discography.)

Looking back, the throughline was the vulnerability. It’s funny how a few songs could say what I didn’t know how to. My advice for anyone nostalgic for that time? Bring back the metaphorical mixtapes in your love life. It doesn’t have to be literal—I’m not suggesting you mail a Spotify playlist to someone with a handwritten note of “ILY?” But creating something just for someone else, even a fleeting romantic connection, says, “I see you, and I think you should hear this.”

College Vibes: Indie Anthems and Late-Night Epiphanies

College was when music started to feel less like background noise and more like spirit guides. Picture me: turtleneck sweater, holding a cup of coffee that’s far too hot, huddled by the UMaine library window as Fleet Foxes sang, “White Winter Hymnal” into my headphones. Dramatic? Yes. But so is being 20 and convinced life is unfolding like a Wes Anderson montage.

This era coincided with so much self-discovery. I studied Environmental Studies by day and stared, lovelorn, at my poetry TA by night. Suddenly, music wasn’t about teenage butterflies—it was deeper. Iron & Wine, Sufjan Stevens, Bon Iver... If the song sounded like it was crafted inside a cabin surrounded by pine trees, I was hooked.

What did all of it teach me about relationships? That love, like a good playlist, requires layers. You don’t want to be all Florence + The Machine chaos one moment and acoustic moody Hozier the next. There’s joy in finding rhythm and consistency, both in a relationship and in who you’re becoming.

Breakups and Power Ballads: Queue Beyoncé and Lizzo

Ah, post-college relationships—the trial marriages no one warns you about. The ones where you share a Netflix account and passive-aggressively argue about who’s using way too much of whose HBO subscription. When my first big relationship imploded, I wallowed for weeks in early-2000s heartbreak hits (Dashboard Confessional’s “Screaming Infidelities” anyone?). Asking deep, vital questions like, “Is he really just ‘not ready for commitment,’ or does he actually hate my homemade granola?”

But then, like every solid redemption arc, I shifted towards anthems that demanded I stand taller. Enter Beyoncé’s “Irreplaceable,” the quintessential breakup graduate course. Throw in some Lizzo (“Truth Hurts”) and Kacey Musgraves (“Rainbow”), and I was practically holding a Ted Talk about resilience to my Spotify followers. Actually, scratch that—this wasn’t about them. It was all for me.

If breakups are good for one thing, it’s curating the best pump-you-up soundtracks. My tip? Skip the playlist that screams sadness (yes, even if your playlist IS named something absurd like “Sad Boat Rides at Sunset”). You’ll feel better faster if you choose songs that champion your comeback, not your sorrow.

Coastal Years: When Nature Sets the Tempo

Once I hit my late twenties, my playlists evolved with what I call the “coastal calendar.” Summer months in Bar Harbor? That’s all about exhaling. My soundtrack would tilt towards beachy tunes, with banjos and breezy melodies reminding me of salty air and clear skies. Think The Lumineers or Vance Joy. (Contrary to popular belief, I do not listen to the Jaws theme when kayaking!)

But by autumn, I’m all introspection—cue Bon Iver’s “Holocene” again, looping on every foggy drive through Acadia National Park. Not to get too metaphorical, but nature teaches you that relationships take on seasons too. When love feels stale, maybe it’s just “winter mode,” stripped bare but with room to regrow. On days nature’s rhythms help me breathe easier, my playlists remind me of that same truth with quiet, warm touches.

The “We’re in this Together” Playlist: Finding Your Person

You know that scene in corny romantic comedies where the protagonist builds a playlist and their significant other says, “Oh, you get me”? That’s real. Or at least, it can be in its own small way when you find the person who fits. Somewhere in my early thirties, between guiding tourists in Acadia and writing essays with the hum of the Atlantic in the background, I met a fellow hiker. His trail mix (pun intended) wasn’t exactly my taste—Phish and way too much Grateful Dead—but it worked. And we started sharing songs like we shared packed lunches on Sunday hikes.

The thing is, relationships that last are like playlists. Effort goes into them. Curating playlists with someone special is intimate—you find middle ground, swap faves, and discover new meanings to tracks you never considered. (Alt-J’s “Taro” makes a lot more sense when someone whispers, “Listen to the bassline here.”)

If you’re lucky, growing together is a natural harmony. If you’re me, it also involves some light bantering over the superiority of his analog record player versus my digital setup. But that’s another story.

What Your Soundtrack Says About You

Here’s the truth: the playlists we create—whether they’re for ourselves or others—are more than collections of songs. They’re diaries, snapshots of who we were and who we’re becoming. They map not just the people we’ve loved but the walks we’ve taken, the risks we’ve tackled, and the perfectly quiet moments we learned to savor.

As for dating? Share your music with someone. It’s vulnerable, yes, but oh-so-meaningful. I’ll say this much: if they respect Brie cheese and your curated list of R&B slow jams, they’re worth keeping around.

So, if anyone’s wondering what I’m listening to today: it’s Brandi Carlile. Because some days call for big, soulful ballads of life’s honest truths. And if that’s not a love song to life itself, I don’t know what is.