Life on Shuffle: Living with a Jukebox Brain
Let me give you a tiny glimpse of what it's like to live between my ears…
It’s like a radio station with no off switch.
Random song lyrics. All. Day. Long.
Someone says a word, and boom—a new song starts playing. I read something, and the mental DJ hits “next.” I walk into a room and suddenly I'm in a completely different musical genre. I wake up with music in my head. I fall asleep with it playing in the background tabs of my brain. This isn’t a new thing—I’ve functioned like this for as long as I can remember.
And somewhere along my healing journey, I stopped fighting it.
Instead of seeing it as a distraction, I’ve started tuning in. I realized this never-ending jukebox was actually trying to tell me something. My mind and body have always been communicating with me in the only language they know: music.
Here are a few examples that literally popped into my head while writing this:
Stressed Out: “Pressure” by Billy Joel (this has played during every test I’ve taken since middle school—no joke)
Sad: “Sad Songs Say So Much” by Elton John
Angry: “One” by Metallica
In Love: “Don’t Let Go” by En Vogue
Sometimes the songs are general, but more often, they’re eerily specific. And when I really pay attention, I realize: it’s not just noise. It’s a message. My internal jukebox has been helping me self-soothe, especially in times of stress or when past trauma decides to stage an encore.
Lately? It’s been “Love Rollercoaster” by the Ohio Players.
Why? Because that’s exactly how life has felt: a full-on emotional thrill ride. My hormones, my business, my relationships, my healing journey—it’s all been ups, downs, loops, and unexpected drops. And honestly? I kind of love the song. I’ve been leaning into it. Let’s call it my version of dancing in the rain, except with better bass.
But recently I realized: I’ve been white-knuckling this ride. Clutching the safety harness like I’m in danger of flying off. I needed to stop gripping so hard and trust the track beneath me. The ride is happening. I can’t make it stop so I can “get off.” I’m buckled in. I might as well enjoy it.
That’s how I’ve started to see my healing journey. There are moments of smooth momentum, and then—bam—a sharp left turn like I’m on The Wild Mouse at Hershey Park. I’ll feel like I’m making real progress, and suddenly everything moves backwards like The Sea Serpent in Wildwood (which I hate, by the way—backwards rollercoasters are evil).
Most of the time, it’s a mixed bag. And honestly? Sometimes it feels like the shoulder restraints are missing entirely, like I’m on Steel Vengeance at Cedar Point—barrel rolling through life with my upper half flapping in the wind.
Life is wild.
Big highs. Deep lows. Sometimes you need a slow pull to get started. Other times you shoot off like a jet on an aircraft carrier. But no matter what kind of coaster you’re on… you’re on it. And it can be fun—if you let it be.
So I’ve decided to turn the volume up.
Crank the soundtrack to 11.
And throw my hands in the air, even if I scream the whole way.