Music used to be an essential part of my every day life growing up. 

Since then, I’ve gone through phases that sometimes last for years with me not needing a regular dose of music. 

It's not like I fell out of love with music, sometimes I just don't need it. 

Like to many, music was an escape that kept my soul and perhaps even body alive in a dysfunctional, broken, unreliable world.  It reflected, expressed and provided a safe space for me to feel all those negative feelings of being wronged and miserable.

When I'm trouble-free, I can indulge in the celebratory, dancy, shallow music in my eclectic collection; the type of music I can bare to share with others; the type of music that is better when shared, as you can feed off each other's energy on the dance floor.  

The type of music which simultaneously seems to heal and tear my soul apart; the music that speaks to me only, with lyrics that describe my internal terrain  - that is reserved for my ears only; it’s a private affair that plays out in a private space between me and the music, with the hostile world shut out outside the earphones.  No one is allowed into this private space, in case they contaminate it by not understanding or feeling the same way about the music.  A space where I can happily wallow in my own misery, because a misery reflected in music feels like a misery shared, a misery heard and alleviated.

Then there's the music that gets me excited, inspired, motivated; the type of music that makes me feel like a million dollars; all dressed up with nowhere to go, and sows seeds of ideas and plans of advancement in my mind.  This is the kind of music that is blasted out loud from car speakers, because you want the world to hear it and get infected by it, because it's the kind of music you think has the power to change the world.