What We Miss While Looking for More

The other day, on my way to the gym, I thought of looking up some soundtracks from other musicals, something I’ve been doing lately with the intention of developing my musical literacy. Then I noticed Tick, Tick… Boom! in my downloads, and the sight of it drew me up short.

I had saved the soundtrack only the day before because I wanted to spend more time with the music and let the film sink in. Yet the music had barely had time to unfurl before I was treating it as an afterthought.

In a way, I admired the technology that gave us such immediate access to this enormous collection of music. In the past, we had to go to a store, choose an album and buy it. Now we can follow our curiosity almost as soon as it appears.

But it also made me wonder whether this convenience makes it easier to keep reaching for more before we’ve given ourselves a chance to explore and appreciate what we already have.

I mean, when we bought an album of, let’s say, seven tracks, we often spent time with all seven. We listened repeatedly, finding something to appreciate even in songs we hadn’t immediately liked. A song could gradually reveal itself, and a lyric we had barely noticed at first might eventually have us hanging on every word.

That was especially true with cassettes, when moving past a song meant fast-forwarding and trying to find the right place. Skipping took time. CDs later made it easier to move between tracks, and now we can move from one artist’s entire collection to another in seconds.

That freedom is wonderful. But it also means we can keep adding music to our libraries while leaving much of what is already there unexplored.

That day, I played the soundtrack again, and I enjoyed it more. There was still something there for me to discover, even as I was preparing to look elsewhere.

It would be glib to blame convenience itself or reduce the change to shorter attention spans. It would be equally glib to blame our desire for discovery. The possibility of discovering something new offers a frisson of excitement that returning to something familiar may not immediately provide. So, I can understand the impulse. There is so much worth exploring.

But I began to notice how easily that impulse could extend beyond music: another book while one sits barely read, another product before we’ve made much use of the last, another destination while places nearby remain unfamiliar.

Sometimes we look so far ahead for the next experience that we overlook possibilities already within reach.

For instance, not so long ago, a friend of mine was utterly disappointed when his visa application to visit Europe was rejected. He had wanted to take his family on a trip to explore another part of the world. As he put it, “I wanted my kids to grow up having had rich experiences.”

I remember suggesting a little trip they could take closer to home, somewhere like Dubai. They could go for a walk, explore places they hadn’t visited, perhaps attend a comedy show in the evening. As I described the possibilities, his whole demeanour lightened.

He still had every reason to want that trip to Europe. But the opportunity to give his children a memorable experience suddenly seemed available somewhere he could already go.

I think about that conversation because nothing about the places around him had changed. We had simply given some attention to what they might offer.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not questioning the value of curiosity or our desire to explore beyond what we know. As much as we can overlook possibilities by always looking elsewhere, we can also overlook them by looking only at what we already have.

I’ve benefited from that freedom myself. I discovered Taylor Swift’s Carolina when I let the app play songs beyond the ones I usually selected from my playlist. I didn’t have to purchase every album or release to find it. A song I hadn’t known became one of my favourites because I allowed myself to hear something outside my familiar collection..

It would also be sanctimonious of me to condemn musicians for wanting their work to be heard or platforms for wanting people to stay, since I would probably share those desires if I were in their position. If I made music, I would want people to listen to it. If I created an app, I would look for ways to make it enjoyable enough that people would want to keep using it.

All I’m trying to say is that what we already have deserves a little of that curiosity, too.

Our next favourite song might be one we’ve kept skipping on an album. A passage that stays with us might be one we skimmed in a rush. A place we would love spending time in might be somewhere nearby that we’ve never thought to visit.

Giving something another chance doesn’t mean forcing ourselves to enjoy it. I could have replayed the soundtrack and decided that I loved the film more than its music. We can appreciate what something has given us and still be ready to move on.

But sometimes, before reaching for something else, it is worth finding out.

Because as much as there is so much worth discovering beyond what we know. There may also be a few bonus tracks waiting in our own libraries that we didn’t notice before.