When I Cannot Fix the World, I Turn Up the Music

Amy Elkhoury
Jun 25
3 min read

A story of healing through rhythm, movement, and memory

Woman with blonde hair and sunglasses dancing outdoors, reaching up beneath tall palm trees, surrounded by lush greenery. — Finding light through movement, reaching for joy beneath the palms, letting music and memory guide the way.

The Soundtrack of My Childhood

When the world feels impossibly heavy, when headlines blur into heartache and nothing seems to make sense, I return to the one place I have always found lightness: music, movement, and the quiet act of letting go.

As a little girl, I would twirl barefoot on the cool living room tiles, sunlight pouring through the curtains as I sang to an imaginary audience. I could smell the faint scent of jasmine drifting in from the balcony. All I knew was that it made me feel safe. Those moments were a private sanctuary, a space where fear and uncertainty could dissolve into melody. Each spin and each note turned sadness into something bright and hopeful.

Do you remember your first song or dance, the music that helped you forget the world for a while?

Music as Emotional Release

In my teenage years, that living room stage became a place of release. I would fill the house with sound, choreographing my own routines to pop, metal, or classical music, anything that moved me. There were mornings when heavy guitars shook the walls, and nights when the echo of a ballad was the only thing that felt true. I poured my feelings into those private performances, each song becoming a way to express what words could not hold. These moments were not about being seen. They were about surviving, expressing, and letting the heaviness go.

Was there a song or ritual that helped you express what you could not say out loud?

Woman playing guitar, lost in the music of “Nothing Else Matters,” letting melody become her sanctuary. — Nothing else matters.

Small Joys on the Road

Later in life, some of my favorite memories have formed behind the wheel. Singing along on long drives, harmonizing badly, laughing with someone close or simply with myself, I have found small pockets of joy and safety. Music turns the car into a private world, where everything feels lighter and more connected.

Is there a song that turns your commute or your chores into something lighter, even on the hardest days?

Dancing Through the Everyday

Now, I dance in my kitchen. I play music while working at Nuteese, letting the rhythm move through me as I create, and dream. Even the most ordinary tasks become more joyful when music fills the air. It brings me back to life. The world feels less dull, and the smallest things begin to shine again.

Where do you let music in? Is there a place in your daily life where you allow yourself to move, just because it feels good?

Close-up of woman in sunglasses sitting in a car, sunlight streaming in, capturing a candid and reflective moment. — Turning up the music on a morning drive, letting the rhythm carry old heaviness away.

A Morning Drive, A Moment of Release

This morning, I slid into the driver’s seat, closed the door on the chaos of the world, and let the city slip past my windows. I drove from Mid Levels to Shek O, following the coastline and a feeling I had not touched in a long time. I turned the music up, the bass thumping through the steering wheel, my voice filling the car as the air from the coastline drifted in through the open window. I sang as if no one could hear me.

In that moment, it was not just me. I felt every version of myself present: the child, the dreamer, the lover. All of them singing through grief, through joy, letting go of everything I could not control. I laughed. I cried. I caught my own reflection in the mirror and smiled at the sight. For a moment, I felt free again.

Letting Music Be Enough

Perhaps the world is still heavy. Perhaps not everything can be fixed or fully understood. But sometimes, healing begins in small ways, in the decision to roll down the windows, let the sunlight in, and sing like it truly matters.

You may have your own soundtrack. You might dance while folding laundry, sing in the shower, or cry while listening to a song that knows your story. If you do, I hope you give yourself that space this week. Let it be your permission to feel more, and fix less.

If you see a woman singing loudly, wiping away a tear, and smiling at a red light, that is just me, finding my way back to joy, one chorus at a time.