I recently bought a boombox — yes, an actual boombox that plays cassettes. I was floored that such a thing still exists on the shelves at Best Buy. I originally bought it so I could hear the voice of a loved one who has passed. I found some old cassette tapes and wanted to listen again. That experience has been deeply meaningful.
Then, a few days ago, I was searching for a particular CD in my house and stumbled upon a different one altogether: a live recording from the Marktoberdorf Chamber Choir Competition. My college choir, the University of Louisville Cardinal Singers, performed there in 2005. It was one of the most extraordinary musical experiences of my life — an honor, a joy, a stretch, a moment that formed us.
And I remembered… this new boombox plays CDs too!
So I put it in — and it still works. What amazed me was how instantly the music returned to my body. I hadn’t thought about these pieces in years. I couldn’t have sung any of them on command. But the moment the track started playing, I knew every entrance, every vowel, every breath.
Only one piece on the recording is in English. These texts and these musical notes were just lying there dormant in my body in German, Latin, Spanish, and Latvian. One track title didn’t immediately ring a bell, but the second it began, I found myself singing every word in quick Russian, perfectly in sync.
These things live in us.
The moments in our lives when collective effervescence strikes — when we belong to something larger than ourselves, and when meaning is shared rather than carried alone — they stay. They take root in the body. They shape memory from the inside out.
It has been nearly twenty years. And still, in a way that shocked me, I was able to access all of this again.
If these moments linger in us this deeply, maybe it’s worth seeking them — and making them — as often as we can.
Smuggling Grace 