What It’s Like to Be Me: In the Beginning Pt 6, Young Love

Do you remember the first time you fell in love? There’s something about your first time that sticks with you, a memory that remains longer than the relationship lasted as if it were a ghost that haunts you. For some, it was a lesson they wish to never repeat, for others it’s a greatness to which they compare all who follow. For me, it was somewhere in between those two extremes. Still, she turned me into a fan of reggae music and gave me my first taste of wanderlust. She wasn’t my first girlfriend, but she was the first girl who made me want to be a better person. I fell hard for her; I was hung up over her for years after we parted, and you can see the theme of unrequited love in much of my creative writings between my late teens and early twenties.

Her name is irrelevant now. My life has turned out wonderful without her, yet her story is still significant in creating the man I’ve become. We met during my freshman year of high school. She attended a rival school and we dated for a few months. She spent the following school year in Mexico (not making that up, I received letters postmarked from Acapulco) before returning to the states. We dated again for a few months before drifting apart. I saw her again the summer after I graduated and I gave her my number in hopes to revive our relationship. But in a cruel twist of fate, a parade float drove through our driveway and tore down the phone line to our house leaving us without phone service for a week. I guess we were never meant to be. Decades beyond the last time we spoke, there are a few songs that still remind me of her.

311: “Purpose”
She got me hooked on reggae, but my brother introduced me to punk rock. 311 seemed to masterfully blend the two genres. “Purpose” reflected my conflicted feelings of hope in what could be and grief over losing what could have been. “I believe in your purpose, baby,” Nick Hexum sang to open the song, later admitting to holding on to more than he should, “Still got all the things that I woulda give her.” He finally bares his intentions, “Whenever you come back, I’ll be waiting.” This perspective was my attitude for far too long. She was gone, but if she came back, I’d be waiting.

Matchbox 20: “Long Day”
The opening lyrics to this song freaked me out the first time I heard them, “It’s sitting by the overcoat, the second shelf the note she wrote that I can’t bring myself to throw away.” I thought to myself, ‘how does he know?’ There were some shelves outside my bedroom door that I used for storage: CDs, some clothes, books, and (on the second shelf) a little Tupperware container holding all of the love letters and notes she wrote for me. And I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away, even after we broke up. This song also provided an important lesson that I didn’t learn until later in life. When it comes to my problems, wherever I go I’m still there. “It’s me, I can’t get myself to go away.” Side note, I did eventually dispose of those old love notes.

Super Deluxe: “Years Ago”
I didn’t date much after high school. But every time one relationship ended, I felt a tug in my brain, wandering back to her and wondering about all of the what ifs and where is she nows. No song encapsulated my feelings better than this ballad from Super Deluxe. “Somewhere else again then with someone else, my thoughts drift straight into you.” I had to grow out of that phase. It just took me a while.

Dinosaur Jr.: “Out There”
“Out There” carries the theme of love lost and the lingering hope for rekindling romance. J Mascis admits an awareness of reality while baring a bit of regret, “I know you're gone, I hope you've got some friends to come along.” He moves on to provide some updates about how he’s doing, “I feel OK, sure I know that's not what people say, maybe they're wrong.” His final pleading “Maybe I’ve changed,” is the idea that we could prove ourselves if given a second shot.

Fuel: “Shimmer”
This is a song about heartbreak, written after Car Bell got dumped by his first serious girlfriend. He’s a little jaded and emotionally exhausted. When it came to the presence of a love lost in his life, he shared confusion and a hesitancy that resonated with me, “Can she take me for a while? And can I be a friend? We'll forget the past or maybe I'm not able.” He notes the distance between them and the finality of their relationship, singing she’s “too far away for me too hold.” Bell ends the song with a realization I eventually had to make for myself, “Guess I’ll let it go.” At 22, that’s what I did, I let her go.