Can You Fall In Love With a Time Period?

I remember the day my dad moved four states away without a word. I was twelve, with an uncanny ability to remain calm despite my best friend walking out of my life. It was not as if my heart was ripped out of my chest cavity, but rather it had been slowly collapsing in on itself for years. My dad’s move was just the final blow.

Photo Courtesy of Autumn Johnstone

My dad and I had a great relationship, before and after my parents’ divorce. He taught me many useful things, like how to look after myself, or how to demonstrate empathy (especially for those who I didn’t particularly understand–that came in handy later). The biggest thing he taught me was to never let go of something that deeply touches your soul – and for us, that was music. He would blare Pink Floyd on his speaker while we cleaned up the house. He would sing along to Led Zeppelin’s “Fool in the Rain” in the car. He would tell me the bands’ stories behind every single song. Who knows if it was factual— I didn’t care. 

Despite my dad leaving me, what never followed him was the music. I could still listen to “The Wall” without a care in the world following his spontaneous decampment. Actually, placing the headphones on my ears became necessary in my day-to-day life. I found comfort in letting David Gilmour’s vocals encompass my ears and Roger Waters’ lyrics infiltrate my brain. Walking home from school, I would put in my earbuds and be brought back to the early seventies. I would feel the agony of the Beatles’ break up. I would see the formation of new musical genres right before my eyes. While painting, I would listen to Queen. It was always Queen for me. I loved that band so much that it made me lose my concept of time completely. I knew I was no match for Freddie’s vocal chords, but I sang Queen’s songs like I wrote them personally. I cried when I saw Queen’s Live Aid performance. And Rainbow Theatre. And Wembley Stadium.

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What music taught me was to never let your life experiences taint the things you love. That meant that some songs can never truly die. The song that played when you realized you hadn’t seen your dad in five years is still listenable, perhaps even enjoyable. The song that you used to drown out your parents’ arguing is still tied to your soul, whether you like it or not. Some of the best things in life are painful, yet extremely beautiful. 

After some time, my step-dad, Leo, came into my life. At first I was extremely skeptical of having anyone remotely close to me other than my biological father, so I obviously wanted no part in a so-called “new family member.”  We almost never agreed on things, bickering at any chance we got. I was defiant, angry and at some points down right depressed. Whatever he liked, I loathed, and vice versa. Yet, once I let Leo in, I could never go back to the way things were without him, and the only reason I did let him in was because of music. Again. Our family would occasionally drive down to the Florida Keys, and we of course would listen to music on the way. If my dad introduced me to music, then I’d say Leo maintained my love for it. Hot, midnight drives on the seven mile bridge on the way back from Key West were my favorites. We listened to artists like Jimi Hendrix, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and David Bowie.

Image Courtesy of Autumn Johnstone

Music has this bizarre ability to make two polar opposite people not only get along, but empathize with one another. It’s this ungraspable feeling of loving people despite your differences and not wanting but needing them in your life because there’s no other way that you could possibly have it.  

While blaring music in the car, Leo would often tell stories of when he was growing up. Many songs from the seventies were mentioned, and I loved to listen. The ability of music to transport you to a different era always fascinated me. The carefree nature and wispy curtain bangs. The late counterculture movement. The passion. The energy. The rock ‘n’ roll. One night on the way home from the grocery store, Leo said, “They just don’t make music like they used to anymore. I bet you we won’t hear Britney Spears on the radio thirty years from now, but you’ll probably hear Tom Petty.” I didn’t agree with him then, but I agree with him now. 

So, now, as I sit and listen to Queen, not only am I taken back to the seventies, but I am taken back to the first time I spoke to Leo. The first time I hugged my dad after he came back. I am taken back to the last time I told them both that I loved them. Loving music can teach you many things, but most importantly, it teaches you how to love. Fearlessly. Blindly. Unconditionally. When I told my dad I forgave him after he left, “Bohemian Rhapsody” was playing on the car radio. Was it a coincidence that I drove away from his hotel just in time for Freddie to sing, “Any way the wind blows”? Was it impossible to think, just for one second, that everything was going to be fine no matter what? No. From the songs that built my childhood, to the song that just ended, I am constantly reminded of the essential choice to not only truly love others, but to trust the flow of life in the process. 

Strike Out,

Writer: Autumn Johnstone

Editor: Olivia Evans

Autumn Johnstone is a writer for Strike Magazine GNV. Most of their time is spent creating art, obsessing over 1970s fashion and trying out new tasty lattes from nearby cafés. You can reach them on Instagram @mynameissntfall, or by email autumnbell2005@gmail.com