Notes on Reclaiming: Music, Memory, and Moving On

We all use music to map our lives. It’s the cartography of our souls. We all have tracks that taste like the freedom of one particular summer, and some that act as security blankets, holding us close to people we may not have anymore. There is a very specific psychological process that comes with attaching a song to a memory, emotion, or person. This process acts as a time machine of our lives and it gives these melodies a new sense of intimacy. In that moment that you’re tying a song to a relationship, it makes the bond stronger. 

But what happens when that connection breaks apart, and you’re just left with a song that you used to look forward to playing with your person? We give a lot of power to these chords – power that takes a lot of control over our life. We hear a song we used to love, and because of someone or something, that love becomes loathe. Why is it that the first acoustic strum of a Noah Kahan song sounds less like an artist I admire, but more like the rhythm of a memory I’d rather not relive? How do I change that reaction and bring that song back to its original sentiment? There is a unique kind of grief in losing a song to a person. We build playlists like love letters, but when that love fades, they feel more and more like an emotional trap, lingering for you to fall for it when you hit “shuffle”. Instead of hearing the tune and beat, you hear the person you lost the song to. There comes a point where it’s safer to just sit in silence without the ghost of the past looming. There also comes a point where we need to face the music– literally.

My favorite way to do this is to give the song a new meaning entirely. Take the song that makes your stomach drop meters down, and play it in a completely contradictory environment. Play it in the most unromantic contexts: folding laundry, pulling weeds, cleaning the fridge. After that, it’s pretty hard to tie the song to someone romantic when now you can associate it with the smell of bleach and rubber gloves. 

Another way to do this is to play it with people you feel the most safe around. On a roadtrip with friends is one way to take the original meaning you gave to a song and create a new memory tied to it, unlike the old one. Allowing the laugh of people you cherish now  to muffle the bridge that at one point you dreaded hearing is so special, and provides a new insight to the song and everything it once meant to you. 

Now that we know how to bleach the stains out of the past, it’s important to see the songs that are untouchable in our lives. Just as there are many songs that we can tie to breakups and fallouts, some of my favorite songs of all time are linked forever to my best friend. As far away as she may be, playing a song that we heard live together, or that we both resonate deeply with, is the best way to bridge the distance between us. These songs aren’t just background music for us, but quite literally are the charting path of our relationship. Unlike romantic ballads which can feel fragile when the relationship ends, the music we share with our closest companions and future bridesmaids are built on a foundation of trust and respect that has lasted half our lives, not the kind that diminishes after a bad week or some distance. To us, the songs “Graceland Too” and “Dorothea” are our Polaris, a guiding light and tribute to our friendship. They’re the songs that when we hear them, we are reminded to reach out to one another. They are songs that I know I will adore forever because they remind me of her. 

At the end of the day, music is the only medium that allows us to physically hold onto a feeling after the moment has passed. Whether we’re reclaiming a chorus from the past or leaning into the melodies that celebrate our soulmates, we are the ones who have control over the soundtrack of our day-to-day lives. Take the songs of anguish and hurt and scrub them clean with the mundane and hold on to the ones that heal and relieve you. Our lives will always remain a symphony of all the people we ever knew and every memory we’ll ever remember; let the symphony play and let it remind us what was once good and what will last forever. 

About the author: PK is a freshman studying advertising, art & technology, and science communication. She loves collecting tattoos, listening to Phoebe Bridgers, seeing Broadway musicals, and calling herself a coffee connoisseur. She is passionate about writing, art direction, and travel journalism and hopes to pursue any of these in New York City one day!