More Than a Soundtrack: How Music Can Help Ease Pain

Have you ever noticed that when your favourite song comes on, something changes?

Your shoulders relax. Your breathing slows. Your foot starts tapping before you even realize it. For a few moments, whatever was bothering you doesn't seem quite so overwhelming.

That isn't just your imagination. Science has been telling us for years that music has a remarkable ability to reduce our perception of physical pain.

Notice the wording: our perception of pain.

Music doesn't magically heal a sore knee, repair an arthritic shoulder, or erase the stiffness that often greets us every morning. The injury or condition is still there. But music changes how the brain interprets the signals coming from the body. Instead of focusing every ounce of attention on discomfort, the brain shares its attention with rhythm, melody, lyrics, and memories.

It's a little like having an annoying passenger on a long road trip. They don't get out of the car, but someone starts telling a fascinating story, and suddenly the annoying passenger isn't the centre of your attention anymore.

Our brains are wonderfully complicated.

Pain isn't simply something that happens in a sore joint or aching muscle. Pain is an experience created by the brain after it receives information from nerves throughout the body. Mood, stress, anxiety, fatigue, and even loneliness all influence how intense that experience becomes.

Music can interrupt that cycle.

Researchers have found that listening to music can stimulate the release of dopamine, our "feel-good" neurotransmitter. It can also reduce stress hormones like cortisol and encourage relaxation. When we're calmer, our muscles often relax, our breathing becomes deeper, and the nervous system stops sounding quite so many alarms.

As one humorous saying puts it, "Your nervous system is having a meltdown and your playlist is there saying, 'Let's not make this a whole thing.'"

There is more truth in that sentence than you might think.

Many older adults already use music without realizing its therapeutic value. They hum while gardening, sing in the shower, play old records while cooking, or turn on familiar tunes during a walk around the neighbourhood. Those aren't just pleasant habits. They're simple forms of self-care.

Think about someone living with arthritis. Mornings can be particularly difficult. Before reaching immediately for the television or scrolling through the news, imagine beginning the day with thirty minutes of favourite songs from the 1960s or 1970s. The body may still be stiff, but the mind begins the day somewhere much brighter.

Or consider someone recovering from surgery or physiotherapy. Gentle music during stretching exercises often makes the activity feel more manageable. The exercises haven't changed, but the experience has.

I've also noticed that music has an amazing ability to transport us. One song can take us back to a first dance, a family camping trip, a high school graduation, or a summer afternoon that seemed to last forever. Those memories bring emotions that are every bit as healing as the melodies themselves.

Perhaps that's why music has accompanied humanity through every stage of life. We celebrate with it, mourn with it, exercise with it, worship with it, and relax with it.

Maybe we've known all along that music heals, not always the body, but often the person living inside it.

The next time your body reminds you that you're no longer twenty-five, don't underestimate the power of pressing "Play." It won't solve everything, but it might make the journey a little easier and a lot more enjoyable.

So, here's something to try this week: create a playlist of ten songs that have made you smile at different stages of your life. Listen to it when discomfort starts creeping in and notice what changes—not just in your body, but in your mood. You might discover that some of the best medicine has been sitting in your music collection all along.

I wonder: If someone asked you to choose the ten songs that tell the story of your life, which one would you play first, and why?

The Privilege of Becoming Elderly

I received a version of this from one of my board members who is more than a decade older than I am. In six years, she will celebrate her 100^th birthday. She has a wonderful outlook on life. Here is my interpretation of what she sent me.

We are often called the elderly. Some people say the word quietly, almost as if it should be softened or avoided. Yet perhaps it is time to reclaim it. Growing old is inevitable. Becoming elderly is a privilege earned by those fortunate enough to live long enough to wear the title.

To become elderly is not a misfortune. It is an achievement.

Not everyone is given the privilege of living long enough to earn that title. Behind the word elderly are decades of laughter and tears, victories and disappointments, hard work, family, friendships, mistakes, and second chances. Every wrinkle tells a story. Every gray hair represents another season lived.

If you look closely, you might notice slower steps or hands that no longer move as quickly as they once did. But if you truly listen, you will discover something remarkable. We are not simply older people. We are living witnesses to history.

We are the generation that experienced one of the greatest periods of change humanity has ever known. We grew up in an analog world and learned to thrive in a digital one. We watched communities rebuild after war, celebrated humanity's first steps on the Moon, adapted to computers, embraced the internet, learned to use smartphones, and now witness the arrival of artificial intelligence.

Few generations can say they have lived through such extraordinary change.

Our childhoods were built outdoors, where friendships were formed on sidewalks, in schoolyards, and around kitchen tables. We learned patience by waiting for letters to arrive, resilience by solving problems without Google, and gratitude by making the most of what we had. Entertainment came from imagination as much as technology.

As adults, we built careers, raised families, cared for aging parents, welcomed grandchildren, and adapted to every new invention the world placed before us. We did not resist change—we learned, adjusted, and kept moving forward.

Along the way we witnessed medical breakthroughs that conquered diseases once feared by every family. We saw transportation evolve, communication become instantaneous, and information become available to almost anyone with the touch of a screen.

Yet through every revolution, some things never changed.

We still know the value of keeping our word. We understand the importance of showing up for family and neighbours. We remember conversations without interruptions, handwritten thank-you notes, gardens that supplied the dinner table, and communities where people looked after one another.

These are not old-fashioned ideas. They are timeless ones.

Being elderly does not mean living in the past. It means carrying the past into the future. It means offering perspective when the world feels rushed, reminding younger generations that wisdom often comes from experience, not speed.

We have celebrated births, mourned loved ones, overcome setbacks, adapted to change, and continued to find reasons to laugh. We have learned that life is rarely perfect, but it is always worth living.

So, when someone calls us elderly, perhaps we should simply smile.

Because elderly means we have endured. It means we have adapted. It means we have contributed. It means we have lived long enough to accumulate something no technology can create and no amount of money can buy, wisdom born from experience.

The word is not about weakness.

It is about strength proven over time.

It is about resilience earned one year at a time.

It is about becoming the keepers of memories, the storytellers of families, the mentors of younger generations, and the living connection between yesterday and tomorrow.

We are not relics of another era.

We are living history.

We are bridges between generations.

And perhaps the greatest compliment anyone can receive is not to be called young, but to be called elderly, because it means we have lived a life rich enough, long enough, and meaningful enough to earn the title.

That is something to celebrate.

Making Your Mark on the World

If music is the language of the soul, visual art is its fingerprint.  As we, in BC celebrate BC Day, lets look at another way to make your mark on the world.

It arises from a spiritual longing we all share: to make our mark on the world, to spend our life energy in work that rises above the mundane, adding grace to existence. We respond to the light around us by giving expression to our own inner light. When the two are on the same wavelength, the world seems more brilliant and finely focused.

That is a beautiful way of saying something simple: you were meant to create.

You do not need to be a painter, sculptor, or photographer. Creativity wears many faces. It shows up in the garden you tend, the meals you prepare, the stories you tell, the letters you write, the photographs you take, the way you arrange a shelf. It is the impulse to leave something behind that says, "I was here, and I cared."

Carl Jung also believed that the soul is partly in time, which means it is partly shaped by our experiences and relationships. We know ourselves as human, in part, through our connections with other living beings. Virginia Woolf knew the soul defies thought, but she also knew it can be felt, glimpsed, and expressed. And so can you.

This is especially true for us. We have lived long enough to understand that life is not about having the most, but about being the most. The creative impulse does not fade with age; it deepens. It becomes wiser, more patient, more reflective. It is not about producing something for the world, it is about producing something for yourself. Something that reminds you of who you are and what you value.

If you are looking for a place to start, consider this: what did you love when you were young? Drawing? Writing? Dancing? Gardening? Singing? That spark is still there. It may be buried under years of responsibility and routine, but it has never gone out. It is waiting for you to fan it back to life.

And here is the most important part: when you create, you are not just doing it for yourself. You are showing your grandchildren, your children, your friends that creativity is a lifelong gift. You are teaching them that it is never too late to start, to try, to fail, to try again. You are teaching them that the soul can be expressed at any age.

We are, as the naturalist writer noted, the younger siblings of the animal world, the perpetual neonates, needing models for how to live. But we are also the ones who create. We adapt. We shape the world around us. And through our creativity, we shape ourselves.

Here are some simple, low-pressure ways to let your creative impulse out. Choose one, or try several, and consider inviting a grandchild or friend to join you.

1. Start a "One Sentence a Day" Journal
Write one sentence every day. It can be about anything: what you did, what you saw, how you felt, a memory that came to mind. At the end of the year, you will have 365 sentences, a small, beautiful record of your year.

2. Make a Collage
Collect images, words, or textures from magazines, newspapers, or printed photos. Arrange them on a piece of paper or cardstock. You do not need to be a designer. Just let your instincts guide you. This is a great activity to do with a grandchild.

3. Take a Walk with a Camera
Walk around your neighbourhood, a park, or even your own home. Take photos of things that catch your eye, a shadow, a flower, a child's toy, a crack in the pavement. You are not aiming for a masterpiece. You are just practising seeing the world with fresh eyes.

4. Write a Letter to a Grandchild
Not an email. A real letter. Tell them a story from your childhood that you have never told them before. They will keep it. Years from now, they will read it again.

5. Try a Simple Craft
Knitting, woodworking, pottery, painting, flower arranging, anything that uses your hands. The act of making something physical is deeply satisfying and creative. Many community centres, including the Wilson Centre, offer introductory workshops.

6. Keep a "Sparks" Journal
Carry a small notebook and jot down things that inspire you: a line from a movie, a phrase you overheard, a memory that pops into your head. These are "sparks." When you feel stuck, open the journal and see what happens.

7. Create a Family Recipe Book
Write down the recipes that matter to you, the ones your grandmother made, the ones you perfected over the years. Add a note about why each recipe matters. Share it with your family. This is creativity, connection, and legacy all in one.

8. Draw Something
You do not need to be good at drawing. Just pick up a pencil and sketch something simple, a cup, a flower, a chair. Drawing focuses, you to allow you to look closely. Looking closely is a form of attention. And attention is a form of love.

Creativity is not about being good. It is about being present. It is about paying attention to the world and responding to it in your own way. It is about leaving something behind that says you were here.

So do not be afraid. Start small. Hum a tune. Plant a flower. Write a note. Take a picture. Let the artist inside you breathe. The world will be better for it, and so will you.

The Language of the Soul

There is a force inside each of us that asks to be expressed. It does not care about your age, your talent, or your résumé. It cares only that you let it out.

We call it the creative impulse. It is the part of us that looks inward and projects outward, searching for meaning and fulfilment. It is why we share experiences, work together, build traditions, and dream. And no matter how old we are, we should never compromise a dream. We have them for a reason, perhaps to see into our own soul.

But what is a soul? Carl Jung described it as "partly in eternity and partly in time." Virginia Woolf, with her usual clarity, observed: "One can't write directly about the soul. Looked at, it vanishes." It defies substance and thought. Yet we have invented no greater expression of our inwardness than music.

Musician I know describe music as  the language of the soul, an eternal translation between mathematics and mystery. It is the deliberate arrangement of sound into patterns that move us. Birds sing the world back to life each spring. Cicadas serenade the sun each summer. And when we set out to tell the cosmos who we are, we sent whale songs, Bulgarian folk music, and Bach on a Golden Record. The best singers employ tone, interval, rhythm, theme, and variation in complex and pleasing combinations, but so does a grandmother humming to her grandchild. So does a retiree learning to play the piano for the first time. So does anyone who dares to make a sound that comes from the heart.

When you think about it, we have all been musicians at some point. We have all felt the rhythm of a good song, tapped our feet to a beat, or hummed along to a melody we could not shake. Music is one of the most accessible forms of creativity. It requires no special training to appreciate, and only a willingness to try. You do not need to perform on a stage. You just need to let the song inside you come out, even if it is only heard by you, or by a child sitting on your knee.

Here is something you can do this week, alone or with a grandchild.

Think of six songs that have mattered to you at different points in your life. They do not have to be "important" songs. They just have to be songs that you remember. Songs that take you back. Here is my list, I hope it helps you create your own list.

• Song 1: A song from your childhood: Nature Boy" by Nat King Cole
• Song 2: A song from your teenage years: California Dreamin' by The Mamas and the Papas
• Song 3: A song from your twenties:  American Pie - Don McLean
• Song 4: A song from your thirties: "Billie Jean" - Michael Jackson
• Song 5: A song from your forties: My Heart Will Go On" - Celine Dion
• Song 6: A song from your later years: Symphony No. 5 in C Minor, Op. 67 by Beethoven  
• Song 7: A song that makes you feel hopeful about today: Ode to Joy (Symphony No. 9)  by Ludwig van Beethoven  and What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong

Now, do one of three things:

1. Write them down. Create a simple playlist on paper. Add a note next to each song about what it means to you.
2. Share them. Play them for a grandchild or a friend. Tell them why each song matters.
3. Expand the list. Make a full playlist on your phone or a streaming service. Or create a physical CD or USB drive with the songs and give it to someone you love.

Why does this matter? Because music is memory. When you share your songs, you are not just sharing music. You are sharing your story. And your grandchildren will remember not just the songs, but the fact that you trusted them with your history.

That is creativity. That is connection. That is the language of the soul.