I first became aware of music when I was around eleven or twelve years old. I remember a party being held at a sports arena in the small town where I lived, and at some point, they started playing an upbeat rock ’n’ roll song. Up until then, I don’t recall ever being interested in music—or even dancing or knowing any dance moves—but that night, something happened. I found myself incapable of not moving and shaking my body, which to everyone else probably looked like I was having an epileptic seizure (not that those are fun or funny). Eventually, I started observing the people around me and copying their moves, and I’m glad to say that night I became a man—musically speaking, at least.
I also have an earlier memory, maybe when I was nine or ten, of being told very explicitly by my teacher that I was not allowed to whistle at school. Whistling was new to me then, something I had spent weeks trying to learn. I desperately wanted to whistle like those people who stick their fingers under their tongue and make that really loud, shrill sound. I never mastered that version, but I came up with my own style, and soon it became something I did constantly. I don’t recall what I whistled—probably tunes I made up on the spot—but it felt good to create “music,” to communicate how I felt through the volume, pitch, and rhythm of my whistling.
All this is to say that music has always been important to me. To this day, I can recall nearly every concert I’ve been to, and sometimes even where I was, who I was with, or what I was wearing the first time I heard a particular song or band.
During my teenage years, I also discovered the power of music as a form of expression and connection. It became the soundtrack to my life—the songs I played on repeat when I was happy, sad, angry, or in love. Music gave me a language for feelings I didn’t yet have words for.
I’ve been to countless concerts over the years, from small local venues to massive arenas. Each one left its mark on me in some way—a moment frozen in time, a shared experience with strangers who became friends for the duration of a song, a reminder that we’re all looking for the same thing: connection, catharsis, and maybe just a really good beat to move our bodies to.
Music didn’t just shape my tastes or my memories. It shaped who I am. It taught me to listen, to feel, to pay attention to the world around me in ways I might never have otherwise. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.
So yeah, that night at the sports arena when I was eleven or twelve? That wasn’t just the night I started moving to music. It was the night I started living with music. And I’ve never looked back.
Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash