I sat there, momentarily stunned, as I attempted to explain who Sarah McLachlan is to my babysitter. “Oh, right,” she chirped. “I think my best friend’s dad was trying to sell some extra tickets to that concert.” Oh, the agony.
Sarah McLachlan: the voice that defined my angst-filled high school years. The woman who comforted me through the tumultuous college experience. The artist whose Christmas album is my perennial favorite. The one who now writes tender songs for her children, songs I wish to share with mine. Sarah has been the soundtrack of my life, and now, she felt like a relic from a bygone era to my 18-year-old babysitter, further reminding me of my age.
With resolve, I squared my shoulders, glanced at my husband—who kindly agreed to join me for her concert—and marched to the car. “I am definitely not old,” I insisted to myself. “These fabulous new shoes are from… well, DSW, and this shirt is from… okay, Belk, but whatever. I AM NOT OLD!”
Upon arriving at the theater—a proper one, mind you, with plush red seats and assigned seating—I surveyed the audience and felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me. Couples, mostly middle-aged, filled the seats. The men, dressed in casual jeans and collared shirts, trailed behind their wives who sported various stylish black tops. I spotted older attendees, too, complete with jean shorts, socks, sandals, and the classic baseball cap.
I took a small comfort in not being the oldest person there. However, the absence of anyone under 30—save for a little girl with her mother—made me acutely aware of my age. Is this what Sarah McLachlan represents now? A concert for mothers and their young daughters?
Suddenly, fatigue hit me. I was out late, my feet ached from wearing heels for the first time in months, and all I wanted was to return to the cozy embrace of my sweatpants and a good book. Yet, holding a glass of red wine, we navigated our way to our seats. As the lights dimmed and Sarah stepped on stage, I forgot all about feeling old.
As her voice washed over me, I was transported back in time. I recalled the heartaches of my youth, being pulled from my arts school, dancing passionately in a dim racquetball court while her songs played on repeat. I remembered driving down I-85 post-breakup, belting out my feelings as the wind whisked my tears away.
That night, as Sarah performed songs that traced the timeline of my life, I didn’t just reminisce; I relived those moments. I was that college girl again, grappling with insecurities and finding my way. I felt the thrill of my diploma in hand, the world ahead of me.
As the evening unfolded and the music wrapped around me like a warm blanket, tears streamed down my face. I embraced my high school self, whispering, “Don’t fret. I see your life now, and you wouldn’t believe the wild and wonderful journey ahead. If I told you where you’d go, you’d be amazed. So trust me, it will work out. Just sit back and enjoy the music.”
Like all unforgettable nights, it ended too soon. Stripped down yet invigorated, I climbed into the car, child seats staring back at me, and we made our way home to relieve our babysitter.
“How was the show?” she asked.
“Absolutely amazing. You should definitely check her out sometime!”
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Summary
This article reflects on a concert experience with Sarah McLachlan, exploring themes of nostalgia, aging, and the powerful connection between music and memory. The author shares personal anecdotes that illustrate how the artist’s music has been a constant throughout her life, ultimately concluding that embracing these memories allows her to celebrate her past and present.