I can write a shit ton of stories about how my parents’ divorce sucked. I think all, or nearly all, kids of divorced parents can.
But there are good ones too.
Like long car rides with my dad.
Whether he was picking my sister and me up for the weekend or driving us from his place in Fitchburg to his parents’ house near the Cape, there was always music. Loud music. Windows down. All of us singing. Which probably broke my dad’s heart a little because that man can sing, and my sister and I absolutely cannot, but it never stopped any of us.
We wore out cassettes and, later, CDs. We belted Downeaster Alexa, Take Me Home, Forever Young, In the Air Tonight (who hasn’t air-drum-soloed at 3:30?), My Way, Put the Lime in the Coconut, Me & Julio, I Don’t Like Mondays. Great songs. Deep tracks. Loud, proud, silly, badass, and free.
I still know every word. Still pretend I could jump onstage and crush any one of them.
This summer I noticed something: when I am deeply stressed, dark, conflicted, sick, I deny myself music.
I drive in silence.
I write in silence.
I stare at the ceiling in silence.
I pet the dogs in silence.
Even when I am ready to talk or cry, there is a stretch where music hurts. Every song sounds too loud, too good. I know if I play it I will sing or dance or ugly sing cry dance, usually that one. And I know it will help. It will give me energy and optimism. But I fight it.
Sometimes, when I am up against the worst fact in life, that it ends no matter what, feeling good feels wrong. So I wait. And then one day, I do not. And when I finally play an old favorite, it is magic. It feels like the first time (feels like the very first time).
This weekend, I was in a remarkably good mood, hanging with my son, watching movies, having dinner, running in fields, when Market Basket’s speakers suddenly played Boston’s Amanda. I turned straight into the freezer case, fake mic in hand, and gave a full TikTok-worthy lip sync. I laughed. I am fairly certain that a few strangers did too. Maybe I am TikTok famous and do not even know it.
Then yesterday I stumbled on an app called Suno. It uses AI to turn your lyrics or ideas into ridiculously catchy little ditties. I tried it, and the OG Cancer Shark now has a song: Been Through.
It is silly and fun, and I have had it on loop today. But I keep thinking: maybe on the days when music feels impossible, I could make my way back by playing, by making something that will not leave my head. A way to inch back toward feeling better.
I doubt that is what the app’s founders intended. But for me, it is another quiet lifesaver. And I will take it.