Four years ago, sitting in my new dorm room the night before I started college, I happened upon a little music video called “Thrift Shop”. I vividly remember cracking up at how ridiculous the video was and ravenously watching anything else created by the artist. I was hooked.
For my 22nd birthday, my hero of a mom got me front row tickets to see Macklemore for the third time and it was an incredible night. How stinkin’ cute is my Mama?? We had a blast singing and dancing together.
By the end of the show, we had been sprayed with water, covered in confetti, and had received a few high-fives. I was dead tired from jumping around so much and was feeling a little overwhelmed (Me + Crowds = Not a good mix), but Mama Deb suggested we take a peek at the alley behind the theater. Sure enough, a small crowd had congregated to wait for Ryan Lewis and Macklemore.
Somehow we found ourselves among them, chatting with strangers in the cold for two hours. And then, before I really had time to process what was happening, I took the best/worst selfie of my life. I look insane, the lighting is horrible, and it’s kinda blurry, but it is oh-so perfect.
I started listening to Macklemore at such a pivotal time in my life. I was 18, just moved away from home for the first time, on the verge of discovering who I was. The Heist became the soundtrack of my growth. As I learned and cried and laughed, I always came back to those songs that articulated my emotions in a way that I never could. Now I’m 22, a semester away from graduation, a semester away from the unknown, and I’ve discovered this beautiful power in the nostalgia of music. There’s a wealth of emotions stored in his music and I find so much comfort in knowing that I’ll always have those songs, that soundtrack, that snippet of my life, to come home to.