The Nostalgia Box — Why I’ll Never Throw Away My Old iPod
This is my iPod. It’s not a fancy new one. It doesn’t even have a touch-screen. Time after time, though, I’ve rejected disdainful suggestions to upgrade.
Why? It’s difficult to explain. I’ll do my best though.
On this iPod is a beloved collection of music. Music I’ve collected from 2004 to around 2011. In total there are 1459 songs, using 7.3GB of space. A tiny fraction, given today’s available options.
A few years ago I stored the entirety of my music library on an external hard drive. Somewhat predictably, the hard drive malfunctioned. It’s now lost to the ether.
The only place this particular collection of music exists is on the little grey soldier pictured above.
Using the shuffle option reveals an eclectic mix.
The melancholy of Eva Cassidy’s Songbird gives way to the intensity of Rory Gallagher ripping his way through Bullfrog Blues. The edgy protests of Bob Dylan’s Hurricane are preceded by Rik Mayall and his Young Ones butchering Cliff Richard’s Living Doll.
A glance through the artists’ library sees The Beatles, Jimi Hendrix and Johnny Cash resting comfortably alongside Boyzone, Craig David and Katy Perry.
But the content doesn’t tell the true story. The true worth of mine, and anyone’s music collection lies in the feelings they evoke.
2004 to 2011 brought me through the ages of 17 to 24, a hugely important period in anyone’s life. At the time we called it ‘growing up’. In hindsight, we probably didn’t.
As another of the songs puts it, we had still got growing up to do. For me, the music on my iPod can transport me back to relive the moments, both innocuous and significant, as I meandered from adolescence to adulthood.
It conjures the inimitable feeling of teenage friendship. Of early summer procrastination on a distant school football pitch.
The drama of teenage relationships and exam preparation, magnified at the time but now merely a footnote.
The joy of success dancing with the affirmation of friendship. The heartbreak of funerals that remembered lives lost well before their time.
The realisation that what you’d come to know was ending, pangs of sadness mixing uneasily with the excitement of the next step.
It’s launching out into the deep with your friends at your side. Searching for that first home from home, unsure of your surroundings but excited to render them familiar.
The tentative first steps into somewhere new, discovering new things, new experiences, new friends.
Drunken arguments that threaten your closest friendships. Late-night conversations diminutised by the opening of curtains.
It’s watching your siblings growing up. Watching their talents spring to fruition in front of your eyes. Smiling as they follow the path in their own unique way.
It’s how the slightest mention of a shared memory between siblings can bring reminiscence so vividly to life.
It’s warm summer nights in Donegal, sipping cider and staring at the silent beauty of a moonlit lake.
The 5am walk home from the party, where the sun begins to rise, dawn begins to break and anything seems possible.
It’s sitting in the house in the depths of winter, wrapped in anything you can put your hands on, not a penny in the gas meter but warmth in conversation and laughter.
It’s summer jobs grudgingly fulfilled and gleefully discarded in the delirious rush of maturing youth.
It’s falling in love. The excitement of meeting someone who speaks directly to you.
The nervous excitement that drives you forward, that makes you want to spend time with that person.
The sheer joy when the feeling is reciprocal and you can begin to plan a life together.
Then, all of a sudden, the disorientating mix of sadness and excitement returns. Graduation.
The real world is looming and no amount of sitting on the Big Fish with a carry-out staring out at the sun rising on the Lagan will change that.
Priorities change. Some drift away, others drift closer, but music remains, metronomic in its consistency.
2004 to 2011 was a shared table of emotion. There was joy, despair, fear, excitement and the rush of a life kicking into gear.
Central to it all was friendship, love and people.
When I listen to the music on this old iPod, exams, qualifications and jobs don’t even feature.
The people, the moments and feelings that this collection creates for me are the reason I’ll never update this iPod.
Some people self-consciously ask themselves; ‘What does my music collection say about me?’
Have a listen and ask yourself the more important question:
What does my music collection say to me?
Things are different now. At the tap of a screen you can find any song you like.
The simple pleasure of walking around with a soundtrack unfolding in your ears is an almost twee notion.
Nostalgia is important. It puts smiles on our faces and music can ignite its flame with ease.
In my Nostalgia Box lies that intoxicating hit of warmth and reminiscence.
I’ll never throw it out.
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