[4] I time travel with Pete Wentz all the time, he just doesn’t know it.

You see, I measure my time not in years, but by albums. I associate different events in my life with the music I was listening to at the time, and because of that, I’m flooded with memories every time I press play.

The Space Jam soundtrack takes me back to 2nd grade, riding bicycles in my friend’s driveway. Incubus’ Morning View sounds like MTV, 7th grade, and my parents' divorce. Fall Out Boy’s Take This To Your Grave sounds like making friends after moving to a new town freshman year. Dashboard Confessional sounds like writing letters with gel pens during class and falling for my first high school crush.

Who needs a time machine when you’ve got Spotify?

But admittedly, I am still looking for an album that sounds like growing up and knowing what the hell I’m doing. I’ll be taking recommendations, but first, let’s get into today’s newsletter:

Sucks to be Stuck in the Sunk

Two weeks ago we were searching for a place to watch the Jones vs. Gane UFC fight. We made plans, got all dolled up¹ , sent our kid off to a babysitter, and headed out to meet friends at a local bar. But once we got there, the staff said they hadn’t bought the fight and would not be airing it² .

“I’ll uh, wait to get a drink once we know if we’re staying,” I said.

We had a decision to make: head to someone’s house and buy the fight ourselves, or search for another spot. We were all hungry and ill-prepared for hosting, so we unanimously opted for option #2.

Twenty-five minutes later we arrived at Bar #2. The food wasn’t great, but they had the fight on. It was pretty packed and we had to sit outside in the cold, but they had the fight on. And the volume was hard to hear because some kids were yelling on the patio right next to us, but… the fight was on!

If you’ve never watched UFC, there are lots of fights leading to the main card event. Like, hours worth of fights. So as the evening continued, we started to get a little tired. We yawned in between laughing. We stood up periodically to give our butts a break from the uncomfortable chairs. We shivered when the wind picked up³ . Don’t get me wrong, we were having fun…for the first few hours. But had it not been for Jones vs. Gane, we all would’ve left long before the first punch was thrown in the main card event.

So why did we stay? I’m certain it’s because we convinced ourselves that we had already invested too much of our time and energy to quit now. We were stuck and spiraling deeper and deeper into the murky waters of the “sunk cost fallacy”.

The longer we stayed, the more determined we were to stay put.

We did eventually make it to the end, but since that night, I’ve tried to be more aware of my decisions and what drives them. I don’t want to be stuck in the sunk. It sucks. I’ve done it with boyfriends, jobs, and friendships. We all do. But I want to try to override that thought process and beat my brain. I want to go home early and put on sweatpants, damnit.

^{1 . Wore something nicer than sweatpants.
2 . But they were playing some killer 2000s pop music and HGTV.
3 . Sweatpants would’ve been nice.}

A Seven Nation Armchair

Two years ago, I bought my husband a bass for Christmas (the slappin-da kind not the fish kind). It was one of those gifts I knew I had absolutely nailed. I was unwaveringly certain that I had outdone myself. And I did; he loved it. But aside from banging on drums in a friend’s garage in college like one of those wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube men, he’d never played an instrument before¹ .

Novice as he was, he was thrilled about learning something new. And since I had dabbled in guitar in highschool² , I helped him google tabs so neither of us would have to learn how to actually read music.

He immediately started practicing and didn’t stop. Metallica. Black Sabbath. Nirvana³ . He always found time to practice a riff here and there while waiting for me to get ready or before reading a bedtime story to our kid.

But I remember how odd it felt when he first started playing. Watching him in the living room, with one foot propped up on the arm of our recliner. His go-to song was the intro to Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes. Those same seven notes. Over and over again. Searing into my brain as I brushed my little girl’s hair. As we watched Paw Patrol. As we flossed teeth and cut fingernails and read bedtime stories. He played so often that it eventually didn’t feel foreign to see him propped up on the armchair any more. And eventually, those seven notes just slowly faded into background noise.

Night after night, my daughter and I were his audience. His biggest fans. We still are. But we don’t always cheer him on, because he isn’t always performing for us. It has become comfortable now, a ritual of sorts.

Everyone deserves the freedom to get lost in something. For him, at least for now, it’s that bass.

As I listen to him play tonight, I find myself wondering if one day, years from now when we’re both gone, The White Stripes will play and my daughter will think back to the times when her father was lost in something he loved. I wonder if it will take her back to the times she and I laughed in the living room, begging him to play something new. Anything other than that one song⁴ . I wonder how she’ll measure her time - if she’ll look back on the little things as fondly as I do.

And I wonder what other memories she’ll make from the background noise in our life.

_{1 . Unless playing Rock Band on expert mode in 2008 counts.
2 . I even played Wonderwall in a talent show once. I wish I was kidding.
3 . And lots of other bands that grit their teeth and scream “HEY”
4 . Hey babe if you’re reading this I’m totally kidding. Keep doing your thing!}

I know I’ve gushed publicly over The Last of Us on twitter for weeks now. But if you still haven’t watched it, I’m going to need you to trust me on this and dive in right after you close this newsletter. And if you don’t have an HBO account, definitely don’t ask a friend for their password. Seriously, don’t ask them to borrow it for 2 days while you binge what is arguably the best series of 2023. You shouldn’t text them right this minute. Please.

I dare you to listen to some music. Something old.
Until next time. -cd