Keep Calm and Vinyl On

Fighting life’s demons one record at a time

Photo by Félix Rochaix on Unsplash

My first medical examination as a newborn baby was supposed to be an uneventful affair.

At least, that’s what my mum thought… until she saw the look of perplexity on the doctor’s face.

Without talking, he held me in his arms, placed me on the table and examined me thoroughly.

He was frowning. Puzzled. Searching.

At this point, my mum’s heartbeat was racing at a million miles per hour. What was going on?

He gave her a sympathetic look and said:

This is the most nervous baby I have ever seen.

I was 2 weeks old. He was near retirement.

For most of my life, these words carried a particular type of weight. Not the defining, irreversible sense of gloom a long-term condition can bring. That wasn’t the case here. Not just yet.

I was, put simply, way more nervous than average.

Babbling, and talking, and reading and writing came a lot sooner than expected.

Grimaces. Anger. Feelings made abundantly clear by way of facial expression. Stubborn to the point of exhaustion.

Tears. Laughter. The biggest smiles and angriest looks you’ve ever seen, in equal measure. Never a dull moment.

My nervous system aside, I had a beautiful childhood. Money was tight but the heart was big.

Then things got rocky. Stuff got diagnosed. ADHD. OCD. So many acronyms. Eating disorders. Body dysmorphia. Twelve years of psychotherapy.

Perfectionism. Anxiety. So much anxiety.

Helpless with math. A talent for languages. Invincible at debates. Worst sense of direction.

Music came to the rescue. Tapes, discs, whatever. Big or small. Didn’t matter. Any format was better than no format.

Physical records calmed me down in ways nothing else could. They anchored me like roots but gave me wings to feel the wind for myself.

I could talk about the superiority of vinyl until I’m blue in the face. That timeless, analogue sound. The last bastion of truly lossless audio available to the average consumer.

The tenacity to argue my case never eludes me, you see? That’s my comfort zone.

What’s definitely not my comfort zone is dealing with the unpredictability of what a new day may bring. The fear that the happy life I’ve worked so hard to build could be snatched away from me at any minute.

The randomness of a surprise, no matter how well meaning. A change of plan. Being asked for directions.

Have you noticed how your stylus always finds the way? It’s fascinating to watch.

Soothing.

As soothing as knowing exactly when a record begins and ends, or being able to see what’s on the other side.

Soothing like the firm grip of a tonearm as it lets the stylus work its magic, knowing it will find the way.

Please let me play pretend, in this sacred hour, that I can navigate the world as easily as my stylus travels through the grooves.

Within the comfort of my vinyl room, I can make peace with the cards I’ve been dealt.

It sounds complicated, but it really isn’t.

Underneath it all, behind the air of defiance, piercing eyes and debonair persona, there’s just a troubled and vulnerable kid, trying to trick the pace of the world by making records spin.

Thanks for reading/listening. Happy spinning!