Midnight. The soft glimmer of the moon as I sat in the backseat of my mom’s dusty 2007 Dodge Durango. The windows were rolled down low letting the warm fall breeze whip my hair this way and that as we sped down the highway, and Lana Del Rey’s melodic voice was gliding smoothly through the speakers like a Petrel glides in the air. Lana was telling my story, singing my pain and fears. It was like she was in my mind, picking apart every damaged piece of me and making it into something divine and heavenly.

It was then that I learned about how great the magic of music is and how no matter how ridiculous a song may sound to one person, to another person it can be their story and their escape. One should not be judged for liking country, rock or even opera music because everyone uses music to deal with their experiences and escape real life.

Music is a personal affair, containing recollections of childhood, relationships and experiences in general that can serve as a therapy for people who are lost or broken. Whether music is rock or rap should not matter. All that matters is the way it feeds the soul and connects an individual to that otherworldly encounter of liberation.

Growing up, I was used to being teased for my ‘weird’ musical taste. Having a playlist filled with Baroque pop and Indie music warranted mocking laughter where I grew up, which was a place where rap and R&B music were the preferred genres.

I never got bent out of shape about what other people had to say about what I listened to, mostly because I found freedom in the lyrics, freedom that transported me to this mystical dimension full of possibilities and away from the reality of my misfortunes.

My music was my Neverland, a place where I basked in momentary happiness and stayed forever young, a place where my imagination became reality and my pain was blown away like a leaf blown by a mild wind.

Every time I think about music, I think about all the times when it was the most constant and comforting thing in my life.

I think about how when my first dog, Cane, got ran over, and Benjamin Clementine was there for me with his song “I Won’t Complain.” When I stabbed myself in the leg trying to open a can of pineapples, “Runaway” by Aurora was my go-to song. When I twisted my ankle being reckless, Banks distracted me from the pain with her song “Brain.” And in my times of loneliness, Frank Ocean was always my shoulder to lean on with his song “Swim.”

All of those songs lie in completely different musical genres, yet in some way, they brought me out of dark places and allowed my emotions to run wild instead of being locked inside my mind.

Music is music, and no person should be shamed for connecting with a song that others may not be fond of. Whatever brings light to someone’s darkness, or joy to an individual’s sadness should be celebrated no matter what.

Music is Neverland, and we should all get lost in it.