Music is my life. Or maybe my drug? Either way — it has always been there. It helped me, stayed with me, created something I often couldn’t even name.
I was 18. High school. There was one place I kept coming back to — maybe once a month, because I didn’t have the time, the money, or even the need to go there more often. In the underground level of Warsaw Central Station, there was a Dunkin’ Donuts café. Unremarkable. Today, I would say — ordinary.
But back then, it wasn’t.
I had my little ritual. Sometimes I would skip classes, go there, order a cappuccino and something sweet. I would sit at one of my favorite tables and… basically do nothing. I told myself I was studying — history, math, whatever I had to. But that wasn’t true. The real reason was the moment itself.
I felt something there — something strange, hard to describe. Like the atmosphere of an American movie. Music was playing in the background. I don’t know exactly what — probably a mix of radio and playlists — but one song stayed with me: “Milk and Toast and Honey” by Roxette. It fit perfectly.
Time slowed down. I wasn’t escaping from school or responsibilities. I wanted to be there. I dreamed of sitting in that café with no reason at all. Maybe with a book, maybe just with coffee. That was rest. Real rest.
Today, when I think about it, I see something else.
That place wasn’t special at all.
It wasn’t cozy. It wasn’t full of people. The food wasn’t particularly good or healthy. It was just a regular café at a train station — maybe even a bit sad. And maybe that’s why it was never crowded.
And yet, I remember it as something truly special.
Because it wasn’t the place that created the atmosphere.
I did.
And the music.
Music was the only thing that couldn’t be faked. It couldn’t be ruined. It didn’t try to be anything more — it just was. And it did something very specific: it changed the way I experienced reality.
Today, I see this very clearly.
I’m sitting in a café right now, writing these words. The place is… fine. Nothing special. Someone is talking at the next table, someone is working on a laptop, someone is scrolling on their phone. Nothing remarkable.
And yet — for me, it’s exactly the same state. The same kind of experience.
Music in the background. Focus. Calm. A light sense of imagination. A moment where everything slows down and, for a while, I feel like I don’t have to rush anywhere. Like I can just sit and write.
Sometimes I catch myself imagining something even further — that I’m already retired, that every day looks exactly like this. A café, music, writing. No emails, no calls, no clients.
And what’s interesting — these places are still not perfect.
They can be noisy. They can be uncomfortable. They can feel a bit sad.
But it doesn’t matter that much.
Because the mechanism works the same way it did back then.
Music can still change everything.
Not because the world changes.
But because the way I experience it does.
And maybe that’s the point.
Not finding perfect places.
But learning how to create your own atmosphere — wherever you are.
It helps that now I always have my own music with me — in my headphones.
I wonder if you can use music like this too… or if you just listen to it.
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This is just the beginning. I want to keep writing about things like this — music, focus, movement, and the small shifts that change how a day feels from the inside. Not as instructions, but as observations. If you’re curious about that kind of direction, stay with me.