No. 024 - The Postal Service's “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight” changed my life
The song that found Meagan Shorey-Wilson in a Chili's and fueled her sense of connection for over a decade
🌸 A Grace favorite
This Song Changed My Life is an independent music publication featuring essays from people all around the world about the songs that mean the most to them. Created by Grace Lilly, supported by readers.
• 4 min read •
My family is a bit nomadic. I say “a bit” only because the nomadic nature ebbs and flows.
When I was about to become a teenager, we moved from Massachusetts to Georgia. In my 9th grade year, we moved again from one town in Georgia to another even more southern town in the state.
I could typically manage social situations with a strong dose of blind confidence, but the move from the Northeast to the Deep South was jarring for a 13-year-old tomboy with a New England accent.
I don’t think I need to explain why moving in your 7th and 9th grade years is tough, but I will share that socializing as a reformed yank took some savviness and patience.
Because of these moves and changes, creating friendships was tricky. It wasn’t just about finding friends who you get along with, it was about finding a way to be woven into the social scene.
The move in the middle of 9th grade hit me especially hard. I wanted to fit in, I wanted to stand out, I wanted to be normal, I wanted to be different. Ah, teenage complexity.
In trying to find my crowd, I kept searching for ways to connect or find some understanding that I wasn’t alone in my teenage existence of pining and yearning for more.
On my 15th birthday, my brothers happened to be in town. I was ecstatic to have them at my birthday party at Chili’s and to show my new friends that I wasn’t just some random northerner, I had “cultured” older siblings.
That birthday, my brother Josh gave me the album Give Up by The Postal Service. Before this, I had siphoned music from my brothers’ taste by sitting quietly outside their rooms listening to whatever the stereo played and looking at their stacks of CD’s when they were out of the house.
The fact that Josh thought of me and thought I’d like some of his music was a potent experience of being seen and feeling connected and special. I had no idea who this band was or why this album mattered, but I was convinced that it would.
When I got into the car and heard the digital organ introduce the first song, “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight,” my eyes grew wide and time seemed to slow down. This music was different.
It had depth and range and lyrics that spoke to my experience of longing and pining and aching. It made my mind awaken and my body feel something different. Something deeper than anything I understood at the time.
It was a familiar difference, the sounds you heard tinkering on a Casio digital keyboard and the layers of orchestral strings that caught you off guard. It caused a reaction within me, a calling to “Share this music with friends! You must!”
To test this theory out, I asked my carpool friend Caroline to take a listen. Typically, we’d sit quietly in the car listening to Keith Urban, but I wanted to spice things up.
“Wait, what is this?” Caroline groggily asked after the first song. My heart sparked. This COULD work! I told her the name of the band and we kept listening.
Every morning for the next month we played that album on the way to school. We went from quietly sitting in the car to pointing out the songs we loved and the idiosyncrasies of different verses. Instead of it being me in the car riding alone, it was us together listening to a band who seemed to understand us.
My sense of connectivity was strengthened as I learned that I could get to know people through music. I felt hope when I saw Caroline light up as she listened to that first song.
I didn’t want to stop there. I had to share more!
I started sharing music I liked with other friends, and it started to feel like we weren’t just classmates or soccer teammates; we were experiencing life together.
It created bonds that needed no explanation. It was a way to connect emotionally without having to explicitly fumble through what words to say. Instead, I’d share a lyric by Gibbard and Tamborello. “Here, this line says it better than I can.”
Finally, I had a currency I could share across my mini cultures, and it was reciprocated.
When I listen to this album now, I still think about brisk spring mornings in southern Georgia. I think of driving to soccer practice and singing along. Friday nights at a local music venue sharing playlists, and Sunday evenings instant messaging with friends to fight off the impending Monday morning.
I think of all the bands I found after The Postal Service, and how they all influenced who I know myself to be. I think about how this album found me at 15, and then continued to support me at 20 when my family moved away from Georgia and I was alone at university. It reappeared when I was 22 and trying to find a new way to fit in when I moved to California.
Everywhere I went for the next 13 years, this album and this song helped me get by and connect with others — and they still do.
The Postal Service delivers. ◆
About Meagan
Meagan Shorey-Wilson lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her wife and two dogs. She is an avid soccer fan, mental health counselor, sister, daughter, and karaoke singer. She’s often found drawing or painting silly and serious illustrations.
Instagram @meaganwins
If you want any fun illustrations @meagandraws
⭐ Recommended by
Adam Forrester (No. 009)
Every TSCML writer is asked to recommend a future contributor, creating a never-ending, underlying web of interconnectivity 🕸️
Car CDs: Joni Mitchell's For the Roses
I’m six years old, sitting in the backseat of my family’s beloved white Nissan I’d affectionately named “Genius.” I’m putting on LipSmackers and waiting for my mood ring to tell me if I’m happy, calm, or uncertain. I’d just gotten my ears pierced at Claire’s in the mall.
I can see the side of my mom’s blonde head bopping as she drives. She’s singing along to “You Turn Me On, I'm a Radio,” a remarkably fun, upbeat song off of Joni Mitchell’s 1972 album For the Roses…
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