There’s something almost medicinal about 1980s music, especially for those of us who are in our 50s. It isn’t just nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. These songs didn’t sit in the background of our lives, they scored them. They held our firsts and fears, our questions and sometimes answers, our wins and heartbreaks, our becoming.

The 80s were a collision of sound, identity, rebellion, and raw emotion. You could move from the atmospheric depth of The Cure to the polished pop brilliance of Duran Duran in a single radio hour. You could feel the angst of U2’s “Red Hill Mining Town”, then shift into the unapologetic confidence of Madonna’s “Everybody” There was range and no lines, no fractures and somehow it all made sense.

For many of us, hearing Rush, Gordon Lightfoot, Burton Cummings, Simon and Garfunkel brings back something uniquely Canadian and deeply personal because this is what our parents listened to.. Songs like “Tom Sawyer”, “Triangle”, “I’m Scared” captured the tension of growing up after our parent’s own quest for their freedom and identity discovery resisting the pressure to conform their parent’s expectation influenced our feelings of trying to find our place in a structured world. A “De Do Do, De Da Da” by The Police highlighted well the deceit before us by the “influencers” of that time. 

And then there’s that darker, more introspective thread that ran through the decades, music that didn’t just entertain, but understood us like Depeche Mode who gave us “Never Let me Down” and “People are People”. We had songs that felt layered, moody, and strangely comforting in their honesty. And alongside them, Morrissey, both in his solo work and as the voice behind The Smiths, offered a kind of lyrical vulnerability that was rare and disarming. Tracks like “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out”  and “Ask” didn’t shy away from longing, loneliness, or quiet defiance. They gave a voice to emotions many of us were feeling but couldn’t yet articulate.

That emotional depth carried on through bands like Echo & the Bunnymen, The Cure and Modern English ~ their music gave us permission to feel introspective, even melancholy, at a time when we didn’t yet have the language for it.

At the same time, the decade pulsed with rhythm, movement, and undeniable groove. Jody Watley brought sleek, stylish confidence with her brand of pant suits and strength singing “Looking for a New Love.” Luther Vandross gave us soul in its purest form with “So Amazing” that still wrap around you like warmth. Janet Jackson redefined control, independence, and sound with “Nasty”and “What Have You Done for Me Lately”.

And for many, the infectious energy of New Kids on the Block, New Edition and The Bangles with their harmonies that still echo. These were part of the fun: posters on bedroom walls, choreography memorized, a shared cultural moment of pure pop devotion.

Rock, too, had its anthems, big, bold, and impossible to ignore. Van Halen, Bon Jovi, and Heart gave us songs that demanded to be played loud and on replay “Jump,” “Livin’ on a Prayer,” “Alone.” They were made for car rides, for dance singing with your friends feeling unstoppable, even if just for a few minutes.

And woven through it all were bands that shaped the alternative and artistic edge of the decade, Tears for Fears with their emotional intelligence in “Everybody Wants to Rule the World,” and “Mad World” ~ they were so ahead of their time or is it that they were timeless. Talking Heads, INXS and The Eurythmics with their magnetic energy.. and not forgetting Bronski Beat and Level 42 with their unmistakable British vibe. And oh the Pixies, the all American alternative rock band… all quietly laying the groundwork for what music would become next.

But the music didn’t exist in isolation. It was woven into the culture of how we lived.

Films like The Breakfast Club and Sixteen Candles ~ the unmistakable signature of John Hughes ~ captured something honest about adolescence that still resonates. The soundtracks weren’t just background music, it all had meaning and became part of our emotional vocabulary. “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” wasn’t just a song; it was a feeling. It was our declaration. A quiet promise that who we were mattered.

And outside of the screen, life itself felt different.

We gathered in living rooms ~ like really gathered with no second screens, no distractions ~ phones were literally stuck to the wall not glued to our hands. Just friends, popcorn, a stack of VHS tapes, maybe even sneaking cigarettes and cans of beer to watch the thrill of a horror movie together on a Sunday afternoon: half of us brave, half of us pretending to be. The laughter, the screams, the closeness of sitting too many people on one couch and sprawling all over the living room floor. Those moments didn’t need documentation. They were lived fully, not performed.

And then there were the nights that stretched into mornings… all-night clubbing at clubs: sticky floors, flashing lights, house music we could feel in our chest and way too many Broken Golf Cart orders. The DJ wasn’t just playing songs; they were curating a feeling, a rhythm that carried us for hours. We’d lose track of time somewhere between “I’ll be Your Friend”, “Pump Up the Volume”, “I’ll House You” and “Work it to the Bone” dancing with friends and disappearing into our own world, in our own safe communities because that’s just what it was.

And sometimes, those nights flowed right into slower weekends crashing at a friend’s house, drinking king can beers, flipping on Saturday Night Live and laughing until we fell asleep mid-sketch. It was messy, unfiltered, and completely real. No photos, no posts just stories that live on because we tell them again and again.

We were a generation raised by parents who, in many ways, had just “fought for their own right to party.” There was a looseness to it all, giving us kids a longer leash, more space to roam, to explore, to figure things out on our own. And if we’re honest, many of us ended up raising ourselves in certain ways. We learned through experience, through trial and error, through moments that shaped us in ways we didn’t fully understand at the time and for some, by the Grace of God we’re still here! We did things we look back on now and quietly think… I hope my kids never do that. And yet, those experiences became part of our resilience. Our independence. Our story. The very fabric of who we are.

We are the last generation to experience a kind of unfiltered freedom. The culture for us as kids was to do our housework first thing Saturday morning and then leave the house for the day with the understanding that when the street lights came on, we went home… oftentimes just to negotiate more time to continue hanging out with our friends. We played a mean game of hide and seek spanning a couple of blocks in our hood, oftentimes with no less than 20 us and it was for reals ~ being the last to come out of hiding was highly regarded bragging rights.

We are a generation that drank from the hose without thinking twice. We knocked on doors instead of texting. We existed in moments that weren’t curated, captured, or shared ~ they were simply ours.
And maybe that’s part of why this music hits so deeply now because when we hear those opening chords… “Dearly beloved…” or “We run…” we’re not just remembering songs. We’re remembering a way of being. A time when life felt expansive, unscripted, and deeply human.

Today, so much is recorded, stored, and replayed. But not everything is meant to live on a screen or a SIM card. Some things are meant to stay sacred, held in the quiet corners of our memory, softened by time, but no less powerful.

The music of the 80s has become the tapestry of who we are, not just because of how it sounded, but because of how we lived when it was playing. And when we return to it now, we’re not going backward. We’re reconnecting with the parts of ourselves that still know how to feel, to remember, and to live a little more freely to remember, even for a moment, how to do so unaffected.
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In an attempt to summarize my messy thoughts about being an 80’s kid, I think the song and movie by the same name “Stand by Me” is an accurate reflection of how our friendships during that moment in time served us collectively through uncertain but magical moments offering us experiences that uniquely shaped who we have become and unbeknownst to us… the last generation of the “true age of innocence.”

We don’t talk about this enough.
Not the salary.
Not the benefits.
Not the promotions.
But the other paycheque.

The one you can’t deposit, but you feel every single day.
The sense of fulfillment when your work matters.
The quiet pride in doing something aligned with who you are.
The energy that comes from actually enjoying how you spend your time.
The feeling that your life, not just your income, is moving forward.
That’s what I call an emotional paycheque.

And here’s the truth most people don’t realize until much later:
We often trade that in… for the one that pays the bills.

The trade-off we don't question. Somewhere along the way, many of us learn to prioritize what's practical. 
Stability.
Security.
Responsibility.

And to be clear, those things matter. They really do.
But quietly, almost without noticing, we begin to make decisions that sound like:

• “This is just what I have to do.”
• “It’s not forever.”
• “At least it’s steady.”

And in doing so, we slowly forfeit the emotional paycheques that once felt important.
Not because we’re doing something wrong… but because we’re doing what feels necessary.

When the cost shows up the challenge is, emotional paycheques don’t disappear without consequence.

Over time, the gap starts to show up in ways that are harder to name:

• You feel tired, even when you’ve rested
• Your motivation fades
• Things that used to excite you… don’t anymore
• You feel disconnected from yourself

Sometimes it looks like burnout.
Sometimes it feels like numbness.
Sometimes it’s just a quiet sense of “Is this really it?”
And because everything on the outside might look “fine”… it’s easy to ignore.

A question worth asking. This isn’t about guilt. And it’s not about blowing up your life. It’s about awareness because once you see the trade-off, you get to ask a different kind of question:
"Where in my life am I choosing the paycheque over the feeling?
And… is there a way to have more of both?
Even a little more alignment.
A little more energy.
A little more purpose woven into your day-to-day."

What if it didn’t have to be one or the other? For a long time, we’ve been taught that this is just the deal:
You work for money, and fulfillment is something you find outside of it.

But more and more people are starting to question that.
They’re looking for ways to:

• earn an income and feel connected to what they’re doing
• build something meaningful and financially sustainable
• create a life that supports both their responsibilities and their well-being

Not overnight. Not perfectly. But intentionally.
Because the goal isn’t to escape reality, it’s to reshape it in a way that actually works for you.

A different kind of conversation. If this resonates with you, even a little, there’s probably a reason.

You don’t need to have it all figured out.
You don’t need a big, dramatic plan.
But you are allowed to explore what “both” could look like in your life:
- A real paycheque.
- And an emotional one.

If you’re curious about what that could look like, I’m always open to a conversation. No pressure, just an honest look at what might be possible for you.