Arts Vanity: Small-Town, Mindless Driving Breeds Both Great Playlists and Self-Discovery

Learning how to drive, like for many others, was a pivotal moment in my teenage life. The autonomy I was afforded was exciting, and — even better — full control of the aux gave me far more confidence than needed. With a vivid imagination and little to do in my hometown, this combination was naturally powerful.

Growing up, I loved going on drives with my parents because it gave me the opportunity to devise fictional scenarios based on the scenery. Rainy, mountain drives led me to pretend I got broken up with by the love of my life, and sunny, city drives in uptown Charlotte had me hopeful and picturing my ideal life — modeling in New York Fashion Week and starring in my own reality television show. I took a celebrity lookalike quiz once and got Kim Kardashian, so I think it’s fate, actually. As I myself began to drive, this fictional scenario turned into imagining what I realistically wanted out of life.

Living in a small town doesn’t give you much to do. Besides going to the local Walmart to sit in the parking lot or eating at either Waffle House or Cook Out, depending on how much drama you wanted to overhear from other customers, people are left to find their own joy somehow, somewhere. While a group activity would fall under one of those three prime locations, independent ventures of my own would consist of traveling across my county with little more than my thoughts and attitude for the day.

Being from the rural South, I often felt like there were certain interests and characteristics one needed to embody to be considered “Southern.” While my friends seemingly had sweet, iced tea in their veins, I only felt “Southern” by my geographic positioning, not by way of living. Where they would voluntarily choose to listen to Riley Green and Jason Aldean, I would choose any other genre. It wasn’t until I started driving that I understood what the appeal of country music was, and consequently, what being “Southern” could mean. In staring at pastures and mountains while begrudgingly listening to Zach Bryan’s “Heading South” and Morgan Wallen’s “Everything I Love” by recommendation, I realized how much I truly loved the essence of where I lived. Respect and community are massive pillars, and while I never quite understood this sentiment by word of mouth, something clicked through song. Suddenly, free spiritedness felt right and my Southern drawl became more pronounced — rah rah Car’lina! Now at college, my “going home” playlist gets its fair share of streams.

In high school, when the then-love-of-my-life-who-didn’t-know-they-were-the-love-of-my-life committed some travesty against me, such as talking to another girl at our high school’s basketball and soccer games, trust, there was a deadly combination of Taylor Swift’s “tolerate it,” “The Archer,” and “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve” being streamed as I made my way back home. Sometimes, I would drive extra loops around the vicinity of my house just so I could listen to as many songs as I needed to get over my feelings. Eventually, these got added to their own playlist, which I still use when I want to re-experience this keen teenage frustration, best illustrated by what I listened to at the time. Most recently, Lizzy McAlpine’s “Pushing It Down and Praying” has been on repeat. As I’ve found more melancholic music, I’ve fallen in love with the indie pop and soft rock genres that oftentimes encapsulate the feeling I’m attempting to materialize with song.

Maybe most importantly, the upkeep of these playlists have helped me learn more about myself. Setting my standards high, both with respect to my career and personal life, has never felt better. As I’ve gotten older and conquered my I-85 fears, I’ve accumulated enough driving hours to make my car enthusiast dad proud, but at the same time, I’ve accumulated enough meditation time to aspire for great things and positive attitudes, making myself proud. I’m also actively aspiring to someday listen to Harry Styles’ fourth studio album so I can make a new playlist.

—If anyone would like to develop her life into a film, incoming Music Executive Emily G. Fallas-Chacon can be reached at [email protected]. She would also appreciate any updates from Columbia Records on the progress of Harry Styles’ fourth studio album.