Anybody that has seen me around my university’s campus has likely come to associate me with a set of headphones or earbuds. I’m listening to music almost constantly and on some days, even in my sleep. Music is a central part of the way I live and I recently caved and bought a subscription to the digital music service Tidal. One of my favorite playlists that I've made is titled “Soul/Funk,” which carries a significance deeper to me than my interest in the art. The sounds are distinctively African-American and I carry their beauty like a charm. They give me some sense of belonging that is uniquely difficult for many members of my ethnicity and generation. The horns, drums, and vocal harmonies fill me with pride, and often they wrap me in a blanket of nostalgia.
When I hear “oldies,” my mind’s eye is instantaneously flooded with images of my parents, vignettes of them in everyday life. Groups like The Isley Brothers, The Dells and Earth, Wind & Fire; and solo singers like Luther Vandross sang the soundtracks of my mom and dad’s youth. They accompanied times long gone and are now immortalized as griots to people my age. In a sense, they are musical storytellers and historians.
My parents are baby boomers, both born within 12 years of the end of World War II. As a kid, I was convinced that having older parents made me stand out from many of my peers. I don’t mean mistaken assumptions that my grey-haired father is my grandfather. Rather, I have attributed having a different set of interests and behavioral inclinations to having older parents than most of my classmates. I still think the wide generational gap has given me a sense of self-assurance early on as well as a deep appreciation for social movement and community.
Now that I’m older, my priorities have become more complex and defined. For 18 years, my career felt like a far-off target and I mostly focused on developing values. It always felt like I had all the time in the world to be what I wanted to be. Yet at 19, equipped with a smartphone and existentialism, I am hyper aware of the youth culture that lives around me. Everything I do would be considered just a little more meaningful, if only I had done it younger. You could always be younger, and that, would be better. Especially as a woman, I feel constant pressure to improve visibly and rapidly. As young as I am, I'm pressured by the thought "You’re not getting any younger." Over time, the nagging has graduated to statements like: "Your parents aren’t getting any younger."
Life is moving at a dizzying pace nowadays. The rush of urban American life coupled with the 40-year age gap serves to heighten my sense of urgency. My father will be 65 this year, before I am even 20. I feel like I'm tripping over my feet trip in an attempting to show my father the legacy that he has built through me. My mother has taken me to so many museums, trails and nature center events and I want to share with her all the work that I've done in the environmental field. I hope more than anything that I can conquer time and give my parents' pride and assurance. For now, I'm satisfied to know that I've made the first step.
