Mick Jagger sees a red door and wants to paint it black. Don’t we all, though?
When I was a kid, music was a big deal on my mom’s side of the family. It often spoke for us when we couldn’t, or didn’t know how. There was music for getting together, for catching up, and for saying goodbye. Skiing had songs for the chairlift and for looking good on the way down. We had music for special occasions and even for reading books.
But mostly we had music for long car rides.
My life’s been full of those; long car rides. That’s when time always seemed to stand still. The destinations didn’t change all that much, rotating between my mom’s, my dad’s, and my cousins’ houses in Massachusetts, as well as my grandparent’s place in Vermont. Each had a soundtrack. Whether we were driving through falling leaves, piles of snow, or a coastal breeze, mom would always hit the back button after Sympathy For The Devil played. I always knew she’d look over and ask “again?”
My answer was always “yes.”
Music both covered the silence and created it in my family. One of my cousins, Colby, is older than me. Chris is technically younger, but barely—only by a few months. Those two fought like crazy back then, deeply committed to the role of “bickering brothers.” Picture black eyes, bloody lips, and too many boogers used as weapons. Naturally, it was my job to sit between them in the car. My kiddo-sized barrier wasn’t enough to stop the attacks, though.
Those long car rides are where we began our education in classic rock.
In hindsight, it was the perfect distraction. Squabbling got replaced by trivia, and family gatherings turned into game shows... you’d prove yourself by answering,“No, Ronnie Wood wasn’t in the Stones at first! He replaced Mick Taylor on guitar!!” before anyone else could.
I remember when we went to see The Rolling Stones at Fenway Park. I don’t know if we were the youngest ones there, but Colby, Chris, and I were definitely the only kids in our section. Our grandfather, Vladi, didn’t stop smiling once. He was enjoying the show, but I also think he was just proud to be passing down a musical legacy to a new generation.
All these years later, I’m driving through Vermont, watching red and yellow leaves fall. These roads haven’t changed much, but my destinations did. I live here now. These days, my long car rides are mostly solo and there’s no fighting to be found. The soundtrack’s different, but not by much—everything’s rooted in classic rock. Still, I want to turn back time. Parts of it, anyway. Certain themes have shaped my life like levels of a video game… they just keep repeating themselves until I can figure out how to work through them. The soundtrack helps me cope while I do it.
When I see a red door and want to paint it black, it’s because it distracts me. It lets me knowingly hit replay before moving on.
Think of a song you love—what chapter of your life is it from?
onward.
If you enjoyed reading this, I write short reflections like it every day as part of an email series called BUDS (Becoming Unobstructed Daily Snippets). Think of them like field notes for navigating agency, grief, and creativity in daily life.
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