I use music in many different ways to manage my mental health. Sometimes, it's easy to forget the importance of those around you. One strategy I use is to make a playlist for each of my children. They are both a work in constant process created over years.
When I hear a song that evokes a memory about them, I add it to their Spotify list on my phone. More often than not, the actual lyrics have nothing to do with the memory connected to it. Instead, it was whatever was happening at the time I heard it.
My son's playlist includes everything from the Wiggles (Hot Potato) to Frank Sinatra (New York, New York) to Young MC (Busta Move). One reminds me of the live Wiggles concert we went to together at Roger's Centre, the other of New Year's Eve in front of the TV watching Time’s Square, and finally, when, as a man, he went up on stage in Mexico and sang Karaoke.
On my daughter's playlist, Coleman Hell (Fireproof) recalls when we hid from a torrential downpour in Ottawa, giggling at getting under cover just in time. Also included on her list is the song Attention by Charlie Puth. We always laugh and sing along to the misheard lyrics, "You've been running 'round, running 'round, running 'round, throwing that turtle on my name."
I rarely actually listen to the playlists. Instead, I scroll down and review the memories, letting each one flourish inside me. If I listen to one of the songs in another context or hear it on the radio, I shut my eyes and suspend myself in the happy moment. If I hear a new song that triggers a specific memory of my children, I add it to their playlists.
My son's playlist includes everything from the Wiggles (Hot Potato) to Frank Sinatra (New York, New York) to Young MC (Busta Move). One reminds me of the live Wiggles concert we went to together at Roger's Centre, the other of New Year's Eve in front of the TV watching Time’s Square, and finally, when, as a man, he went up on stage in Mexico and sang Karaoke.
On my daughter's playlist, Coleman Hell (Fireproof) recalls when we hid from a torrential downpour in Ottawa, giggling at getting under cover just in time. Also included on her list is the song Attention by Charlie Puth. We always laugh and sing along to the misheard lyrics, "You've been running 'round, running 'round, running 'round, throwing that turtle on my name."
I rarely actually listen to the playlists. Instead, I scroll down and review the memories, letting each one flourish inside me. If I listen to one of the songs in another context or hear it on the radio, I shut my eyes and suspend myself in the happy moment. If I hear a new song that triggers a specific memory of my children, I add it to their playlists.
I also have my own playlists. One is called "Up," while the other is "Down." “Up” is full of positive lyrics and/or upbeat music, such as TNT by AC/DC, Take On Me by A-ha, It's A Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong, Sympathy with the Devil by the Rolling Stones, Return To Innocence by Enigma, Octopus's Garden by the Beatles. Unlike my children’s playlists mine are not associated with memories. It is the how the song itself effects me, how specific lyrics resonate. Some are romantic, some reflective, some have infectious bass lines, while others are just whimsy and escape.
"Down" has songs of defeat or despair, such as Creep by Radiohead, Have You Ever Seen The Rain by CCR, Not Tonight by Depeche Mode, Forever Young by Alphaville, Black Parade by My Chemical Romance (which I used in a video Obit I made for myself.), and Happens to the Heart by Leonard Cohen. I also include Don't Stop Believing by Journey. Some people see this song as hopeful and encouraging. I just feel like a failure. You will note that the playlist does not adhere to any genre of music or musical era. They are just songs that strike a chord and hold me in their grasp. They have one lyric that I can’t dispute or there is a devastating chord change that influences the emotion.
Both playlists are lengthy and robust, but they only reinforce my current emotion. They don't influence the opposite mood. If I’m feeling depressed and put on the “Up” playlist, nothing will happen. It won’t change my perspective. If anything, it gets me annoyed. The critic dismisses the songs as frivolous. After the first few notes, it immediately feels wrong, and I stop listening. If I’m already happy, though, the music lives inside me. I become light on my feet and glide on the lyrics and the melody. If I am alone, I might even dance foot loose and free. I even surprise myself!
Similarly, listening to the “Down” list when I’m happy feels wrong. I turn it off immediately. When I am low, though, the playlist is my companion. The words and melodies are like earworms that further reinforce my depression. They don’t push me to suicide but rather to spend time in conversation with the critic.
If I happen to hear any of my playlist songs in public, I’m immediately triggered. An “Up” song puts a smile on my face and a pep in my step, while a song from “Down” triggers my depression and the critic appears.
"Down" has songs of defeat or despair, such as Creep by Radiohead, Have You Ever Seen The Rain by CCR, Not Tonight by Depeche Mode, Forever Young by Alphaville, Black Parade by My Chemical Romance (which I used in a video Obit I made for myself.), and Happens to the Heart by Leonard Cohen. I also include Don't Stop Believing by Journey. Some people see this song as hopeful and encouraging. I just feel like a failure. You will note that the playlist does not adhere to any genre of music or musical era. They are just songs that strike a chord and hold me in their grasp. They have one lyric that I can’t dispute or there is a devastating chord change that influences the emotion.
Both playlists are lengthy and robust, but they only reinforce my current emotion. They don't influence the opposite mood. If I’m feeling depressed and put on the “Up” playlist, nothing will happen. It won’t change my perspective. If anything, it gets me annoyed. The critic dismisses the songs as frivolous. After the first few notes, it immediately feels wrong, and I stop listening. If I’m already happy, though, the music lives inside me. I become light on my feet and glide on the lyrics and the melody. If I am alone, I might even dance foot loose and free. I even surprise myself!
Similarly, listening to the “Down” list when I’m happy feels wrong. I turn it off immediately. When I am low, though, the playlist is my companion. The words and melodies are like earworms that further reinforce my depression. They don’t push me to suicide but rather to spend time in conversation with the critic.
If I happen to hear any of my playlist songs in public, I’m immediately triggered. An “Up” song puts a smile on my face and a pep in my step, while a song from “Down” triggers my depression and the critic appears.
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