In a moment of disbelief, I attempted to clarify who Sarah McLachlan is.
“Oh, right,” she said, nodding. “I think my best friend’s dad was trying to sell some extra tickets he had to that show.”
Please, just shoot me now.
Sarah McLachlan: the artist who provided the soundtrack to my tumultuous high school years. The voice that reassured me I wasn’t alone during the isolating roller coaster of college life. The woman behind my favorite Christmas album, and now, the one penning love songs for her children, which I, in turn, dedicate to mine. McLachlan has been the continuous playlist in the soundtrack of my life.
To my 18-year-old babysitter, Sarah McLachlan is a stranger, a painful reminder of how dated I feel. With a determined step, I turned to my husband—who graciously agreed to accompany me to her concert—and made my way to the car.
“I am so not old,” I assured myself. “I’m rocking these fantastic new shoes from… well, DSW. And this shirt? It’s from… okay, Belk. But still! I AM NOT OLD.”
Arriving at the theater—a place with plush red velvet seats and assigned seating, not a raucous bar or concert hall—I looked around and felt the weight of my age.
Surrounded by middle-aged couples enjoying a night out, the men in jeans and collared shirts avoided eye contact, while the women buzzed with excitement in their own versions of black tops. There were older couples too; men in jean shorts, socks, and sandals topped with baseball caps, and women in the draped blouses that Chico’s is famous for.
I wasn’t the oldest person there! But, oddly, that made me feel even older. The only person under 30 was an 8-year-old girl attending with her mother. Is this what Sarah McLachlan has become—a concert for little girls and their moms?
Suddenly, fatigue washed over me. I was out past my bedtime, worn out from chasing my children, my feet aching from wearing heels for the first time in months, and all I wanted was to return home to my sweatpants and a good book. Those comfy moments never make me feel old; they make me feel at ease.
Yet, with red wine in hand, we found our seats. As the lights dimmed, Sarah stepped onto the stage without an opening act.
The moment her music filled the air, I was transported back in time. Instantly, I was no longer old. Her voice enveloped me, and I was reminded of my youth—the pain of being uprooted from my arts school, the passion I poured into my dancing in dimly-lit spaces while her songs played in the background. I recalled the heartache of a breakup as I drove down I-85, tears streaming down my face, singing along with Sarah as the wind whipped away my sorrow.
As she wove through her discography, I didn’t just reminisce; I was transported back to those moments. I was that college girl, wrapped in the struggle of finding my place, curling up in my dorm room with heartache, yet bursting with hope for the future when that diploma finally landed in my hands.
As the evening progressed, the beautiful melodies resonated throughout the theater, and I found myself in tears. I embraced my high school self and whispered, “Don’t worry. I’m living your life now, and you would never believe the incredible journey ahead. If I told you where you’ll go, you wouldn’t understand it. Trust that it’ll all work out. Just sit back and enjoy the music.”
The perfect night ended all too soon. Refreshed yet stripped down, we climbed into our car, the child seats waiting in the back, and silently headed home to relieve our babysitter.
“How was the show?” she asked.
“Amazing. You should really check her out sometime.”
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Summary:
This reflective piece captures the nostalgia and emotional journey of attending a Sarah McLachlan concert, highlighting the disconnect between generations while celebrating the power of music to transport and rejuvenate. The author navigates feelings of age and youth, ultimately finding joy in the memories that define her past.