Back in the Day

What is it about music that takes us back? It’s like one minute you’re wearing a #1 Mom sweatshirt with your hair in curlers and the next minute you’re driving down the road, picturing your 17-year-old self in a car full of your closest friends rocking out. Case in point: Friday night’s Van Halen concert.

I would be remiss to pretend like I’m some die-hard rock fan. Justin loves their stuff and we got tickets as a wedding gift so I went along just to enjoy getting out of town. Wearing a dress and curled hair, I immediately knew I stuck out like a sore thumb. I grabbed a cheeseburger and tried to fit in. More than the actual concert, I enjoyed people-watching, my all-time favorite sport. There were two women in particular who looked like your typical suburban housewives. They probably have pink tracksuits, yoga memberships, soccer games to attend and PTO meetings. But that night they were young again; they were living in a world free of responsibilities, birthday parties and cellulite.

David Lee Roth appeared on the stage and the housewives became desperate housewives. Though his hair was now short, wrinkles lined his face, and he was way too old to be wearing skintight pants, he hadn’t aged a day in their eyes. They screamed. And jumped. And danced. And shook.

And I couldn’t help but think: If *NSYNC did a tour when I was 40, this would be me. Justin Timberlake’s macaroni and cheese hair could be gray and most of us wouldn’t even care. Because, regardless of how much time has gone by, music sticks us in a time machine and fills our hearts with joy. We nostalgically remember our prom date and basketball run-outs, bonfires and break-ups.

After the concert, we stayed with my brother Ryan and his wife Chelsea. This, more than the concert, was my flashback in time. As they showed us around their cute home and town, it hit me: it seems like a few days ago he was calling me zit face and playing pranks. Now we’re married and holding civilized double date conversations. We met some of his co-workers and he said, “This is my sister and her husband.” Hold up. Aren’t you supposed to be making fart noises with your armpit or something?

The problem with music and nostalgia in general is that it only brings back the good times. You listen to a song from your youth and think, “Why can’t life be like that again?” What Bruce Springsteen doesn’t tell you, however, is that you were awkward. And made fun of. And your crush asked out your best friend instead of you. And you got grounded because you made a D in Trig. And that every little thing that happened to you was the end of the world.

Yeah, working stinks. And paying bills is not fun. But every stage of life brings something new with it and discards something old (I’m still waiting for clear skin). I am excited to try out this adult sibling thing. Who better to become friends with as you get older than the people who know you the best? A musical blast from the past isn’t even needed when you have a built-in memory-repeating parrot. Want to forget about that time that you screamed mid-squat at a camping site because your brother roared at you like a bear? Good luck. Think you’ll forget Pawpaw’s Charlie Chicken bedtime stories? Probably not.

So when I hear a song from my past, I smile and soak it in—but I try to also realize that every stage had its equal share of fun and heartache.

So pick out the melody of every stage, even if it happens to be Lady Gaga.