I’ve always believed in the magick of music.
From the time I got my first cassette player at nine years old, music has felt like a portal. It helped me transcend whatever was happening in daily life. Through it, I found new sounds, learned new things, and brushed up against worlds far beyond my own. Music opened cultures to me. Lyrics taught me about life, and beats taught me how to let go.
Music even took me to Europe as a teenager. That still feels wild to say.
So for me, music has always been more than entertainment. It has been a companion, a teacher, and at times, a survival tool. Something to lean on while making your way through this strange life. What I never expected was that it would also become one of the sweetest ways I bond with my daughter.
Jettie is only eight, but she’s had her own Spotify account for years now. In our house, music is constant, so it only made sense that she’d want her own way into that world. I helped her set up her account, and before long she was filling it with likes, saves, and repeat listens.
As an anti-Kidz Bop household, her taste is gloriously unfiltered. One minute it’s Taylor Swift, of course. The next it’s Subtronics. Then K-pop. Then something completely unexpected that makes me stop and think, Where did you even find this? I’m constantly amazed by what she gravitates toward, and even more amazed by how naturally she moves between genres without any concern for what is supposed to go together.
About two years ago, while we were listening to Discover Weekly on the way to school, she asked if we could listen to her music instead. As someone who firmly believes in the sacred rule that the driver picks the music, I was a little taken aback.
But after school that day, I showed her how to join my Jam and queue her own songs into the playlist. That tiny shift changed something.
Since then, our shared queue has become part of our rhythm. We drive through Oklahoma City with the windows down and the playlist loud, moving back and forth through her taste and mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. There was something powerful in putting her on equal footing when it came to choosing the music. You could feel the joy of it immediately.
And when she plays something that ends up in my own favorites, I can literally feel her happiness radiating off of her.
It’s a small thing, maybe. Just sharing songs in the car. But it doesn’t feel small.
I sing along to the latest K-pop obsession she’s bringing me, and then somehow we both end up rapping along to Aesop Rock talking about burgers. It’s ridiculous. It’s perfect. It’s ours.
And somewhere in all of that, something deeper is happening. We talk about what lyrics mean. We talk about how songs are built. She points out when the chorus hits, when the bridge shows up, when something shifts in the structure. She’s learning how to listen, not just hear. She’s learning that music is made by people, shaped with intention, and layered with feeling.
More than that, we’re building a shared language.
Parenting is full of advice about how to connect with your kids. Some of it is useful. Some of it is noise. But this has become one of the easiest and most beautiful rituals I can imagine for any parent: share the music.
Let them play you what they love. Let them interrupt your algorithm. Let them surprise you. Let them have taste before they have expertise. Let them show you who they are through the songs they choose.
Because when you make space for that, you’re doing more than passing time in the car. You’re telling them that their inner world matters. That what moves them matters. That they get to bring their voice into the mix.
And sometimes, if you’re lucky, they’ll hand you a song you didn’t know you needed too.
I still believe in the magick of music. I just know now that one of its greatest tricks is this: it can turn an ordinary drive to school into a place of connection, discovery, and joy.
A shared playlist. A moving conversation. A little louder than necessary. Windows down. Two people learning each other through song.
That’s magick too.