Everyday Sentiment: Seeing Myself In The Things I Do

When I listen to a song for the first time, I get to hear it as a new song. The melody is a story and I’m on the edge of my seat as it plays through. No other time I listen to it will it sound so novel. On the second listen, it’s a song I vaguely know. Now I’m more interested in a different aspect, focusing on the rhythm guitar I didn’t give enough attention before. If you said it was just a song, you’d be forgetting that I’m listening to it. The song plays what it must but my ears hear what they will.

On a tenth listen to a song I might remember the first time I heard it. What I heard then and what I hear now couldn’t be more distinct. Now, the chorus is obvious and I know the structure well. Listening to an all new song might resemble that first listen more the same song now. On a twentieth listen I might recall the time I played the song on a vacation with my friends, the verses no longer contain just words. They tell me the story of a road trip with rolled down windows and blue skies. The synths remind me of wind blowing through the car, the roaring guitars hold all the warmth I felt on my hands as I drive. There is sunny joy radiating from every note.

The song is starting to hold not just sound but also memories. Some memories are of events, others are of raw emotion. On the next listen I’m walking home from a party. The melancholy stroll as I leave my friends sinks into the music. Bittersweet tones make themself more present than they’ve ever been. Regardless of the scenario, the memories of what the song sounded like and what I felt at that moment are preserved. Now when I listen, I can hear the story of a joyful drive and of a sorrowful walk. They blend together to form a layered sensation. The feelings grows more complicated as I let myself walk through life, occasionally holding the music in my hand. Opposing feelings of hate and love mix together into something new.

Sentiment can be found in everything. I’ve never held a book that is no more than a book. If I’ve read it then it’s the memories of the stories it tells, where I was when I read it, who I knew around that time, and what I was feeling as I finished it. If I’ve read it then the joy of picking it up for the first time is hidden in the cover and the people I’ve talked to about it speak through the pages. Another book I’ve never read is still more than its words and paper. If I haven’t read it then the cover allures me like a puzzle; what does it mean? Why in this style? Is it reminding me of something else? If I haven’t read it then the prospect of reading it makes me already feel connected and the wonder of when I'll close it last haunts me.

Eventually, when something holds enough of me, I can use it as a mirror to see who I am. I’ll never see the full picture but I can see it in this new lighting. Events that might have been forgotten are preserved and the something they're preserved in highlights their importance. There's no bias and there's no judgement. There are only memories that don’t discriminate between the physical and emotional. Two equal parts of me presented as one, in a way that only I can see. If you said it was just a song, you’d be forgetting that I’m listening to it. When you live as you, you’ll find yourself and your world indistinguishable.