Since we were kids, my younger brother has always liked to ask me hypothetical questions. Over fall recess, he asked, “If you could be born at any point in history, when would you choose?”

As someone who greatly enjoys the luxuries that living in 2023 affords, I’d never say that I was born in the wrong generation. I explained to my brother that, despite the present being such a massive shitshow, I can’t overstate my gratefulness to have opportunities that wouldn’t have been possible 30 years ago.

Even still, I remain curious about the time period of my parents’ and grandparents’ upbringing. But since I won’t be able to go back to experience it for myself without, you know, forever altering my reality, absorbing their life experiences through music will be as close as I can get.

With this, a lot of my fondest memories are accompanied by the music I was introduced to at the time. By no means do I think my attachment to older music is unique, but it’s been a crutch in transitioning into adulthood.

As a kid, summers in the desert were rough. By September, the heat had already melted the bottoms of my shoes from playing outside. But the one summer advantage? My dad bought us season passes to Knott’s Soak City in Palm Springs every year and we’d go at least a couple times a week in the summer. I remember happily floating down the lazy river with the park speakers playing “Surfer Girl” by The Beach Boys and lugging the inner tubes up hills with my siblings as “Good Times” by Chic played in the background — both of which have wound up on my “2010 knotts soak city” playlist.

Even outside of the water park, older American music dominated my upbringing despite both of my parents being from Mexico. I’d “help” my dad wash his cars while his speakers played favorites like “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns N’ Roses, “Georgy Porgy” by Toto and “Come and Get Your Love” by Redbone.

I’d dig through old cassettes and vinyls, uncovering what would become some of my most treasured picks such as “Set Adrift on Memory Bliss” by P.M. Dawn, “Simon and Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits” vinyl and Nat King Cole’s “Love Is The Thing” vinyl.

Not to mention, my dad is a stan of the Palm Springs transplant, Frank Sinatra, so I grew to cherish the music of my favorite nepo baby, Nancy Sinatra, just as much as Frank’s — I especially love “As Time Goes By,” “The Shadow of Your Smile” and “Time.” I’m not at all patriotic, but something about that genre of summer music is so quintessentially American in a way that I find to be light-hearted and reminiscent of my childhood.

For better or for worse, I’ve learned that most things in early adulthood could change in an instant. Aspects of my life that I thought were cemented are apparently subject to change and, truthfully, this was hard for me to accept. I had to learn to cope with the end of my adolescence, modify relationships with my family to account for distance and take stock of the person I wanted to become. Despite being physically removed from my family, I knew that I could meet them halfway and feel closer to them through music.

Knowing that my grandma was a big fan of Javier Solís, I surprised her with my bolero playlist as we relaxed on the balcony of our ranch in Mexico two summers ago. She was truly pleasantly surprised by my interest in a stereotypically “señora” type of music — but I genuinely developed a love for the tender genre thanks to songs like “Noche No Te Vayas” by Los Tres Caballeros, “Virgen de Mi Soledad” by Jorge Valente and “Estoy Perdido” by Los Tres Ases. Even now, I listen to the playlist when I just need a moment of peace or if I’m missing my grandma a little extra that day.

Similarly, my mom and I bonded over my “spanish bops” playlist — a collection of the songs I remember blaring through our house on Saturday cleaning days. She told me about how much she liked those songs when she was around my age, which made me feel closer to the 20-year-old version of her that I never got to meet. Songs like “Corazón de Poeta” by Jeanette, “Desvelado” by Bobby Pulido and “Por Qué Me Haces Llorar” by Juan Gabriel have become some of our favorites.

Even on the worst days when it feels like everything is going to shit, I often fall back on these hyper-specific playlists — playlists that help me get back in touch with myself, recall happy times and appreciate the richness of my relationships with family through music.

As my fave Nancy Sinatra once sang, “Wherever you may run / With your loved ones all around you / There’s no place like home.” So true, Nancy.