...and if i should falter

…and if I should falter, would you open your arms out to me?

The past few days have been hard.

Not the kind of hard that everyone around you necessarily notices. More like the quiet kind—the kind where you're sitting at your desk, going about your day, and suddenly you realize there are tears running down your face.

I've been having those tiny cries lately.

And strangely enough, music has been bringing them out.

Music takes me somewhere

I've had an '80s and '90s playlist playing while I work, and every once in a while, a song comes on that doesn't just remind me of something. It takes me somewhere.

Suddenly I'm young again.

I'm driving down PCH with the windows down. I'm walking along the beach with friends. I'm sitting around a bonfire eating Round Table pizza, listening to music, laughing about absolutely nothing and talking about absolutely everything.

We would sit there and wonder what our futures were going to look like.

Who would we become? Where would we live? Who would we love? What kind of lives would we build?

Back then, the future seemed so impossibly far away. And somehow, here I am living in the future we used to talk about.

Maybe that's why the music has been hitting me so hard.

I miss the simplicity of it all.

My childhood and home life weren't always happy. There were things I carried that I probably didn't completely understand at the time.

But I had places where I could escape. The beach was one of them. Music was another. And my friends were another.

I had friends who knew pieces of what I was going through and tried, in the ways young people know how, to protect me.

Sometimes protecting me meant listening. Sometimes it meant getting me out of the house. Sometimes it meant a drive down the coast, a walk on the beach, a bonfire, pizza, music and hours of conversation.

There was something incredibly healing about having people beside you who didn't necessarily know how to fix anything—they just didn't want you to face it alone.

I don't think I understood how precious that was until much later.

Reaching backward

Lately, I've been reaching backward.

I've started reconnecting with old friends. People who knew versions of me that existed long before careers, marriage, children, responsibilities and all the complicated things adulthood eventually brings.

And there's something comforting about talking to someone who remembers you before all of that.

Someone who remembers the girl in the car listening to music. The girl walking along the beach. The girl who didn't know exactly where life was going but believed there was something beautiful waiting somewhere ahead.

I'm realizing that reconnecting with my past doesn't necessarily mean I'm trying to live there again. Maybe I'm simply trying to retrieve pieces of myself that I left behind.

I'm writing

And I'm writing.

I'm writing because sometimes feelings make more sense once I see them on a page.

I'm writing about memories. I'm writing about people. I'm writing about things that hurt me and things that saved me. I'm writing about the life I've lived and the person I'm still becoming.

Maybe that's part of healing. Not pretending the difficult chapters didn't happen, but finally being able to look at them without letting them define the entire story.

I'm learning that healing doesn't always look dramatic. Sometimes healing looks like sending a message to an old friend. Sometimes it's allowing yourself to cry at your desk when a song unexpectedly takes you back thirty years. Sometimes it's remembering the people who loved you when you desperately needed somewhere safe to land. Sometimes it's driving with the music a little louder. And sometimes it's simply writing everything down.

Music has always remembered me

Music has always remembered me. That's what I love about it.

A song can sit quietly somewhere for decades and then find you again at exactly the moment you need it.

The first few notes play and suddenly you remember the smell of the ocean. The sound of your friends laughing. The feeling of being young and unsure and hopeful.

You remember who you were. And maybe, somewhere inside you, that person never completely disappeared.

So right now, I'm letting myself remember. I'm letting myself reconnect. I'm letting myself write. I'm letting myself cry when I need to. And I'm listening to the soundtrack of all the different versions of me—the girl I was, the woman I became, and the person I'm still becoming.

Maybe healing isn't about forgetting where we've been. Maybe it's about finally being able to visit those memories, sit beside our younger selves for a while, and quietly tell them: You made it. And then turn the music up.

🎧 The Playlist — Songs That Are Finding Me Again

Erasure — “A Little Respect.” The song that inspired the title of this post.

The Cranberries — “Ode to My Family.” For remembering where we came from—and everything that shaped us.

Natalie Imbruglia — “Torn.” For those moments when life doesn't turn out quite the way we imagined.

Crowded House — “Don't Dream It's Over.” For remembering that even during difficult seasons, we keep going.

When in Rome — “The Promise.” For friendship, love, loyalty and the people we hope will still be there when we reach back.

Dido — “White Flag.” For the feelings we can't simply turn off—and the people, places and memories that remain with us even when life has moved forward.

Dido — “Thank You.” For remembering that sometimes one person, one friendship or one small moment of kindness can make an otherwise difficult day feel a little lighter.

Billie Eilish — “Birds of a Feather.” A newer song that somehow feels like it belongs beside all these memories.

Taylor Swift — “Breathe.” For learning that sometimes moving forward means learning how to breathe through what we can't change.

The Verve — “Bitter Sweet Symphony.” Because maybe that's exactly what life is—a beautiful, complicated, bittersweet symphony.

🎵 Listen

🎵 Listen to “A Little Respect” — Erasure

🎵 Listen to “Ode to My Family” — The Cranberries

🎵 Listen to “Torn” — Natalie Imbruglia

🎵 Listen to “Don't Dream It's Over” — Crowded House

🎵 Listen to “The Promise” — When in Rome

🎵 Listen to “White Flag” — Dido

🎵 Listen to “Thank You” — Dido

🎵 Listen to “Birds of a Feather” — Billie Eilish

🎵 Listen to “Breathe” — Taylor Swift

🎵 Listen to “Bitter Sweet Symphony” — The Verve

Why we keep pressing play

Maybe we don't listen to old songs because we want to go backward. Maybe we listen because, for three or four minutes, they remind us of all the versions of ourselves it took to get here.