The Soundtrack of Me

Some people keep journals. I make playlists.

There’s a playlist for every version of me I’ve ever been.

The fifth-grade me who thought Avril Lavigne was edgy.

The high school me who romanticized pain with Lana and Lorde.

The freshman who blasted Drake to feel something sharp and alive.

The me who cried to Taylor Swift’s marjorie and danced to Vienna like it held a secret.

I’m not a musician. But music has always been the one thing that knows how to hold me.

I used to think my story was too ordinary to be worth documenting. But then I realized I’ve been doing it all along — through sound. Through the playlists I make for moods I can't name. Through songs that remind me of people, places, versions of myself I’ve either grown from or grown into. Each song is a timestamp, a portal. And together, they make something like a soundtrack.

Track 1: The Drive to College

I was terrified, obviously. But the playlist I made for the drive? Hopeful. It had Coldplay’s Don’t Panic, Gracie Abrams whispering truths I wasn’t ready to say out loud, and Sweet Disposition playing like a promise. That playlist made me feel bigger than the fear. Like I could write myself into a new version of me — if I just pressed play.

Track 2: Grief in a Minor Key

After my dad died, I couldn’t listen to anything for a while. It felt too sharp. Too loud. Too much. But eventually, I found my way back through Taylor Swift’s marjorie. It wasn’t just that it made me cry — it made me remember. The details. The advice. The presence that lingers even after someone’s gone. Billie Joel’s And So It Goes hit me differently, too. It didn’t rush me to feel better. It just let me be. And honestly, that was the most comfort I’d felt in a while.

Track 3: Little Joys, Big Feels

There’s a version of me that lives in the small joys: an overpriced coffee, a good outfit, a walk through campus with The Chain by Fleetwood Mac making me feel like I could conquer the world. Lorde’s Supercut made me feel like the main character even when I was just cleaning my room. And Drake? That’s for when I need confidence on demand — walking into an interview, faking it till I make it. Some songs are for softness. Some are armor.

Track 4: Becoming

Lately, I’ve been making playlists without pressure. Not every song has to represent a breakthrough. Sometimes I just like the way it sounds. Sometimes I loop Gracie Abrams because her quiet is louder than any scream. Sometimes I play Yellow because it feels like light. I don’t need to justify it. And maybe that’s what becoming looks like — not always needing a reason to choose joy.

I’m sharing this now not because I think my life is some epic movie (though I do love a main character moment), but because maybe your life has a soundtrack, too. Maybe music is how you hold the memories you haven’t written down. Maybe it’s how you cope. Or connect. Or come back to yourself.

At the bottom of this post, you’ll find a link to the podcast version, where I talk a little more about the songs that shaped me and why I think music is the most honest way I know to tell a story.

And maybe this isn’t the end of my blog — maybe it’s just the next track.