(no subject)
It has supposedly been proven that scent memories, the act of reminiscing based on a scent that reminds you of your past, are the strongest.
A pychologist did a study in 2000, titled "Scent Of Times," and found that:
Whether it's the scent of your grandmother's kitchen, lilacs in bloom, or cigar smoke, a fragrance can transport you back to a place, a person, or a passion, says Morris. ''The brain has no time to process it. You recall the feelings associated with the scent first because it bypasses all filters and travels straight to the limbic system," he said.
Boston Globe Article On The Study
But, I beg to differ.
I believe that, at least for me, memories associated with sounds are more profound, more intense, more emotional.
And I think I proved my hypothesis to myself on Monday night, when Jill and I were driving around center city Wilkes-Barre, no real destination or plan or purpose, just driving in the unseasonably warm for early March air.
It felt like spring. But, more importantly, to me, it sounded like spring, too. And I'm not talking about the sound of geese flying overhead, returning from their winter vacations to the sunny south. I'm not talking about the chirping of grasshoppers or the sound of the wind blowing in your face while driving or the sound of the crowd of people in line at Dairy Queen, wanting a cone of vanilla on the first real warm day of the year.
The sound that sounded like spring above anything else was the music coming from the speakers of Jill's little Geo Prizm. We were cruising to a mix she had made. A mix solely comprised of songs by The Rocket Summer.
And I was transported back in time as soon as the opening chord of Skies So Blue hit my ears. We cruised to those songs as I had cruised to them so many times before. The Rocket Summer was my band; my pride and joy that I discovered at this very time last year. And intertwined in every melody and hook and chorus and heartfelt and heartbreaking lyric in every one of those songs were memories.
From Cross My Heart, to What We Hate, We Make to Show Me Everything You've Got, all I could do was sit there in that passenger seat and remember. It's hard to put into words, but I'm sure you've all experienced it. I'm sure you've all heard a song that just made you remember; not any one memory in particular, maybe just a time or a place, or an age when everything was easier and better.
And as we neared Jill's house and Goodbye Waves And Driveways came on, it was all I could do to sit there and not completely break down in front of Jill. Because that song, for me, is the ultimate sound memory. It was my anthem, the story of my life a year ago. And, in many ways, it still is.
So when we pulled into Jill's driveway, I said goodbye and turned and walked down the hill and got into the minivan and plugged in my iPod and I put it back on: my anthem of years gone by. And with that old, familiar acoustic song playing, I drove to the high school and parked in my old parking spot and it was there that I broke down. I sat there in that minivan in that parking spot with that song and I looked at that building which was empty and deserted for the night and all I wanted to do was go inside and have it be last March. I sat there and I broke down because, as much as I might tell people otherwise, I miss my old life.
I miss high school and its drama and its set schedules and long days and crappy lunches and lockers and homeroom and that feeling of being cooped up in that building all day long and walking outside and feeling nothing but the warm spring air and running to your car because there's nothing like the feeling of driving with the windows down and your shitty pop punk music blaring after a long day at school.
I've talked to some of my friends who are seniors this year since I've been home, and all of them keep saying "I can't wait to get out of here." And part of me wants to say "You're crazy, enjoy it!" But, I also know that saying that is useless. Because I think back to last year at this time and I couldn't wait to leave, either. And I guess that's the awful irony of life for you: you don't realize how beautiful and great and simple something is until it's gone and all you can do is sit in a parking lot in a minivan on a warm spring night all alone, with that song that reminds you of it all, and remember.
A pychologist did a study in 2000, titled "Scent Of Times," and found that:
Whether it's the scent of your grandmother's kitchen, lilacs in bloom, or cigar smoke, a fragrance can transport you back to a place, a person, or a passion, says Morris. ''The brain has no time to process it. You recall the feelings associated with the scent first because it bypasses all filters and travels straight to the limbic system," he said.
Boston Globe Article On The Study
But, I beg to differ.
I believe that, at least for me, memories associated with sounds are more profound, more intense, more emotional.
And I think I proved my hypothesis to myself on Monday night, when Jill and I were driving around center city Wilkes-Barre, no real destination or plan or purpose, just driving in the unseasonably warm for early March air.
It felt like spring. But, more importantly, to me, it sounded like spring, too. And I'm not talking about the sound of geese flying overhead, returning from their winter vacations to the sunny south. I'm not talking about the chirping of grasshoppers or the sound of the wind blowing in your face while driving or the sound of the crowd of people in line at Dairy Queen, wanting a cone of vanilla on the first real warm day of the year.
The sound that sounded like spring above anything else was the music coming from the speakers of Jill's little Geo Prizm. We were cruising to a mix she had made. A mix solely comprised of songs by The Rocket Summer.
And I was transported back in time as soon as the opening chord of Skies So Blue hit my ears. We cruised to those songs as I had cruised to them so many times before. The Rocket Summer was my band; my pride and joy that I discovered at this very time last year. And intertwined in every melody and hook and chorus and heartfelt and heartbreaking lyric in every one of those songs were memories.
From Cross My Heart, to What We Hate, We Make to Show Me Everything You've Got, all I could do was sit there in that passenger seat and remember. It's hard to put into words, but I'm sure you've all experienced it. I'm sure you've all heard a song that just made you remember; not any one memory in particular, maybe just a time or a place, or an age when everything was easier and better.
And as we neared Jill's house and Goodbye Waves And Driveways came on, it was all I could do to sit there and not completely break down in front of Jill. Because that song, for me, is the ultimate sound memory. It was my anthem, the story of my life a year ago. And, in many ways, it still is.
So when we pulled into Jill's driveway, I said goodbye and turned and walked down the hill and got into the minivan and plugged in my iPod and I put it back on: my anthem of years gone by. And with that old, familiar acoustic song playing, I drove to the high school and parked in my old parking spot and it was there that I broke down. I sat there in that minivan in that parking spot with that song and I looked at that building which was empty and deserted for the night and all I wanted to do was go inside and have it be last March. I sat there and I broke down because, as much as I might tell people otherwise, I miss my old life.
I miss high school and its drama and its set schedules and long days and crappy lunches and lockers and homeroom and that feeling of being cooped up in that building all day long and walking outside and feeling nothing but the warm spring air and running to your car because there's nothing like the feeling of driving with the windows down and your shitty pop punk music blaring after a long day at school.
I've talked to some of my friends who are seniors this year since I've been home, and all of them keep saying "I can't wait to get out of here." And part of me wants to say "You're crazy, enjoy it!" But, I also know that saying that is useless. Because I think back to last year at this time and I couldn't wait to leave, either. And I guess that's the awful irony of life for you: you don't realize how beautiful and great and simple something is until it's gone and all you can do is sit in a parking lot in a minivan on a warm spring night all alone, with that song that reminds you of it all, and remember.