The Shower Music

Most mornings, I wake up and I shower.

Most recently, I'm up early enough to make every move as quietly as I can, ever-aware of our sleeping baby. Before this stage of life, however, when I showered, I listened to music.

I can’t pinpoint when I started listening to music in the shower, but it must have been at some point in 2008 or later, when I got my first smartphone, and thus it first became reasonable for me to bring a music playing device into the bathroom with me.

I imagine that it started as a novelty. I love listening to music when I drive, when I cook, when I clean—showering was yet another opportunity to inject music into a routine activity.

But then, it became functional, too. Most of the songs I listen to run between three and five minutes long, and so it functioned as a timer. During the weekday rush, if I listened to more than one full song, I knew that I ought to wrap up my shower and get on with my day. On the weekends, I could typically allow myself the luxury of two or three full songs.

All of this seemed logical enough to me, and it became second nature to scroll through albums and playlists on my phone while I was brushing my teeth. At some points, I’d just downloaded new music I was excited to listen to. Other times, a particular song fit a holiday or special occasion. More often, the music was a more arbitrary choice.

I didn’t give any of this much thought until, after a the better part of a year of living with Heather, she asked me how I chose my songs to listen to in the morning. I stumbled through a clumsy response about listening to whatever I wanted to hear. She suggested I write about the decision-making process instead.

And maybe there is more to it.

More often than not, I listen to upbeat music in the morning. The old time rock and roll. The top forty. The hip hop. The folk. Each of these genres represents some differences--in part a reflection of my mood in those early stages in the day, but also with the acknowledgment that whichever song I choose is likely to have an impact on the day to follow. If I dance to Bruno Mars in the shower, I might strut through my morning commute. An Aerosmith song from the eighties adds a little more purpose to my step.

But not all of my shower music is so energizing. There are those softer mornings when my head aches from not quite enough sleep or coffee, and a ballad from Counting Crows or Sara Bareilles or Damien Rice just feels more correct. I tend to proceed into such days a little more pensive, reflective, or even nostalgic.

There are times I've feared I’ve complicated my mornings too much. At various points in my life, I’ve started the day by turning on my portable DVD player or open Netflix on my phone and watching an episode of a sitcom or fifteen minutes of a movie while I make coffee and pour a bowl cereal, after which point I read a chapter of a book over breakfast, then get to my morning shower song.

Since having a child, most of these luxuries fell by the wayside.

Still, I loved that life at times. That feeling of experiencing so many different forms and turning on different parts of my brain in the process. Other times, the choice of what to watch, which cereal to eat, and how much to read, let alone which song to listen to felt like too much.

I’ve learned to grow more flexible with routines. To accept quiet more. To go with the first box of cereal I lay my hand on. Not to keep track of the number of pages read and to focus rather on the principle that reading in the morning is a good way to get started, no matter how few pages or even paragraphs I actually get through.

I’ve grown a little less picky about song choice for the shower, too. But I haven’t let go of the music altogether.

I still recognize those precious moments in the shower as moments that I have the control to listen to what I want to listen to, without consideration of anyone else’s preferences, or the courtesy of keeping music low to not disturb others, or succumbing to whatever’s playing over the fitness center speakers on a given day.

I recognize those moments as setting a tone for a day.

And, when I stop to think about it, I still recognize the beauty of human voices. Guitars. Basses. Drums. Pianos. The way they work in concert. The way they butt against one another. The way that they create something that exceeds the sum of their parts.

I leave the shower clean, refreshed, and just a little bit new. Sometimes, even snapping my fingers.