Renee:
Most people have heard of the five love languages.
Words of affirmation. Acts of service. Receiving gifts. Quality time. Physical touch.
But I've always felt like there should be a sixth one, music.
Not because I am particularly musical. Not because I can carry a tune better than anyone else. And not because I've somehow found myself in what I jokingly call my concert era.
Music is my love language because it creates connection, creates memories, creates understanding, and has been woven through some of the most meaningful moments of my life.
Music was part of my story long before I ever attended a concert. My mom was the church organist, and my dad was the song leader. As a family, we sang together before the congregation for years. At the time, I didn't know that I appreciated how special that was. It was just what our family did.
Looking back, I realize those songs became part of the fabric of my childhood.
Years later, when my dad was nearing the end of his life, music found its way back into one of the hardest moments I have ever experienced.
We knew he didn't have much time left. Hours, maybe a day. At one point, I suggested that each of us take a private moment with him to say our goodbyes.
When it was my turn, I sat beside him and sang one of the songs our family used to sing together.
I didn't know if he could hear me. He was in a vegetative state, and there was no way to know what he was experiencing in those final hours, but I sang anyway.
When I came back out to where the rest of my family was gathered, my brother, who is six years younger than I, was visibly emotional. The family had been able to hear me singing from the other room.
To this day, I can't hear that song without being transported back to that moment.
That is what music does.
It becomes attached to people, places, and experiences. Years later, all it takes is a few notes, and suddenly you're standing in a memory you thought was long behind you.
Mark:
I think that's true for almost everyone.
Most of us have songs that immediately transport us somewhere else. A first dance. A road trip. A season of life. A person we loved. Music has an incredible way of preserving emotion in a way that few other things can.
It's almost like a time machine.
The song starts playing, and suddenly you're not just remembering the moment. You're feeling it again.
Renee:
Lately, music has shown up in a different chapter of my life.
If you've followed our adventures over the past year, you've probably noticed that I've attended more concerts than I have in the previous twenty years combined.
Some of them have been with Mark. Some have been with Eden. Some have been with Xen. And while the artists themselves have been incredible, I've realized the concerts are rarely the point.
The memories are.
I still laugh when I think about the productions we've witnessed recently. Benson Boone performing while suspended on a chandelier. Katy Perry flying across the arena on a giant butterfly. A$AP Rocky riding around the arena in a helicopter.
Completely over the top? Absolutely.
But also incredibly fun to witness, especially through teenagers' eyes.
One of my favorite memories was actually seeing Shawn Mendes with Eden.
The funny thing is that she was only nine years old when we bought the tickets. I remember her walking around the house constantly singing "Stitches." By the time the concert finally rolled around, she had mostly moved on to other music.
Kids have a way of doing that.
But then something unexpected happened.
Over Thanksgiving in 2024, we were headed to Canada for a business trip and discovered Shawn was doing a small friends-and-family concert. Instead of an arena packed with fifteen thousand people, there were only about fifteen hundred of us in a tiny theater.
His mom was there, and the atmosphere was intimate.
At one point, he pulled out a harmonium, an instrument used in traditional Indian music, and shared how deeply personal it was to him. Then he played. I still get goosebumps thinking about it.
You could feel the emotion in the room. It wasn't just a performance. It felt like we were being invited into something meaningful.
And what I remember most isn't even the music, it's experiencing that moment with my daughter.
I've noticed that's become one of the gifts music gives me as a parent.
I don't always love the same artists my kids love. In fact, there are times when I listen and wonder what exactly they are hearing that I'm not.
But that curiosity has become a bridge.
When I listen to the artists they love, I learn something about them.
I learn what resonates with them, what inspires them, what they are feeling...
Sometimes music creates conversations that might not happen any other way.
I'll never forget watching Eden crowd surf at Vans Warped Tour. As a mother, there was a brief moment of complete panic. But there was also pride. She was fearless, fully immersed in the experience, and creating a memory she will probably carry for the rest of her life.
And then there was Xen.
Soon after his sixteenth birthday, he and I boarded a plane for Ohio to see Kid Cudi. The trip was far from perfect. We dealt with delays, setbacks, heat, and a frantic search for medication because I was worried he might end up with a full-on hemiplegic migraine just hours before we boarded our flight to come back home. They can be completely debilitating and can appear like someone is having a stroke, so the possibility of not making it home that night with final exams happening the next morning was on my mind.
During our time, we Ubered through the city, walked through muddy fields, and eventually found ourselves trekking toward the highway because our driver didn't want to get stuck in concert traffic.
At the time, parts of it felt exhausting and sometimes exhilarating.
But years from now, I don't think either of us will be talking about traffic patterns or airport delays; we'll be talking about the adventure.
Mark:
We've seen this same thing happen in our work.
Music has always been part of our retreats and events. Sometimes it's front and center, getting people on their feet dancing and celebrating. Other times, it quietly plays in the background while participants sit across from one another in an eye-gazing exercise, connecting without words.
We've watched complete strangers become friends.
We've watched people laugh, cry, dance, and experience breakthroughs with music woven through those moments.
And maybe that's why music feels like a love language.
Not because of the songs themselves, but because of what they make possible.
The memories, conversations, connection, understanding, and the moments that become part of our story.
Renee:
Years from now, I probably won't remember every song I've heard.
But I'll remember singing to my dad.
I'll remember getting drenched with friends before a concert, including one who is no longer with us.
I'll remember Eden crowd surfing.
I'll remember adventures with Xen.
I'll remember the people standing beside me.
Because maybe music isn't really the love language after all, maybe connection is.
Music is simply one of the ways I've experienced it most deeply.