Some memories live in photographs. Mine tend to have a soundtrack.

I was having a day.

Not a terrible day. Nothing catastrophic had happened. I was just… sad.

And sometimes sadness doesn’t need a reason. Sometimes it just shows up, sits down next to you and decides it’s staying for a while.

So I did what I often do.

I poured a glass of wine, put on a record and let music take over for a bit.

And somewhere between the first few notes and that first sip, I started thinking about how often music has done exactly that for me.

Actually, music has been doing that my entire life.

There Is Always a Song

I don’t have a song.

I’ve never been one of those people who could answer, “What’s your favorite song?” without first asking about 47 follow-up questions.

What mood am I in? What year are we talking about? Am I happy? Sad? In love? Angry? Driving with the windows down? Dancing with my girls? Missing someone?

There is always a song.

When I’m curled up in a corner crying, for reasons I still can’t completely explain, I find John Denver’s “Looking for Space.”

When I lost Jordyn, there was Celine Dion’s “A New Day Has Come.”

There are songs that hold pieces of my life that words simply can’t.

And then there is my mom.

Her song was Bette Midler’s “Wind Beneath My Wings.”

It will forever be one of the songs that brings her back to me.

She loved Billy Joel, too, and there are moments when music comes on and suddenly she’s just… there. Not physically, of course. But somehow the distance between then and now gets a little smaller.

That is one of the things I love most about music.

It remembers for us.

Then There Are My Girls

Music doesn’t only carry the hard stuff.

Some of my happiest memories are ridiculously loud.

Concerts. Trips. Drinks. Dancing. Laughing until our faces hurt.

And my girls.

There are songs that immediately transport me to a concert venue with my girls, singing entirely too loudly and behaving as if whatever band is onstage personally invited us.

Duran Duran has been part of my soundtrack for decades. I’ve traveled for shows. I’ve seen them in Florida, California and Las Vegas. Their Arena album was the first album I ever bought.

And then there’s New Kids on the Block.

Let’s just say teenage Wendi had opinions.

Joey was originally my New Kid because my friends had already claimed the others. Adult Wendi eventually developed a different appreciation for Donnie.

Apparently tastes evolve. 😂

During one of the hardest periods of my relationship with Dan, music was there again.

We spent four months apart.

There were songs I listened to when I needed my girls. Songs that reminded me of him. Songs I probably shouldn’t have listened to because they hurt like hell.

And songs I listened to while quietly hoping we would somehow find our way back to each other.

We did.

And, naturally, there’s a song for that too.

And Then There Was Dan

“The Promise” by When in Rome.

Our song.

At my 48th birthday party, Dan and the band played it.

He told the story of us: how we met, how we became friends, and how somehow all those pieces eventually brought us here.

Then he gave me a pick.

And then…

He proposed.

In front of our friends and family.

With our song wrapped around the whole thing.

Not exactly the glamorous engagement-ring photograph you see in magazines. But do you see the hidden Mickeys?

But honestly?

It’s us.

There is literally a mixing board behind my hand.

Of course there is.

The Soundtrack Keeps Growing

Music is woven so deeply into our home that I’m not sure we could remove it if we tried.

Dan’s first album was REO Speedwagon’s Hi Infidelity.

Mine was Duran Duran’s Arena.

Today, both are framed and hanging side by side in our music room.

And yes, we have an actual music room.

Technically, it doubles as Dan’s office, but calling it an office feels almost insulting.

There are records. Guitars. Concert memorabilia. Rock-and-roll artwork. Lighting. A couch we intentionally selected because it had just the right amount of rock-and-roll gawdiness.

And Snoopy playing guitar, obviously.

Sometimes we’ll sit in there with a glass of wine and put on vinyl.

No television.

No scrolling.

Just music.

And I swear there is something different about listening that way. Maybe it’s the ritual of choosing an album. Maybe it’s watching the record spin. Maybe it’s because you can’t immediately skip every song that doesn’t grab you in the first six seconds.

You just listen.

And the music gets a chance to find you.

Apparently, It Spreads

And somewhere along the way, the music made its way to AJ.

When he was little, there were drums.

At the time, it was just a kid having fun behind a drum set.

But then sixth grade came along and he picked up a flute.

And he kept playing.

Now he’s in high school marching band, and I get to sit in the stands and watch him make music of his own.

I love that.

Because for all the ways music has carried me through my life, I now get to watch it become part of his.

His songs won’t be my songs. His memories won’t be my memories. He’s creating his own soundtrack now.

And someday, years from now, I wonder what he’ll hear that will instantly take him back here.

To a band room.

A football field.

His friends.

High school.

Home.

Maybe that’s one of the coolest things about music.

We don’t just pass down the songs. We pass down the idea that music matters.

Sometimes It Just Needs More Cowbell

And then, of course, there is my own illustrious musical career.

I play cowbell.

That’s right.

Cowbell.

When On the Rocks! needs that extra bit of highly sophisticated percussion, apparently they call me.

Music has given me more than songs.

It’s given me friendships. Trips. Stories. Concerts I’ll never forget.

A band that somehow became family.

A husband. A proposal.

Memories of my mom.

A way to grieve.

A way to celebrate.

And on days when I’m simply sad for no particularly good reason, it gives me somewhere to go.

Maybe that’s what music has always been for me.

Not background noise.

Not entertainment.

A place.

Somewhere I can go when I need to remember who I was, sit with who I am, miss someone I love, scream with my girls, remember falling in love, dance around the kitchen—or just pour a glass of wine and let myself feel whatever I’m feeling.

Ask me tomorrow what my “Wendi song” is and I’ll probably give you a completely different answer.

Because there isn’t one.

There couldn’t possibly be.

I don’t have one song. I have a soundtrack.

And apparently, it’s still being written.

❤️🎶