Edit desk: Cheap therapy

Hung above my bed you will find many things — pictures of my friends, some posters. Right below wooden letters of my initials hangs a painted canvas. “It’s not about forcing happiness, it’s about not letting sadness win,” it reads. It’s a lyric from my favorite band, The Wonder Years. The rest of my room is adorned with other band-related memorabilia: tickets, signed posters, guitar picks, lanyards. While seemingly just meaningless objects, these decorations are a constant reminder of one of my favorite things in the world. 

Music has played an important role in my life and my tastes have always been a little different. It started with listening to bands like Everclear and Good Charlotte in the car with my dad. Sure, I loved Hillary Duff just as much as the next fourth grader, but at the end of the day it was much more likely you’d find something else spinning in my Walkman.

These days, most conversations about music start with “Oh, you probably haven’t heard of my favorite band,” and ends as my coerced response of The Wonder Years is met with a blank expression. Even worse is when people pretend they know who they are.

Disclaimer: I am not a hipster. There is no part of me that believes I have a unique claim to a certain band or genre of music. I recognize they haven’t gotten to their current status of notoriety without having thousands and thousands of fans. But if I try to think of something that at least sets me a little bit apart from every other 20-year-old college girl, it’s probably the music I listen to. It’s not unique, it’s not diverse, but it means a lot to me.

I used to host a campus radio show, and while I loved it, it was so hard not to play the same songs over and over again. While I like a wide spread of music, there’s really only a few albums that I listen to constantly. To me, so much of it is about the lyrics that one listen isn’t enough.

Sure, it definitely helps that the lyrics are usually loud and fast and upbeat. I am someone who will do anything and everything in her power to make it to a show so she can scream her lungs out to every word. It’s cheap therapy. It’s the best feeling in the entire world. I love having something to be so dedicated to that brings me such much happiness.

I have bought concert tickets on my phone while on a train. I have traveled hours to get to a show. I’ve stayed in second-rate hotels when driving to a venue and back in one night was too much. I skipped a date party last semester to go see The Wonder Years. I went to a show completely alone this summer.

But what I enjoy more than the ringing in my ears or the bruises on my body is the feeling of connectedness that comes with going to a live show, or even finding out someone likes the same bands as I do. There’s an unspoken understanding. I strongly identify with the messages in the songs and the lyrics, like the one hanging on my wall. Knowing that there are so many people sharing in the same communal experience of listening to an album is encouraging and empowering. This is why I am decidedly not a hipster, I need to know there are others out there enjoying the music with me.

Music is the most beautiful community. It bridges gaps so effortlessly. It’s brought me closer to my dad, my go-to concert buddy and as he never lets me forget, the reason I like the music I do in the first place. It’s brought me many memories and traditions with my best friends. It is a constant in my life.

The arts and expression are so important. As someone who struggles with emotional intelligence, finding an outlet that already spelled out exactly how I was feeling was so powerful and meaningful to me. Find your community. Find something that’s important to you, something that can bond you with others. Find something you can lean on. Find something that is always there for you — maybe it’s a band, a book, a TV show, a poem. Or a hobby like writing or singing. And if you don’t know where to start, join me. I’m always looking for another person to throw down in the pit with.