It must have been love

I like to consider myself a connoisseur of exceptional and eclectic playlists. Every so often, I become engrossed in certain genres, spending days and even weeks exploring the depths of Spotify for hidden gems and long-time favorites. It began with my “Nobody Understands Me” playlist—consisting of mid to late 2000s alternative rock, emblematic of my angsty middle school days­—and blossomed from there into a pretty consistent hobby. Over winter break, I discovered my latest obsession: 1980s love songs.

There is nothing quite like an 80s power ballad. They are intense, dramatic and brimming with uncontrollable passion and insatiable romantic longing. I am not a very emotional person, but I found myself blasting Roxette, Quincy Jones, John Waite and the likes, attempting to sing along with the same fervor almost any chance I had—so much so that my parents inquired as to whether I was suffering from debilitating heartbreak. Clearly, I was hooked. I even sprinkled in some 70s love songs when deemed compatible. Now that I’m at Duke, my propensity for playlists has surprisingly become even more relevant.

At the start of every semester, I come up with a list of six to eight goals I hope to accomplish in the coming months. With the overarching objective of improving my well-being and quality of life, these range from a simple “Call mom once a week” to more personal, unquantifiable ambitions. As a second semester senior, I have thought extensively about my latest slew of goals given that this may be my last time making such a list. And when I thought about what my Duke experience most often seems to be lacking, I was brought back to my love of the 80s.

Whether about love, loss, happiness or heartbreak, 80s love songs are entirely honest. There is no evading or deflecting, no being facetious, no saying one thing but meaning the other. Duke students, on the other hand, are rarely described as such, and there are no shortages of critiques lambasting our perceived hook-up culture and fixation on effortless perfection. By now, these are tired topics that I hope will soon retire. But at the core, they are essentially about the same things: vulnerability and authenticity.

If Duke has taught me anything about personal development, it is the importance of being genuine and the value of vulnerability. I am sure most people can agree with those sentiments, but it is incredibly difficult to actually practice them daily. As I reflect on my life at Duke, I can easily pinpoint times when I cared too much about what other people thought, tried too hard to appear like I had it together and all around gave in to a culture that became increasingly emotionally and mentally draining. As a senior realizing how little time I have left, it’s a shame to think I wasted any of it on such fruitless endeavors. And it’s something I still see all time. I watch classmates gush about how busy they are while saying nothing about who they are, friends care more about how their lives look on social media than the quality of their living and peers who talk about “winning” romantic relationships I never realized were competitions. It is difficult—and I think at times terrifying—to accept that as driven, intelligent and accomplished as we are, we also have weaknesses, emotions and the ability to be hurt.

But despite the risks, I think authenticity and vulnerability are still worth it and, at the very least, something to strive for. It is important to learn to live intentionally. To be genuine. To be honest. To be able to say: “Hey, I too would like to dance with somebody, potentially in the moonlight if weather permits.”

We can all use some 80s power ballads in our lives.

Michelle Menchaca is a Trinity senior. Her column runs on alternate Wednesdays.