My best friend, Madeleine, and I FaceTime every day. She’s a first-year student at the undeniably prestigious Georgetown University, and we’ve been friends who have surpassed distance for years, so not much has changed this year.
I stay by her side as she gets her morning Starbucks, switches between classes, heads to the gym, and even during costume changes for dress rehearsals at the Performing Arts Center. Her voice rings through my earphones on the 10:20 a.m. bus to campus, echoes on the second floor of Howe, and fills the walls of my shoebox-sized room. Even miles apart, I never feel far from her.
I think back to a specific call we had a few months ago, before the snow fell, and I could still get away with wearing something other than my coat. Maddie—an avid lover of all genres of music and a remarkably talented performer—told me about her newest November resolution: no sad songs.
For a girl who smiles while belting out the lyrics to Phoebe Bridgers’ Georgia, followed by Holly Humberstone’s Kissing In Swimming Pools, this challenge seemed almost impossible. Sad music was her comfort space, a familiar emotional language. Giving it up felt counterintuitive.
But as we talked it through, it started to make sense. Her choice became a reminder of how much control we actually have over our emotional environments—and how rarely we use it. So, I decided to take on the challenge myself.
I usually started my mornings with songs I hadn’t even registered as sad. Lydia Kaseta’s Black Powder Smoke felt like a slow rise into the day, while House Song by Searows was perfectly timed for my walk between classes. I never considered that the music I consumed could shape my mood in ways that went beyond simply tuning out the world.
I swapped my usual playlist for one I called Dance Already! and noticed a difference almost immediately. You Are the Best Thing by Ray LaMontagne turned my walk to Waterman into a scene straight out of a romantic comedy, and I swear Olivia Dean made me type faster. My days felt lighter—less heavy, less serious—and I started looking forward to the otherwise mundane walks that filled my daily routine.
I think we can all relate to the feeling that, after a while, everything starts to blur together. Especially as the sun sets earlier, days can feel shorter and, honestly, like a series of missed opportunities. The soundtrack we choose for our lives matters more than we realize.So, I challenge you to stop—or at least pause—what I’m calling The Sad Song Epidemic. Give yourself permission to feel joy and let it spill into every part of your life: the people you surround yourself with, the obstacles you take on, and the words that play through your ears.