I was in the mood for something nostalgic and guitar-heavy. Something that would make me feel seventeen again—hanging out in a basement with my friends, waiting for the night to get started.

Slowly dragging my finger across the record spines in my collection, I stopped when I got to Room on Fire and knew I’d found my pick. One spin and I’d be right back on a sinking 70’s couch (long past its prime) in a basement still holding onto years of smoke, with that no-plan, anything-could-happen feeling rising up in my chest.

Perfection.

What Got Left Behind

CrazySexyCool by TLC, Integrity Blues by Jimmy Eat World, and Get Born by Jet were all strong considerations, but it had been too long since I’d listened to 12:51. There was no way around it—the record chose me.

“Strokes” of Genius

There are bands that struggle to settle on a sound, switching up elements from album to album or even track to track, in search of an identity that sticks. The Strokes are not one of those bands. Any time you drop one of their albums on a turntable, you know you’re about to hear Julian Casablanca sing in his signature flat tone, and that raw, lo-fi texture is going to be front and center, the way it always is.

No heavy distortion. No crazy, over-the-top vocals. No progressive-style tempo changes or seven-minute songs. Just effortless, early-2000’s garage rock at its very best.

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Fame Without the Desperation

In the 70’s and 80’s, rock music was larger-than-life. Band members were more than just performers—they were idols, glamorized symbols of rebellion and excess. In many cases, one personality became bigger than the band it belonged to, and fans revered the person as much (if not more than) they revered the music. (Think Freddie Mercury, Ozzy Osbourne, Gene Simmons, etc.) It was an era where fans felt far removed from the musicians they listened to, like they were untouchable mythic characters, or an entirely different species of being.

Then the 90’s and 2000’s came along, and rock musicians started to morph into ordinary people. They were the guys we went to high school with. They were the potheads, the skateboarders, the party crashers—wearing the same ripped jeans we wore, the same dirty pair of converse sneakers.

That’s what made bands like The Strokes so special. You listened to them, and you didn’t have to imagine yourself in a sold-out stadium, in a crowd of tens of thousands of people. You could imagine yourself at a jam session in your friend’s garage, or at a house party, just like the one you went to last weekend.

It was the turning of the tides. Rock stars were no longer trying to be rock stars. In fact, the less they seemed to care, the more we wanted to listen.

Next-Level Nonchalance

How many successful rock bands can you name that dropped a widely praised album where the opening track is about not wanting to be famous? That’s what The Strokes did with Room on Fire, at a time when pulling something like that off still felt a bit illegal.

In the very first verse of What Ever Happened?, Casablanca sings “I want to be forgotten, and I don’t wanna be reminded.” It’s a clear message about fame and all that comes with it, a declaration of his desire for freedom, and when you think about it, that’s the ultimate rock star move, in a new age, can’t-be-bothered kind of way.

It’s Always 12:51 Somewhere

First things first: I’m not disregarding Reptilia. The song is a smash hit, from the first note of that infectious bass line to Casablanca’s increasingly strained vocals at the end—it’s easily among their top achievements. But for me, personally, 12:51 is like a sonic time capsule. It’s one of those rare tracks that could play over any major scene in the movie of a life and feel completely right. (The only other comparison that comes to mind is 1979 by the Smashing Pumpkins.)

I listen to it, and a highlights reel starts playing in my head: awkward first kisses that made everything feel electric and weird, college flip cup nights that spiraled into pure chaos, blasting music in my parents’ minivan like I owned the damned thing. The track feels like it was made for road trips down memory lane.

I’ve got a soft spot for it, for sure, and it only getting softer as time goes on.

Final Note

Have you listened to Between Love & Hate? It’s the album’s unsung hero, in my opinion—the one that quietly steals the spotlight when you’re not looking. Give it a listen if you haven’t already.

What’s at the Top of Your Stack?

And what made it stand out from the rest? I’m always curious to know what others are spinning. Drop it in the comments!

His curiosity got the better of him. He pulled the cassette tape with the blank spine from the rack and turned it over in his hands, examined the white cover, the three simple words scribbled in black sharpie.

DO NOT PLAY

The letters were heavy and overdrawn, as if written frantically or in a hurry. He checked the inner panel, but there was no track list—not even a doodle or a personal note. Griffin considered it might be a blank tape, accidentally added to the Recent Arrivals section by Big Dave, owner of The Sound Shop. (Griffin’s favourite place to snag tapes at rock-bottom prices.) But the more he thought about it, the less it made sense.

For starters, Big Dave sold blank tapes, but he kept them inside a glass case near the cash register, so why wouldn’t this one be there, too?

And secondly, why would a blank tape require a warning inked in permanent black marker? Someone wrote those words for a reason. To mess with someone’s head, most likely, Griffin thought. One of those weird pranks people pull when they’ve got too much time on their hands.

He carried the tape, along with Daydream Nation by Sonic Youth, to the register where Big Dave was standing—his bloated, round belly pinned against the counter—slapping small orange price stickers on a fresh stack of vinyl.

"You found something worth grabbing,” Big Dave grinned, revealing two rows of dull, stained teeth. “Always glad to see it.”

Griffin waited for him to ring up the Sonic Youth tape, then tapped the mystery cassette with his pointer finger, flashing Dave a perplexed expression. “This one doesn’t have a price tag. I’m not even sure what it is.”

Big Dave brought the tape closer, opened it, flipped it over. “Strange,” he replied, sausage-link fingers stroking his patchy goatee. “We price everything before it hits the floor. Some kid must have slipped it onto the rack.”

“Can I buy it?”

“Take it,” Dave said with a careless shrug. “I’ve got no use for it.”

Griffin pulled a crumpled five dollar bill from the pocket of his acid wash jeans, handed it to Big Dave, then tucked both tapes inside his windbreaker. It was another gray, rainy day in Seattle. There was no telling what he’d encounter while making the 8-block trek back to his basement apartment—the one he could barely afford despite working five days a week at the car wash and playing gigs every weekend at The Back Room for $100 bucks a night and free drinks.

A steady sheet of mist was coming down from the clouds, covering everything in a blanket of dew, so Griffin pedaled harder than usual, cutting corners and jumping curbs on his red Sprinter Motocross. It was Sunday, his only day off, and he’d spent his last five dollars on the cassette tapes in his jacket. He had a clear plan in mind for the evening: eat the leftover pizza in the refrigerator, change out the strings on his guitar, listen to Sonic Youth (in that order). He’d been looking forward to this all week.

But, of course, he’d have to check out the mystery tape first.

He flung open the door to his barely-furnished one bedroom apartment, tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter, then made a b-line to his dual cassette boombox—the one true love of his life, with its extra bass system and tuner controls. He’d won it in a radio station contest during his senior year—caller number nine, miraculously, as if God had granted him a break from his barely-getting-by existence. It was one of the best moments of his life. Better than any Christmas or birthday he could remember.

With a press of a button, the boombox opened one of its mouths like a baby bird waiting to be fed, and Griffin offered it the unknown tape, pushed the gaping maw closed, listened as the machine chewed it up and swallowed it down.

What am I about to hear?

The question came from somewhere deep and instinctive, down in his gut.

For a few seconds, only the soft whir of the tape turning filled the room, and Griffin was comforted by the familiarity of it. But almost as soon as it began, it was replaced by something else. Something completely unrecognizable.

It was music, he was pretty sure, but not like anything he’d ever heard before. There were bright, glassy electronic tones that felt too precise, too perfect, and a bass line that filled him so completely there was no longer any separation between his body and what he was hearing.

Whoa!

That was his first thought.

Every vibration seemed to trace across his skin. He wasn’t just listening to the music, he was feeling it, becoming part of it.

More soft, bell-like notes eventually gave way to a precise staccato rhythm, while a beautiful airy sound held space, serving as a constant. Griffin was no longer aware of the room he was in or the clothes he was wearing. Instead he was somewhere far away from the places and things he attributed to reality, where only the music existed, and where the future spilled into the present.

Where am I?

The question floated by him like a duck on water. There one moment, gone the next.

Am I dreaming?

He noticed a shift in tempo. The river of sound was gaining momentum. It made him feel like he was being carried by the music, the same way the wind catches a kite and pulls it effortlessly into the sky.

Then Griffin heard a loud tearing sound. The kind you’d expect to hear if someone grabbed both sides of reality and pulled them apart, ripping the universe right down the middle.

He was laying on the floor of his apartment, limbs scattered at strange angles, when he eventually gained consciousness. If not for the absence of pain, he might have thought he’d been dropped from a great height, but he dismissed the idea as unlikely.

What just happened?

He sat up and looked around the room. Everything appeared the same on first glance. His keys were on the counter, exactly where he’d dropped them. His guitar was perched on its stand in the far corner of the room. The fresh pack of strings still on the coffee table, waiting for their chance to be strummed.

Maybe I fell asleep?

It was the only explanation that fit. All the long hours and weekend gigs were catching up with him, apparently, and his body was now demanding rest in the form of sudden sleeping spells.

Yes, that’s got to be it, he thought.

But when he glanced down at his Casio watch the digital screen was blank, and even though he pressed the buttons for various lengths of time, it wouldn’t come back to life. A trembling sensation traveled down his throat and into his sternum, forcing him to gulp, and small beads of sweat broke out near his temples.

He’d replaced the battery last week. It couldn’t be dead so soon, could it?

Bucking up onto his feet, Griffin raced to the kitchen, his sock-clad feet gliding across the dated linoleum flooring until he came to a stop in front of the microwave. He couldn’t believe his eyes: the screen was vacant, like the message board sign of a deserted motel.

He urgently crossed the hallway into his bedroom, checking the alarm clock on his nightstand, whacking the snooze and power buttons in desperation.

Again, nothing.

Trepidation set in and his throat filled with shards of fibreglass. It couldn’t be a coincidence—the tape, the clocks, the feeling he’d fallen from the sky and landed in his own living room. It was all too unusual to be nothing at all.

He picked up the receiver of his cordless phone and dialed the number to The Sound Shop, determined to get more information from Big Dave.

“You’ve got The Sound Shop,” Dave answered, voice booming like a concert base drum.

“Something isn’t right, man,” Griffin started to ramble uncontrollably, thoughts scattering in every direction. “That blank tape you gave me… it’s cursed. Or from another dimension. I don’t know. But it’s not a regular cassette, alright? Are you sure—are you absolutely sure you don’t know where it came from?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow your roll. Is that you, Griff?”

“Yes, it’s me? Please, man, I gotta know what the deal is with this tape.”

Big Dave huffed on the other end of the line, then responded with a mocking exaggeration in his tone. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me which tape you’re talking about.”

“What? The blank one. You know, the one that got left on the rack? Quit messing around, man. You told me I could take it like thirty minutes ago.”

There was a long silence before Dave finally spoke. “Uh…you’ve lost me Griff. I haven’t seen you in weeks. Lemme think. You came in for that Pixies album, remember?”

Griffin’s armpits flushed hot and his pulse exploded into a frantic stutter. He did buy a Pixies album a couple of weeks ago. But he’d bought the Sonic Youth cassette today. Was this some kind of elaborate joke?

“Alright, cut the act, dude. This isn’t funny.”

But Big Dave didn’t break out into laughter or fess up to the prank. Instead, a concerned tone trickled into his voice. “You’re not getting into the hard stuff, are you, Griff? You’re a good kid. I know you’ve been working yourself pretty hard, but that’s not the way to go.”

Griffin hung up the phone, utterly and hopelessly confused, and stumbled backwards into the sofa, his body slack, arms and legs outstretched.

This was about to get a whole lot weirder—he could feel it.

☕ Beverage I’m Sipping: Celestial Seasonings Country Peach Passion Tea
🎵 Record I’m Spinning: Sexistential by Robyn
📚 Book I’m Reading: The Night Shift by Alex Finlay

Wax | Who’s That Girl - Robyn

At 16, these words were more than meaningful to me. They re-calibrated the way I thought, granting me permission to be complex and non-compliant. For the first time, it dawned on me that I could stop fighting against my own nature, that being a woman didn’t have to feel like forcing something wild into a cage.

That’s a lot to put on one song, but when your world barely spans beyond the limits of your tiny rural town, and when every woman you see is following the expected path, even the smallest ripple in the pattern of conformity can set off a wave that changes everything.

Shout out to LimeWire—and honestly, to whatever strange burst of teenage patience I had back then—for somehow making it possible to download this album over dial-up. (I still remember watching the progress bar creep along and desperately hoping a telephone call wouldn’t disconnect me.) If not for this album, it might’ve taken me years longer to get where I am today.

Wonder | My Womanhood is Messy, and I Finally Embrace It

There was a quality I didn’t possess.

That’s what it felt like.

Other girls were born with it, or their mothers passed it down, and it gave them effortless ease.

They were floating through life, carrying nothing, while my shoulders hung like a dark cloud, unable to hold posture under an invisible weight.

I didn’t see myself in the women nearest to me. Their needs and desires seemed to be met, but mine were wounds that wouldn’t close, no matter who tended to them.

The need to escape.

The desire to chase the unfamiliar.

The need to learn the hard way.

The desire to fashion my mistakes into lessons.

The need to live a life without limits.

The desire to go further than anyone believed I could.

I can’t tell you how many people discouraged me from wanting the things I wanted, or reprimanded me for going against the grain.

Every time I spent a Friday night drinking with the boys, fired back at someone who tried to belittle me, or called my town a cage I couldn’t leave fast enough, someone was there, telling me to:

• be a little more grateful

• be a little less impatient

• be a little more compromising

That starts to change a person.

Not in a way that’s immediately recognizable, but in a slow, incremental way that leaves you questioning yourself when you’re laying in bed at night and the house is silent.

You ask God, or whatever higher power might be listening, why you are the way you are. Then the pain intensifies when the answer doesn’t come.

I held on through a long, long stretch of restless nights like that, bandaging my wounds, trying not to bleed out on the bedsheets.

But then, life started to send me glimmers of hope in the form of other messy women.

They came dissatisfied, lawless, and undone at the seams. They opened my eyes to another kind of womanhood. A version I’d never seen. One I couldn’t even imagine because it was so far beyond the horizon of what I knew to be true.

There was the girl I met in college, drinking German wine straight from the bottle, crying over her ex on the bare carpet of her unfurnished apartment.

There was the Italian saleswoman who closed deals like a shark hunts prey, unbothered by the male-dominated office around her, getting her kicks from doing what others said couldn’t be done.

There were female authors who wrote about womanhood as a torment, and their own compulsions to stray from the beaten path:

• Charlotte Brontë

• Sally Rooney

• The diaries of Frida Kahlo

The more I encountered messy women, the more I understood a new, undeniable truth: you can’t grow a garden bloomscape without getting dirt under your nails.

All the messiest women are busy navigating the necessary chaos at the heart of change.

They’re in the thick of transformation, becoming something more raw, radiant, and fearless than most could wrap their heads around.

And the reason?

It’s not because they’re defiant or uncooperative, but because the world needs audacious women who aren’t afraid to dig in the dirt with their bare hands.

Without them, little girls could go their whole lives never realizing how much can grow from the soil of who they are.

Final Note

This one is for all the wild-hearted women out there. I see you. I understand you. And the world is a more beautiful place with you in it.

If the words in this edition sparked something in you, I invite you to reply or comment. Thanks for being here and for letting my words hang out in your brain for a bit.

Housemates, plus one, or party of one—it doesn’t matter! Push the coffee table aside, crank up the speakers, and turn your living room into a private nightclub with this mini-playlist of all-night bangers. (Just don’t blame me if the neighbours come knocking. Chances are, they’ll want to crash your party!)

1. 2Sided - Arlo Parks

Your body won’t be able to resist this dreamy synth-heavy track. It blends mellow grooves with snappy high-hat beats and silky smooth vocals, creating a gorgeous flow that’s not pop, not deep club, not R&B, yet somehow all three at once.

Best part of the song: The rising tension at 0:25 when she sings “Cause I, I feel my heartbeat climb…” So satisfying!

2. Over the Moon - A/K & James Vickery

First things first: It’s insane how lush, magnetic, and versatile James Vickery’s voice is. He has a talent for turning any track into pure gold. But this one is extra-groovy. It’s the kind of song that doesn’t overpower the room, yet gets everyone swaying and shimmying their shoulders.

Big shoutout to the fat, juicy bass line in this one—it carries the song and gives it that “feel it in your bones” pulse. Added bonus: You may dance so hard it counts as cardio!

Best part of the song: When the bass line hits at 1:01. Mmmm, tasty.

3. Beacon - Supertaste

This song is like an all-you-can-eat buffet for your ears. The mix is busy in all the right ways, so you’ll notice a new sound or element with each listen. Personally, I love the tappy, castanet-like percussion and the bass-frequency synth layers. There’s even a couple quick guitar licks in there if you listen close!

Overall, it’s just a ridiculously vibe-y song. The kind of lush, shape-shifting track that moves you differently depending on where you place your attention.

Best part of the song: How the vocals are melodic and mesmerizing without overshadowing the music. (A super smart choice in this case.)

4. Don’t Play - Jungle & Mood Talk

Vocal high notes, shimmery upper frequencies, and a low-end current that pulls the listener effortlessly into the groove? This is dance floor magic done to perfection.

Don’t Play doesn’t strive to be complicated or over-the-top. Instead, it settles into your psyche in a blissfully hypnotic way. If you appreciate simple looped tracks that quickly become addictive (think Around the World by Daft Punk), this one is bound to become a go-to repeat.

Best part of the song: The switch up at 2:42. The buildup has you on edge, and the payoff is worth the wait.

5. Strangers - Roosevelt

Piano chords on the intro. Subsonic bass lines throughout. Glistening string layers on the course. I can’t name a single thing I don’t love about this track. It makes me wanna hang a disco ball from my ceiling fan and dance until sunrise.

Also, the lyrics are clear and catchy enough you’ll be singing “Strangers in the night, hold oooonnnn!” for as long as it takes to get another tune stuck in your head.

Best part of the song: The hollow pipe/tube tones that steer the melody. I have no idea how they were achieved, but I want more!

What Tracks Would You Add?

Don’t be shy, drop your jams!

Leave a comment

Some of the best sentences I know didn’t come from books—they came through speakers. I’m starting a series where I pull apart a favourite song and rebuild it as a poem, using only what’s already there.

[ Should I keep dropping these? Let me know in the comments.🖤]

The Song

Little Hell by City and Colour

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The Poem

History of Regret

haunted past
such a detriment
the way we
forget it all

our memories
are delicate and
our promises cause
all this grief

disconnect ourselves—
a daunting task
(as it’s been right from
the start)

there’s a degree of
addiction
in dealing with
your heart

please believe

i am penitent for not
being all that
you need me to be

What Got Left Behind

Magazine by Heart, Make Yourself by Incubus, and Some of It Was True by the Menzingers are still on deck, but this morning, Canadiana and nostalgia were calling my name.

That First Tegan and Sara Moment

The first time I listened to Tegan and Sara, I was fourteen, full of teenage angst, and secretly crushing on girls. So, of course, when I logged onto Myspace and heard Walking With Your Ghost playing on a friend’s profile page, I was immediately hooked.

• Those guitar strums.

• The repetitive vocal yelps.

• The background synth. (You heard it right?)

SO GOOD.

But when you’re a teenage girl who hasn’t had the chance to experience a lesbian breakup, despite being so capable of imagining how devastating it would be, it hits home like a wrecking ball. (Cue the Miley Cyrus earworm.) The lyrics are repetitive, desperate, and a visceral reflection of the struggle to let someone go from your heart and mind. It’s impossible not to feel what the song intends for you to feel.

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Growing Up Doesn’t Mean Outgrowing It

I’m not fourteen anymore—not even close—but this album is more than a soundtrack pigeonholed in the past. Yes, there’s a lot of pining over loves that never fully blossomed, but there’s also themes of anti-materialism, insecurity, and romantic dysfunction that resonate at any age.

Why Fix You Up Feels Different Now

Through grown-up eyes, Fix You Up feels especially raw: We all know that feeling—wanting to show up more, but falling short. And wishing we could help our partner do the same. The song has become a new favourite of mine, along with Downtown and I Know, I Know, I Know.

What Makes the RSD Edition So Special

Right off the bat, it’s on clear vinyl, so you can see every groove on the disc. Plus, who doesn’t love a limited edition coloured release? (Big time rhetorical question.) But the real value here is the additional B-sides and demos. The Manila Killa version of Walking With a Ghost makes it worth the coins, alone. Wait for the drop at the 1:03 mark. It brings the purest of good vibes!

The demo songs are raw and ultra-intimate as well, so you’ll feel like you’re at a basement party listening to an impromptu Tegan and Sara jam session. Definitely check out Wake Up Exhausted and Bombs for the perfect after-school band practice feel.

Final Note

So Jealous is exactly what you hope for in a chill, nostalgia-soaked indie record. It’ll have you secretly wondering: is it ever really too late to lace up some Chucks and drop a mixtape on someone’s doorstep?

What’s at the Top of Your Stack?

And what made it reign supreme? Drop it in the comments!

You’re staring out your window, empty-eyed and under-caffeinated, resigned to the fact that today will be a do-nothing day. Beyond the glass, brave souls roll by in their family-sized SUVs and heavy-duty pickups, snow crunching under the wheels, on their way to little league tournaments or oil rig sites—whatever near-sacred obligation they’ve devoted themselves to.

Let the workweek soldiers march on, you think. Days like this are best absorbed from a blanket cocoon, warm mug in the hand. It’s time to burrow deep into the folds of the couch cushions. The stereo is on standby. Press play and let the music keep you company.

1. Snow Outside - Dave Matthews Band

An intimate acoustic track that feels like a heart-to-heart conversation between lovers. Listen for the improvisational jam session at the end. It captures the cascading sensation of snow falling in winter. Pure bliss to listen to!

Lyric That Lingers: Come winter I will build you a fire, from the bones of who I used to be.

2. Are You There - Scott Ruth

From the opening piano chords to the steady crash of the drums, and Scott’s laid-back, understated vocals—kind of in the vein of Tom Petty—this track is just easy to sink into. The melody welcomes you in, and before long, you’re belting it out from the comfort of your couch.

Lyric That Lingers: Standing outside in your winter coat, and you still look good through the cigarette smoke.

3. Shelter - Current Swell

A gentle, easygoing acoustic tune that melts into the background in the best way, leaving you completely mellow. The arrangement leans on light, rhythmic strumming and a warm, grounding bass line, while the repeating lyrics quickly lodge themselves in your memory. It’s like a warm cup of tea for your ears.

Lyric That Lingers: All in good fun, just trying to keep you warm, with the shelter of my arm.

4. I Wish You Love - Sam Cooke

With the delicate trill of fluttering high piano notes, Sam’s smooth, meandering vocals, and lush, cinematic strings, this song has a way of putting you right into a movie scene. Picture it: A candlelit restaurant, snow gently falling, that final, suspended look as your true love turns to leave, the door closing gently behind them.

Lyric That Lingers: I wish you shelter from the storm, a cozy fire to, to keep you warm, but most of all when snowflakes fall, I wish you love.

5. Summer in December - Otis Kane, Aaron Childs

I love the groovy, melodic bassline in this song. It’s bouncy enough to get you up on your feet while still feeling low-key and cozy. The crisp snare drum adds a little extra kick, and those horns in the background? Icing on the cake. Tell your winter blues to pack their bags, this song is gonna send them on their way.

Lyric That Lingers: Daffodils and bergamot, you’ve got everything. You’re just like Summer in December.

What Tracks Would You Add?

Don’t be shy, drop your jams!

Leave a comment

Some of the best sentences I know didn’t come from books—they came through speakers. I’m starting a series where I pull apart a favourite song and rebuild it as a poem, using only what’s already there.

[ Should I keep dropping these? Let me know in the comments.🖤]

The Song

Dreams By Fleetwood Mac

The Poem

Crystal Visions

Who am I?

A heartbeat
in the stillness

Here I go again,
remembering
dreams of loneliness
and freedom

Crystal visions come
to keep you down—
what you lost
what you had

It’s only me,
remembering

I should
keep my visions
to myself

they will come and
they will go

like thunder,
it drives you mad
but it washes you
clean

Leave a comment

just beneath the surface
scraping at the underside,
no more than a breath away from breaking through

the truth glints
like a mooneye

that silver-backed sea creature
is never far below
no matter what
calls from the river bottom

you could lower your fingers
into the cool pewter current
yank it out with your hands

the cautious know
not to look
into its wide lunar eye

they know two rows of microblade teeth
wait behind a shy deceiving snout

what goes into the river as a secret
emerges as a threat

every unspoken thing swims
in restless loops
under your skin

☕ Beverage I’m Sipping: Sunny C by David’s Tea
🎵 Record I’m Spinning: Urban Hymns by The Verve
📚 Book I’m Reading: Murder Road by Simone St. James

Wax | Let’s Make It Last by Ray Lamontagne

Oh, the hourglass is crueller yet, the moment given is the moment spent. Stay a little while, share a glass beside the fire, time goes by so fast, let’s make it last.

No song captures impermanence quite like this one. It’s strikes such a gentle chord, reminding us that while we can’t stop time, we can savour the moments, linger in them, let them settle a little deeper in our bones. It shimmers with hope, telling us moments expand when we truly notice and appreciate them.

Wonder | Everything is in the Process of Becoming a Memory

Sounds bleak, but it isn’t meant to be. There’s a flutter of panic that we get when we think about how momentary life actually is. It’s one of those stark realities we tend to disregard completely, since existential despair is exhausting and walking around anticipating death is a terrible lifestyle choice. (For our blood pressure rates, if nothing else.)

But I’ve been forced to grapple with death lately and, to my surprise, the experience reframed impermanence for me in a way that’s quite beautiful. It made me realize things don’t disappear all at once—no matter how much it feels that way sometimes. They’re always leaving us. Every second of every day. And we’re in the midst of leaving, too.

I’ve made the mistake of thinking I’m permanent countless times, and I’ll likely make it a thousand more. It’s a default mental state we all slip back into. But right now, I’m acutely aware of the fact that everything I know and love is transient.

We’re all trains moving along our tracks, never staying still, and passing each other by. When two trains are moving in the same direction at the same pace, it can feel like you’re not moving at all, and it’s easy to forget the journey we’re on. But, of course, we never know when a detour might separate us or the tracks will veer in opposite directions.

Here’s the thing, though: We think loss happens in the moment we’re split apart, but it doesn’t. It was happening from the very beginning.

The first time we laughed with a new friend, the instant we met that stranger who seemed too charming to be real, the second we were lowered, all bundled and brand new, into our mother’s arms—that’s when we started saying good-bye.

We even say good-bye to our own existence, every morning we wake up, another day now behind us.

It’s a beautiful, comforting thought to me, because I’ve experienced quite a bit of death lately, and the part that always sticks like a splinter in my heart is the sense that they were with me one moment, gone the next. It’s as if you’ve been robbed in the night, hoodwinked without even realizing it.

Impermanence softens that cruelty, if you let it. You get to expand your grief and look at it through a wide-angle lens. It’s no longer a single minute, hour, or day that changed everything. It’s a long, gorgeous lifetime spent allowing someone to become a memory, a part of the past that made you.

We’re never standing still. We never have a firm grip on the things we think we’ll hold onto forever. We never own anything.

Instead, everything is loaned to us—our time, our loved ones, our dreams, our friendships, our communities. We get them for a finite amount of time and then they must continue on, to the next part of their journey, towards the place they were always headed.

Which means, in a weird, overthinking, thought-ception kind of way, everything has happened exactly the way it was meant to, and exactly the way we always knew it would, even if we weren’t acknowledging it along the way. The specifics may be different than we anticipated. Maybe we thought we’d get the chance to say “I love you” one last time. Or we’d be more prepared. But the greater process is exactly what it was promised to be.

To be alive is to be moving forward, and to be moving forward means to be leaving something behind. But what a blessing it is that, in most cases, we get to bid each other farewell in fragments, scattered across a long string of ordinary days.

Final Note

Nothing fully eases the pain of grief. But I hope that seeing loss as a process—something unfolding slowly rather than a single sharp moment—might offer a quiet kind of comfort.

If the words in this edition sparked something in you, I invite you to reply or comment. Thanks for being here and for letting my words hang out in your brain for a little bit.