For the past four months, I’ve been drowning my thoughts with podcasts to the point that they completely took over my playlist. I would measure travel time based on the number of 99% Invisible episodes it would take to get to my destination instead of a number of songs. Seth Godin’s Akimbo took the place of J. Cole. The Minimalists replaced Coldplay. And Tim Ferriss was the new Frank Ocean.
I did this because podcasts made me feel productive. No matter where I was, I was gaining information, I was learning, growing, getting better. No time wasted.
But I became addicted. I felt lost without my earphones and when I haven’t downloaded the episodes for the day. And eventually, it became a source of anxiety. Instead of being able to enjoy doing nothing at all, like I used to, my heart now beats faster at the thought of unproductivity, of just “chilling.” I’m not sure I still know what that word means. But last night, as I was rewatching Coldplay Live 2012 concert movie, I remembered. “I really missed music,” I told myself. Who even says that?
So today I drove to work and back with Mylo Xyloto to measure my travel time. Around 6 songs on the way and 7 songs back. Damn, I missed music.