May 16 issue - As I write this, I am listening to one of my many mood-sensitive playlists from the iPod library on my computer. I'm not one of the hip, trendy twenty- (or even thirty-) somethings you see gyrating wildly in the TV ads; I am a busy 43-year-old stay-at-home mother of three active boys. I am not alone in my obsession. Everywhere you look you will find us, "soccer moms" ferrying our kids to sports practices and games and whiling away the long hours of waiting by eagerly comparing accessories and trading songs with other baby-boomer moms. Even Radio Shack has picked up on the trend—it now advertises iPods for "moms and grads." Not moms and dads, mind you, moms and grads.
My husband realized long ago (to his eternal financial relief) that I am not a jewelry-wearing kind of wife. For my 43rd birthday, he came through with the gift of my dreams: a gorgeous gem of modern audio technology. Accessorize myself? I'd rather accessorize my iPod. This little treasure has enabled me to revisit my past and groove to the present; it has provided me with an ever-evolving soundtrack for my life.
My iPod can hold up to 4,000 songs. I never thought I'd accumulate that many, but I'm well on my way (I have about 800 so far). I gleefully tease my buddy Andrea about her puny mini, which can hold only 1,000 songs. She is already at the limit and will have to streamline her library, poor thing. No foresight there.
When I was in my teens and 20s, so much of my life was tied to music. It made me feel like I was a part of something bigger than myself. I loved going out to dance clubs and seeing bands play live. My gal pals and I can't listen to Bowling For Soup's "1985," a song about a woman in the throes of a midlife crisis, without giggling and exchanging knowing glances. Are we, '80s music goddesses turned professionals turned moms, "still preoccupied with 1985"? While I never wanted to shake anything on Whitesnake's car, Bruce Springsteen, the Pretenders, U2, Duran Duran, Blondie, the Bongos, Talking Heads and AC/DC commanded my utter devotion.
I fondly recall an episode of "Ally Mc-Beal" in which Ally's therapist exhorted her to find her own "theme song," which she could conjure up in her head when needed. I (and many of you, I suspect) have more than one theme song. My life has a soundtrack as much as any film does, and different songs have defined me throughout different phases of my life.
With a light thumb spin, I can transport myself back to any age or stage of life. I revel in some of these memories and cringe at others. I see who I was and who I am now—and how I haven't changed so much. I once heard that when women hit their 40s, they find themselves re-evaluating their pasts and speculating on their futures, redefining themselves at that critical juncture midway through their lives. That's been true for me. My playlist has kicked open a big, padlocked door and helped me connect with a part of myself I feared was gone. Now I know that although I am a reasonably mature adult, inside me lives the free-spirited, carefree college girl I once was.
Like that carefree college girl, I get a kick out of creating playlists for my friends. I include all their favorite songs and give them titles like "Kelly Rocks!" and "Samantha Rocks!" and we all have a good laugh. Then we all go take care of our families and attend to other grown-up matters with a song in our hearts and a secret smile on our lips. My kids love the iPod, too; not only have I introduced them to some of the great music of my youth (and before), I've learned to appreciate some of theirs as well. They create playlists and burn them onto CDs for the car, and we groove and sing and talk about things both trivial and profound while we drive.
I love that you can create a soundtrack for any mood. At any given time, I can be found enjoying pop, rock, classical, gospel, hip-hop, oldies, country, you-name-it. Whether it's the Beatles or the Wiggles (yes, I'm a fan), Debussy or Dvorak, Usher or 3 Doors Down, R.E.M. or T. Rex, Norah Jones or Evanescence, I enjoy it all. And housework is so much less boring with music along, for my mind is someplace else.
Though the number of middle-aged moms who are addicted to their music players seems to be steadily growing, I still catch some people doing a double take when they see me clutching mine and looking serene while jogging or sitting in the bleachers at a sporting event. But who else except a boomer could possibly fill up an iPod that has 20 or 40 gigabytes? Save the MP3s and iPod minis for the youngsters. We'll take the heavy-duty hardware and maximum memory. By the way, I just updated my darling iPod in the last few minutes; I now have 822 songs and counting.
Gong lives in Hudson, Ohio.