Want to Travel through Time ? Listen to music!!!

We are all unique- shaped by different experiences, even when we grow up in the same environment. Two people can witness the same moment and walk away with completely different lessons. Some of us simply feel things more deeply than others. But why is that? Is it a gift, or a burden? Is that a boon or a curse?

I was a sensitive kid. When that sensitivity took root or how it began, I can’t say for certain. We can talk all we want about the Nature Vs Nurture debate, but I strongly believe its not a battle—it’s a blend. Who we become is crafted not by one defining factor, but by the subtle, everyday moments that quietly shape us over time.

In my effort to prove to the world that I could handle anything, I slowly lost touch with myself. My inner voice grew quieter, almost silent. I kept pushing through, facing one challenge after another, and along the way, I learned the power of perseverance—I never gave up. But somewhere along that relentless journey, something shifted. Over time, I didn’t just survive—I transformed. I became the person I had always envisioned. I built a career I’m proud of, and more importantly, I became someone I deeply respect. But that small girl inside me, she got lost.

Today, I realize I had stopped doing almost everything that once brought me joy. Was it simply the weight of adulthood? I see it in others too—so many people around me seem overwhelmed, just trying to keep up with life.

Yet, I had made a conscious promise to myself: to keep my inner child alive. Still, somewhere along the way, that promise got buried under responsibilities. There was no time to read the books I loved, no space for the music that once moved me.

I can’t even remember the last time I truly enjoyed getting drenched in the rain—a simple pleasure I once cherished. I do remember, though, being caught in the rain on the way to work and feeling irritated, knowing I’d have to spend the rest of the day freezing under the office AC. It’s strange how joy quietly slips away when we’re not paying attention.

What prompted this Blog today?

So, I began listening to music again. Some new tunes, but mostly the old soulful ones that felt like home. I started with my go-to—soft rock—easing in with MLTR and Smokie, then drifting through the familiar voices of Emily Watts, Ed Sheeran, and Enrique.

Eventually, I found myself reaching further back in time—John Denver, Cliff Richard, Billy Joel’s Piano Man, Frank Sinatra, and Don McLean’s Vincent. There are far too many songs to name, but each one seemed to unlock a forgotten part of me.

Slowly, my playlist shifted to old Hindi and Bengali songs—melodies that transported me straight back to my childhood home. I think the drift began with Denver’s Country Roads. From there, the music became not just a soundtrack, but a bridge to who I used to be.

I remember sitting on our verandah, a dim light glowing beside me, the soft pitter-patter of rain in the background. The scent of petrichor—the earthy perfume of the first rain—filled the air. I’d sit there, lost in music, as if each note was holding me together. Even then, I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders, far heavier than it should have been for someone my age. But in those quiet, rain-soaked moments, music gave me something words never could—a sense of being understood.

I don’t know exactly when I stopped truly listening to music—or why. I still played songs, but it was just to keep up with the trends, to know what to queue when friends came over. The kind of music I loved—old country tracks and timeless classics—didn’t quite fit the vibe of parties. So, I stopped.

And along with that, I stopped noticing the little things—the rising sun, the way the sky changes at dusk. I stopped searching for joy in quiet, simple moments, and instead chased after the next big thing: the next pay cheque, the next job, the next trip. Always the next. While somewhere deep inside, the little girl in me waited patiently, longing for the songs that once made her feel at home.

Like fragrance, Music holds memories. Sometimes, it even holds people. I remember one song my mom loved, and another my dad used to hum. I’ve listened to those tracks more times than I can count—not just for the melody, but because I wanted to feel what they felt when they heard them. I know I never truly can. Because every song, every emotion it stirs, is deeply personal. It’s not just the lyrics or the tune—it’s the life behind the listening.

Today, I made a choice—not just to listen to the songs that once filled my soul with joy, but to start noticing the small, quiet moments that make life beautiful. I want to reclaim the pure, unfiltered joy of childhood. The joy of playing football in the rain, getting drenched and muddy without a care. The joy of simply feeling the breeze on my face and knowing—really knowing—that I’m alive.

That joy hasn’t disappeared. It’s still here, all around us. We’ve just stopped paying attention. We’ve become too consumed by things that don’t truly matter—comparing ourselves to others, chasing what’s next, trying to keep up.

But life isn’t in the race. It’s in the pause. In the scent of rain. In the glow of a sunrise. In the music that stirs your soul.

This is your life. Slow down. Pay attention. And above all—enjoy it.

Published by Swati Mukherjee - Life Coach