I have a secret. It’s been forever stashed in the I-hate-housework category, but it’s confession time. Yesterday I forced myself to clean the floors for the first time in a month and actually enjoyed it. Impossible you say? Nay nay, I say.
Turns out that playing music — extra loud — sort of flushes my system. As if there’s just so much room in there and that heart pounding beat pushes everything in its path aside. Maybe this is why teens are so attached to their earbuds. Escaping into that world likely dulls the angst of teenage life. Now I get it.
I’ve noticed this before. The foulest of moods, the poopiest of attitudes often dissipate — along with the filthy floors — in that hour of sweeping, vacuuming and mopping. Yesterday my stress therapy was an album called El Divo, the powerful voices of four tenors.
Music not only makes a dreaded job easier, but disrupting a bad or a sad mood resets me, often into a different way of seeing things. It has the power to suck the negative right out, and a different point of view changes everything. Frankly, anything that helps me get through the dreaded stuff is welcome because maids are expensive!
I love to dance, of course, so I’m especially susceptible to music that “compels” me to move. And that can be anything from tenors to country to pop to Mozart. Swiffers, brooms and vacuums are sorry substitutes for a human partner, but when it’s all you’ve got…
Music: my little mood maker.