Only Another… 3 Years of Asking?!
Episode 8 of the podcast
Estimated reading time: 14 minutes (Or watch the video!)
By eight months into the project, I finally started to feel like I was getting somewhere.
I had made several meaningful connections, expanded my comfort zone through repeatedly asking the question, and discovered ways to adapt my approach depending on the situation. But the most tangible evidence of progress was the number of completed pages in the journal.
Every time I handed the book to someone, I noticed I had to flip further and further back to find the next page. The journal is about an inch thick, and the completed pages measured close to a quarter of an inch. Was I already 25% finished? How many entries had I accumulated? And based on how long it had taken to reach that point, approximately how much longer until every page was full?
I had bought the journal years prior while waiting for a flight in Denver. The receipt was still tucked inside, so I looked up the manufacturing specs.
According to the Amazon listing, my expanded version of the large soft cover Moleskine notebook had exactly 400 pages. I flipped through the finished section, and was dismayed to find only 80 completed pages.
According to my calculations, if I continued at my going rate of about 10 pages a month, I was looking at an approximate completion time of only... three more years.
Three more years?! Three more painstaking, tedious, emotionally taxing years of putting myself out there to seemingly every stranger I ever spoke to? The realization was both discouraging and overwhelming.
While tallying the pages, I had also counted the entries, and discovered I'd already asked 333 people. Somehow, the figure felt both immense and insufficient. In a way, I couldn't believe I'd had so many interactions—and yet I had somehow expected that number to be higher.
I thought I was asking as often as I could. How had I only filled 80 pages? Was that really the best I could do?
You might recall that I started this project on my 38th birthday, and within a month, I knew I wanted to write a book about it someday. I hadn't set a strict timeline, but in the back of my mind, I had hoped to finish it by the time I turned 40. Now, with hard data in front of me, that goal felt unrealistic.
Still, writing the book was never just about accomplishing a creative goal. It was about telling the story. To put it in travel terms, it was never about reaching the destination. It was about going on the journey.
But I wasn't looking at it as something to enjoy. I just wanted to get there as quickly as possible. Frankly, I was excited to see how the story ended. I saw the journey more as a necessity—probably the way most people view commercial air travel.
Even with just 80 pages of history, the journal already held remarkable discoveries, and emerging trends in the music and memories people had shared. But I didn't wanna start writing the book until the journal was full, because the full story wouldn't be over until then.
The only way to tell the story sooner was to finish the journal faster. And the best way to do that was to start asking more people.
At work, asking came naturally.
I crossed paths with thousands of people every day, and those interactions often came with opportunities for conversation. Anytime I was on the plane, or in the airport, I was alert and observant, always looking for the right moment to ask the question.
But on my days off, it was different.
I was usually exhausted, jet lagged, catching up on chores, running errands, working out, replying to messages, or maybe, just maybe, having a life. I wasn't looking for ways to interact with people. Instead, I was looking for ways to check off my to-do list as quickly as possible.
I carry the book with me everywhere, but my days off were generally so full of busywork that I often forgot I was even doing the project.
On a typical day off, I found myself in at least one of several places: at the gym, or the store or the park. Or maybe the dry cleaner, the tailor, the mechanic, the pharmacist, or the post office. But instead of interactions, I was conducting transactions. I was missing out on countless opportunities to make progress.
So, I gave myself a new goal: don't worry about the big picture. Focus on asking one person a day. Even if I'm off work, even if I'm tired, even if I'm busy. I knew I'd cross paths with at least one person, and I knew they had a song, so why not ask 'em about it?
Well, I quickly discovered why.
People in planes and airports are usually quite open to conversation. Maybe it's because they're removed from their routine. Or maybe it's something about being in a liminal space, that sense of limbo and possibility that comes from being in a realm between worlds. Or maybe it's just a way to pass the time in purgatory.
But out in the real world, people are trying to get stuff done. It varies based on the social setting, but most people were approaching things the same way I was: focused, rushed, and generally uninterested in small talk, let alone in vulnerable conversation with a stranger.
Suddenly, my objective had another layer to it. Not only would I need to be proactive about initiating more interactions, I would also need to find ways to connect with people who weren't interested in talking.
I had to create the connection.
One day, I went to the auto shop for some routine car maintenance. It took at least an hour, so I interacted with several of the mechanics. At one point, the garage radio started playing a song we all seemed to enjoy. So, when one of the mechanics leaned into the car a moment later, I took the opportunity to go a bit deeper.
“Hey, I've got a random music question for you,” I said.
She looked up at me and grinned at an interaction that deviated from the norm. “What’s that?” She asked.
“What's a song that reminds you of a happy memory?”
Without missing a beat, she said, “‘When I look At You,’ by Miley Cyrus. That was my wedding song.”
And there I had it: an answer from an ordinary person out in the real world! I handed her the book, and she wrote her response.
Then, on another day off, I walked into the gym for my usual workout. I was greeted by the only staff member who ever seems genuinely pleased to see me. Most employees don't even look up from their phones when members walk in, but this guy always smiles, always says hello, and always does it with warmth.
“Hi, how's it going today?” I asked him.
“Doing great,” He replied. “How about you?”
“Very well, thank you. Hey, you know... I’ve actually got a fun music question I wanted to ask you!”
Before I knew it, I was showing him the journal and asking for his song. His answer came immediately:
“‘Sail into the Night’ by Will Cookson,” he said.
“Oh, cool! I’m not familiar with that one. Is there anything you wanna share about your memory?”
He looked away for a moment and pondered, then shook his head in disbelief. “That song got me through adulthood,” he said.
I didn’t press for more than that, but I knew exactly what he meant. We all have a song we cling to during troubling times.
Ever since that interaction, there’s been a subtle shift in our smiles. It’s not just a greeting; it’s an acknowledgement of connection.
The interactions at the auto shop and the gym had felt relatively easy, since I'd established some rapport with those people...
But then came the grocery store.
There I was, going through the checkout line in my standard day off outfit: hair unwashed, not a spec of makeup, and the same yoga pants I’d slept in. (For my days off, I’m essentially the alter ego of my polished Flight Attendant persona. The only part of my aviation side that stays active is the Autopilot feature, and that’s how I wound up in the self-checkout line.)
Just as the robot lady spat out my receipt, I remembered my goal: Ask one person a day, no matter what. The grocery store was my last stop on the list, which meant I had to ask someone before I left.
There was only one register with a cashier, and it only had one customer. No one else in line. It was a great opportunity... but I didn't wanna take it.
I had been shopping at the same grocery store for more than a year, and I recognized most of the team. Everyone who works there is pretty friendly. (In fact, I've wondered if it’s a job requirement.)
Sure, there were the ones who greeted me just because they knew they were supposed to—but there were also the ones who said hi because they genuinely liked interacting with people. You can always tell the difference.
There was the woman who once said, “Hey, I haven't seen you in a while! How are you doing?” She had introduced herself as Betty.
And there was the man who had once seen me carefully weighing my options for which flavor of Terra potato chips to buy. He confessed that he also had a soft spot for the brand. We did dispute which flavor was the best, but he knew how important that decision was.
I didn’t really know these people, but they were familiar. I saw them all the time. The man behind the checkout counter was the one I’d surmised to be the manager. And the person in line just so happened to be the man who had that important conversation with me about the potato chips.
So… I hesitated. Was I really gonna make myself vulnerable here? At my grocery store?
Asking these people meant I could go from “just one of the regulars” to “that weird music girl.” I didn't care if that’s how the firefighters remembered me, because I knew I’d never see them again. But these people? They were my neighbors. If this went badly, I couldn’t just disappear (like I could on a layover, for instance).
My inner Jerry Seinfeld was determined to ask, but my inner George Costanza was vehemently opposed.
I can’t make a fool of myself at my own grocery store! I’d have to completely change my routine. And I don’t wanna go to any other grocery stores! This one’s precisely three minutes away from the house, and I can always find good parking, and I know the exact locations of everything I need. I cannot ruin my reputation here. There’s TOO MUCH AT STAKE!
The idea of this interaction intimidated me, but the idea of walking away from it in defeat absolutely sickened me. And I knew my discomfort signaled an opportunity for growth.
So, begrudgingly and self-consciously, I stepped into line at the register—without anything to purchase. Both men looked up at me, slightly confused.
“Hi,” I smiled awkwardly. “I just have a quick question for you when you’re done,” I said to the manager.
He replied with an expectant and curious, “Yes?”
“Well, it’s the most random question you’ll be asked all day,” I chuckled, “but it can wait until you’re finished.”
I wanted my awkwardness to have as small an audience as possible, so I was waiting for the man in front of me to step away. But at this, he looked back at me in curiosity. And the manager responded:
“Oh no, it’s fine. What do you need?”
Clearly, I had chosen the wrong opening move. I glanced nervously at the other man, then let out a self-deprecating giggle.
“Uh, I’d just like to know what’s a song that reminds you of a happy memory? It’s for a music project I’m working on.”
And then… silence. Total silence as they both looked away, trying to process what I just said.
Meanwhile, I was trying to process how I’d just forever transformed our professional relationship. I had changed the dynamic of every future interaction with these people… but was it for better, or for worse?
After a few seconds, the man in front of me smiled and said, “‘Jump’ by Van Halen.”
I smiled in relief of at least one of these people coming along on my silly musical adventure. Then, my eyes widened as I realized something interesting about his response.
“That’s the same song someone told me yesterday! Look!”
I pulled out the journal, flipped to the last written page, and handed him the book. He grinned and read the latest entry aloud:
Living in Ireland as a kid, coming from a big family, riding in my brother’s car that only holds five people… we once drove around with nine people in the car on a summer’s evening, as the sun rarely comes out in Ireland, blasting the song with the windows open.
“Huh. Wow! That’s crazy! So, what’s this about? You said you’re doing a project?” He asked excitedly.
“Yeah, it started off as a way to get music recommendations, but now it’s my favorite way to get to know people!”
“That's so cool,” he said. “Well, whenever I hear that song, I think about me and my brother watching the video for the first time on MTV. The only lyrics we knew were ‘jump!’ I remember laughing and having a good time to this jam.”
“Thank you for sharing that! I’m Janna, by the way,” I said as I shook his hand.
He introduced himself as Ed, and began documenting his story in the journal.
As he wrote, I asked the manager about his song. But just then, someone stepped in line behind me. He said he needed to think about his answer anyway, so I said I’d ask again another time.
Next week, I followed up.
The manager greeted me warmly as I walked in, so I approached him—now feeling quite comfortable to do so.
“Did you think of your song?” I asked.
“Yeah, I did! I know it’s a cliché, but I gotta say ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis.”
He introduced himself as Ryan, and then explained that he had moved to the U.S. as a kid in 1995. That was the first song he heard on the radio here. His parents had been working abroad for a while, and it was really tough being apart. That song reminds him of the joy of finally being reunited altogether, as a family.
As the months went by, my interactions with everyone at the grocery store became more frequent, and more friendly.
Anytime I saw Ed or Ryan, we'd either wave or stop and chat. I also got to know another man there, named Robert, whose song was “Surfing U.S.A.” by the Beach Boys.
“That’s my dad’s song!” I exclaimed. “He grew up in Santa Cruz, and he loves how the song reminds him of some of the places he hung out as a teenager. It’s really nostalgic for him.”
Robert responded, “I like it because it was one of my dad’s favorite songs! He played it a lot when I was a kid, so it reminds me of sunshine and carefree days.”
On another visit, I told Betty about the project. Her song was a tune in Amharic that she heard a lot as a kid in Ethiopia, and she has a lot of happy memories with it playing in the background. But Betty also said she listens to it when she’s sad or upset, because the message is uplifting.
“No matter how dark everything might be, the sun will shine again,” she said. “It’s my all time favorite song since when I was in elementary school. It has big meaning for a lot of Ethiopian kids.”
On a recent visit, I chatted with a woman named Ashley. Her song was “Oh, Happy Day,” by Etta James. She said she’s originally from Italy, and a lot of her family still live there. That’s what plays in her head whenever she gets to go back and visit.
More than once, I’ve walked into that grocery store in the midst of a tough day. One time, I had even been crying in the car before heading inside. But anytime these people say hi to me and ask how I’m doing, my smile is warm and genuine, because they are warm and genuine. I know we’ve made each other’s lives just a little bit brighter by turning our transactions into something more personal.
For so long, I had thought of my inactivity on days off as a missed opportunity for progress, but what I had really been missing out on were the opportunities to connect—with my own neighbors, in my own city, in the ordinary places I returned to week after week.
Interactions like those also helped me see my world with the same curiosity as I did at the airports, or on the plane. The familiar faces were no longer background characters in my weekly routine. They were people with stories—and they were everywhere! No matter where I was, if I wanted to hear those stories, all I had to do was ask.
I could ask the man who stands at the same intersection, day in, day out, rain or shine, trying to sell flowers to the cars at the stoplight. I could ask the pharmacist who always seems a bit stressed. I could ask the most cheerful postal worker I’ve ever seen at the post office—or I could ask the one who seems burnt out.
I could ask anyone. I just needed to figure out how.
And I only have three more years to do it?
That used to feel incredibly far away... Now, it doesn’t feel far enough.
Recently, I had a dream—or maybe a nightmare. I went to hand someone the journal, and there were only a few blank pages left. I felt an unexpected wave of sadness that the journey of asking might almost be over.
A few nights later, I had the same dream again.
That’s when I realized: the more I ask, the more I want to keep asking.
I don’t want this project to end. I love hearing the answers! I adore the connections, and I appreciate how every conversation becomes meaningful in its own way.
At some point, I noticed a parallel between my job as a flight attendant and the way I’ve approached this creative project. When it comes to aviation, I find joy, meaning, and purpose in making the journey enjoyable for others. But I hadn’t realized I was rushing through my own journey—focused on the destination instead of enjoying the experience.
I’d been treating the Happiness Soundtrack like a finish line, but it isn’t just “a book I’m writing.” It’s a journey of personal growth.
Besides, it’s already a book, and it’s full of stories! I enjoy watching them unfold, and I love learning from them. I didn’t need to wait until the journal was complete before I could start telling those stories.
So that’s why I launched the blog, the podcast, and the YouTube channel. I thought sharing the journey while I’m still on it would help me enjoy it more, and maybe people would wanna come along with me.
This middle part—the asking—is the most beautiful chapter of all. The goal is no longer to finish the journal. The goal is to savor the journey it takes me on. The book will come eventually, but for now, I love reading the story as it’s being written: one song, one person, and one page at a time.
Food for thought
If life is a journey, what are you doing to enjoy the ride? What are some ways you could start savoring the experience, instead of racing towards your next destination?
Who helped make your journey a little more beautiful this week? How can you show your appreciation?
Share your thoughts in the comments!