These are not the ones you tend to invite into your room to hang out with you and listen to music together. I became more aware of the ones with deep, intricate roots and wisened up to the reality that some emotions - typically the ones you want to run away from - require real work to untangle and sort through. Simultaneously, as I aged, feelings became more complicated. The kind of sadness I described, particularly over any person who once held my romantic interest, felt bulky and desperate, like its heaviness could hold me back from achieving great things, from meeting someone new and exciting, or from having a thrilling night out with friends. In addition to music’s ability to help a listener feel what she was already feeling, music was a way to relate to the world, to experience feelings not yet experienced in preparation.Īs I got older, however, with enough of the experiential bucket list checked off, at least for a minute, intense emotional crests became unwanted. Or maybe I assumed I’d feel some way forever, so I might as well make myself comfortable.įreshman year of high school, a friend of mine wished for a broken heart because her favorite song was written about one, and she couldn’t fully relate without a dramatic breakup. I wasn’t trying to get over anything, I was trying to snuggle into them. (As a wobbly adult still unsure of the world, “to process” can sometimes seem like the only reason to do anything.) I listened to these sad songs on repeat because I didn’t want my song-saddled sadnesses and longings and daydreams to leave me. Music was the entire activity.ĭespite all the time I spent sitting in my feelings, I’m not sure this helped me process my emotions I’m also not sure that was the point. I didn’t have to do anything else except listen.
It was a remedy, a salve, a comfort, a necessity, somewhere between eating junk food because you’re hungry and not letting a bad mood go because the sensation is too satisfying. I think about this often, how I used to submerge myself in music, lay on my bed and listen and feel so, so much. When you’re 16 especially and your moods are overwhelming, there’s hardly enough time in one song to feel everything you need to in a single go. It got so bad during one bout of traffic that my dad, normally an enthusiastic participant to my taste in music, banned the song to my headphones and made me listen to the 1,001st play in private. I tried to learn it on the piano, which I can’t play in general. I listened to “Konstantine” all the time. It took an entire summer’s worth of replaying that one song over and over for me to feel even close to pressing “next.” When you’re 16 especially and your moods are overwhelming, there’s hardly enough time in one song to feel everything you need to in a single go.
#MAN CRYING WHILE LISTENING TO MUSIC MEME WINDOWS#
Just like the memes exploit, it allowed me to look outside windows wistfully - the whole thing better and more dramatic when it rained, obviously - and imagine myself the heroine of a music video rather than a passenger in my dad’s car. It made crying easier, moping cozier, and all my puppy-lovelorn sadness quick to access by the press of a button. Instead, I imagined an alternate scenario where I was a girl someone missed so much they had to sing about her for nine whole minutes and 36 seconds. It was unrequited, a new development that I’d learned of over AIM and was not exactly coming to terms with. Though the situations were different - comically so, I missed someone too.
I found it so sad and beautiful that it physically hurt. The first time I heard it was in a friend’s living room, covered by my friend on the piano.
(If you’re reading this and know the song, tell me you’re not already clicking open a tab to remind yourself of it.) It’s a feverish journaling of uncomplicated lines that don’t make total sense together, the general gist being that the narrator did something stupid and lost the girl now he misses her. “Konstantine” is nine emotional minutes and 36 seconds of sweet, sweet heartache delivered via Andrew McMahon’s nasal-y voice and the lens of young love’s regret.
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