True Love

How many people can say they have been in love with something since they were 4.5 months old? Moreover, what number of individuals has the supporting documentation for such a claim? I can and I do – thanks to my mother, who kept a thoughtful record of my first 7 years of life. What exists in the pages of a 4×6, clothbound diary, decorated with flowers and strawberry vines, is nothing short of a literary treasure. Her dedication to recording my early interests, actions, dreams, and milestones (decades before online timelines like Facebook existed), has provided me with a priceless glimpse of what has shaped me into who I am today. Case in point: the first mention/memory of my connection with music – that which is the love of my life.

I’m 100 percent certain no one would dare argue that my passion for all things sound has been steadfast to the point of obsessive. My days begin awakening to the slow rise of Eddie Vedder’s “Arc” and end being guided to slumber by the sophisticated lullabies of Feist. Whatever the conduit – be it my iPod Classic, iPhone 4, Sony Record Player, Audi 2001 Bose “Symphony” system, television, Macbook, or the desktop PC – there is not a single day I go without auditory stimulation. I could write thousands of words on the topic, but for the purpose of this post, I leave you with a single photo that says it all. What my mother astutely observed over 31 years ago – “You really seem to love music” – couldn’t have been more prophetic.