There's this pocket of time after dinner when the house gets quiet and I find myself reaching for my phone without really thinking about it. Tonight I was stretched out on the couch, that cream linen draping over me like I'd melted into the cushions, just browsing through playlists while some concert played on the screen in front of me. The TV was doing its thing—all those stage lights and energy I wasn't quite ready to commit to—but my attention kept drifting to my phone instead.
I think that's the thing about music now. It's so easy to have it everywhere that sometimes you forget to actually sit with it. You're reading reviews, checking what your friends are listening to, adding songs to seven different lists you'll probably never revisit. The phone becomes this strange middle ground between the music itself and whatever else you're supposed to be doing.
But then I picked up my guitar, and it was like the phone just fell away. No algorithm, no endless scroll. Just the weight of the wood, the feel of the strings under my fingers, and whatever came out. The candle on the table flickered, there was wine sitting there getting warmer, headphones draped nearby like they'd given up competing for my attention. For a while it was just me and the guitar and the actual, physical act of making something.
I think I needed that reminder. That sometimes the best playlists are the ones you create without thinking, just by playing. No interface required.
