They say any two people in the world are connected by six degrees of separation. Through six people, I can reach the Queen of England or a fellow English major in Australia. Is it true? I’m not sure. I’m a bit skeptical, and quite frankly, I don’t really care. Even if I could somehow link myself to Kate Middleton or Kim Kardashian through distanced and detached brief moments of connections, what would it matter? The chances I’ll spend any time in the same room with either of them are slim. Sure, it’s kind of cool to think we’re all connected or something cheesy like that, but in reality 99% of the people on this planet will have absolutely no impact on my life.

But with music, that’s another story. All of those links and connections waiting for me to find them; now that’s going to change my life. Instead of trying to prove we’re all connected, we should spend the time focusing on our six songs of separation. Hear me out. You like a band or a certain song, and by that I mean you really like it. You’re immersed in its world, and you’ve reached the level of a true fan. Not the elitist kind, but the kind where it’s become part of your identity and you feel a sense of pride every time you mention it. You like it enough to watch interviews, learn about their influences, and talk to other fans. Something catches your eye. Maybe they play a cover at a concert. You look it up and you love it. Repeat.

Let me put it in perspective. In eighth grade, I loved My Chemical Romance. I owned both of their concert DVDS, at least seven shirts, and when I got MCR pens for Christmas, I was excited. I read Song-fics, which gave me “Lips of an Angel,” The Used, and Taking Back Sunday. I watched interviews where they praised Pink Floyd, and I watched a Frank Iero fan-video with the song “Don’t Stop Me Now.” I watched The Wall and and when I eventually listened to “Under Pressure,” I found David Bowie. I heard Bowie’s cover of “Nature Boy,” which led me to Nat King Cole. It goes on.

I could make a pedigree of all the music I love, and it’d be a lot more personal than any family tree I made in elementary school. The branches would show the bonds between all of the music I’ve found and rediscovered. Granted, it’d look like a very incestuous family tree, since there are very few linear connections when it comes to music. Songs revisit us at unexpected moments, and there’d be empty spaces for the songs I’m still waiting to find. Secretly, each song would hold and nurture a piece of my life, whether it be a fond memory, an old friend, or past feelings. There’d be sloppy Xs to cross out old meanings for new ones, since songs change as we change, and anyone who says you can’t disassociate a song from a bad memory just hasn’t tried hard enough. It’d be an utter mess, but that’s life. So maybe it’s not quite six degrees of separation when it comes to music, but if you trace back your musical lineage, it all comes together.

Back when I first started exploring the infinite world of music outside of my father’s iTunes library, I felt I had to know everything. I spent hours writing lists of the bands I needed to love and I desperately hunted for new music. In order to be a “true fan” (the elitist kind), I needed to know everything and I needed to know it now. As you can imagine, I was setting myself up to feel inadequate. But with the six songs of separation, you can relax. It’s all connected, and the Almighty deity of music will eventually lead you to all the songs you’re meant to love. You’ll never know everything, and maybe you haven’t met the song that’s going to change you’re life yet, but give it some time, and new branches will grow.

During my freshman year of college, I was eating a wrap at the dining hall during finals week. The radio was playing the college station, and no one seemed to notice when the beat-heavy pop was replaced with an old scratchy recording. The singer spoke about her house burning down with elegant apathy, as if she didn’t even care enough to make the effort to sing about it. When she did sing, her voice was raspy and deliberately underwhelming, and when her voice slightly picked up during “then let’s keep dancing,” I understood her sarcasm. My motivation in school was dwindling, and I could relate. I looked up the song and found out it was “Is That All There Is?” by Peggy Lee. It was exactly what I needed, and at that moment I knew I started a new chain. I was meant to hear that song at that moment, and if I came across the song on youtube, it wouldn’t have been the same.

I know I’m coming frighteningly close to sounding like someone who believes in fate. I am a strong opponent of the Nicholas Sparks agenda, I roll my eyes when people say anything was “meant to be,” and I have a hard time believing anything lasts forever. But what can I say? Music has that special way of sneaking in and bringing out the romantic side of people. So maybe it is fate, or the universe, or whatever you want to call it. We all need to believe in something, even if it is believing we’re going to eventually find the perfect lyric that explains everything. Maybe only people who need music think as strongly as I do, and maybe believing you’re somehow connected to the Queen by six random people is enough for some. But for me, I’ll map out my musical ancestry, and discover how my descendants Dr. Demento and Barry Manilow led me to the band I found yesterday.