Day 1 of the Project
Episode 2 of the podcast
Estimated reading time: 4½ minutes (or watch the video!)
Year 38 had a quiet start.
I drove to work without background music, feeling as though every musician I’d ever adored was giving me the silent treatment.
I’d forgotten something about losing all the music you’ve ever heard before. It makes it hard to express all the emotions you’ve ever felt before. A huge portion of your emotional vocabulary is erased, which makes it more difficult to process your feelings. I needed to find new music—not just to give my time a sound, but to give my feelings a shape.
I was no stranger to rebuilding my whole library from scratch, having completed my first year-long musical fast during 2019. But how had I gone about it, I wondered?
My first recollection was scouring the discography of my favorite bands, and listening to the albums I’d never previously explored.
Then, I researched my favorite artists and found their side projects, solo work, B-sides, demos, acoustic performances… Anything they’d released that I had never consumed.
Finally, I looked into any promising leads recommended by the algorithm. (“If you like X, then you might like Y.”) Quite often, I did like Y. Sometimes, I even liked Z.
That’s what got me through 2019, but now, I’d exhausted all those resources. It didn’t even feel like I was back at Square One. More like Square Zero.
While this emotional territory wasn’t completely uncharted, it was still uncomfortable. And now, all the artists who had gotten me through it before were nowhere to be found.
I spent the whole drive to the airport simply contemplating where to start.
I decided to ask for music recommendations.
After service on the first flight, we had a few moments to chat with people. And luckily, most people love chatting with flight attendants.
I had put a blank journal in my purse that day, intending to use it for my musical discoveries and observations throughout the fast. But something told me it would be more fun to just start handing it to people and ask them to write some recommendations.
There were only two problems with that.
The task would be overwhelming for anyone. It would take a while for someone to compile a list, and it would take me forever to listen to everything.
What resonates with one person may fall flat for another. I probably wouldn’t connect with most of the songs.
I had to find a way to make my “big ask” a lot smaller. Surely I could achieve the same goal by asking something bite-sized, and specific…
What if I asked everyone for just one song? That would solve the problem of overwhelm, but it wouldn’t ensure emotional resonance. Music is deeply personal. So, what’s something we all have in common with it?
Memories.
I assumed everyone must have a song attached to a happy memory—and therefore, they’d each have a unique story to share. I might not like the song, but I’d love hearing the story. What if I just ask them about that?
I grabbed the journal, and searched my purse for a pen. Inside was the one I’d taken been advertising from the hotel room where I’d decided to take on this challenge. The same pen I’d used to craft the menu for my music feast. It was perfect!
I wrote the question inside and put my own answer at the top of the first page. Then, I clipped the pen to the front cover and headed down the aisle.
I figured I’d ask whoever made eye contact with me and smiled—but I had no idea how I’d ask. I only knew if I stopped to think about it, I’d talk myself out of the whole thing. Besides, 38-year-old Janna was supposed to be “bold, dammit.”
So, for the first time in my life, I jumped in without a plan. The plan was to figure things out along the way.
A few rows in, a man looked up at me and smiled.
Target acquired. I leaned down and asked, “Hey, would you like to help me with something?” His reply was a cheerful, “Sure!” (This was already going great.)
I opened the book and said, “I’d love to know what song you associate with a positive memory. Just write it down here, please!” So he did. (His song was “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey.) I thanked him for sharing, and continued walking.
Several rows later, another passenger looked up and smiled. I used the same conversational formula, since it had just proven effective. (His song was “Everlong” by the Foo Fighters.)
When I got to the back, I asked my three crew members, and a pilot from another airline who was standing there at the moment. They were all delighted by the question—and we were excited to hear each other’s stories!
I asked my crew on the next flight, too, and a few more passengers. One guy was kinda both—a familiar pilot coming home from training. We caught up a bit, and I told him about the project. (His song was “Chattahoochie” by Alan Jackson.)
At some point, I overheard my crew asking each other, “What’s your song? What’s your song?” I then realized the question was about more than just the music. It was about the platform for connection.
Sharing our songs (or the stories behind them) was a way to share our histories, our personalities, our values, and the people and experiences that had meant something to us. It was a subconscious reminder that we are humans first, and everything else second. And that moment of connection—especially with total strangers—is what I’ve fallen in love with.
Rarely do adult birthdays inspire you with the same sense of wonder and awe as they do when you’re a kid, but this wasn’t just the start of a new year. It was the start of a new adventure. I could feel it! And even though I was still quite intentionally in unfamiliar territory, now I felt like I wasn’t in it alone.
I had started the day overwhelmed by what I’d lost, and ended it overcome by what I’d found. I couldn’t wait to see where else this question would take me.
How about you?
If you went on a music diet, how would you go about getting new songs? Also, do you like to chat with strangers while you’re on the plane? How would you have felt about a flight attendant coming up to you and asking this random question?! Share your thoughts below :)