Common experience

People don't always get the same things. What we get or don't get depend heavily on our experiences. The sharing of certain experiences can bring us together--even if for a moment--from worlds apart. The opposite of that keep us separate indefinitely with an invisible wall in the middle: what I hear, you do not; what you see, I do not; what I feel, you do not even think exists.

This is shown even in music. There is no surprise in that, really. Music is highly subjective--if it were not so, there would not be such variety of tastes. More than tastes, however, is memory association and mentality. In college, I once did a paper on the effects of music on psychophysiology. One of the research studies I looked at used three categories of music (happy, sad, and scary) to evaluate the physiological effects on individuals. For the sad category, the researchers chose Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings. This was baffling to me because the piece is one of my favorite, and listening to it always makes me happy and satisfied, not sad. I played a segment of each piece to the class when I presented my paper. When I informed them that the Barber was supposed to be sad, there were nods across the room. Out of curiosity, I asked my classmates why the piece made them sad. One person said, "Because they play that at funerals," and the rest agreed with her. It is therefore the memory associated with the music that induces sad feelings, not necessarily the music itself.

After playing in the first room tonight, my guide asked me (in a very nice way) why I always seem to play music that's "kind of...I don't know...sad" (this is the second time we have worked together). I was slightly surprised by her comment, but quickly realized that while a healthy, energetic person like her can often take on more stimulation (hence, look for more upbeat music), she does not hear all the subtlety in a quieter music and recognize its calming effect on the patients. This is by no means a matter of musical training; it is, like I said, a matter of experience. A marathon runner does not look for benches on the street to sit down and rest. On the other hand, a frail person who has walked a little farther than usual appreciates any place that offers his tired legs a chance to recuperate from those extra steps.

There is something extra when I share music with some patients--not tastes, not memory association...something else. It may be the experience we share of physical and emotional suffering. It may be the opportunity that music provides us to breathe something other than the mixture of alcohol, urine and sweat. Whatever it is, the music that fills the rooms and the hearts touch us in a very special way. And even though I do not know them and they know me only by whatever syllables my guides choose to pronounce my name, we are--together--satisfied, not sad.