A Year Without Spotify

On silence, stress, and finding my way back to listening

In the beginning of last year, just after the final Christmas tunes had faded and the fireworks died out, my streaming on Spotify stopped. It was not intentional. I was on my way to the grocery store and, as always, I put in my AirPods and opened the app. But unlike before, my thumb lingered over the lit-up screen. I paused. Did I really want to listen to music right now? Or was I just doing this without thinking?

It felt similar to when I catch myself scrolling on YouTube Shorts and suddenly an hour has passed without anything remotely productive or mind-stimulating happening. So instead of pressing play, I pulled out my AirPods and closed the app. I walked with the sound of my shoes hitting the snow, people’s voices around me, cars passing on the road. It was not music, but it was something. It was life.

I continued the practice throughout winter, during my daily commutes on public transport. I heard people interacting, arguing with someone on the phone. I watched others read books or scroll endlessly until their stop arrived. Not all of it was pleasant, but I became aware of my surroundings in a way I had not been for a long time. I noticed people coughing, or if they stood too close in the checkout line. I noticed when a car appeared before I crossed the street. I even heard someone vomiting in a trash can early one Monday morning. And not once did I feel the urge to pick up my phone and stream artificial sounds to tune out the world.

When spring arrived, something shifted. The noises softened and made room for new sounds. Children’s laughter from the park near my house. Wind brushing through the treetops. Birds in the early morning. My shoes against gravel as I walked to work. In summer, there was the low hum of bees in our flower patches while I tended the garden, fully present.

It was not complete silence. I still listened to music, but I stopped trying to keep up with what was new. I no longer felt the quiet stress of choosing the right song or scrolling endlessly through playlists. Sometimes, while doing the dishes, I turned on the radio, preferably a classical music channel, just to elevate the moment or, as people say now, to romanticize it.

Lost in Translation (2003) by Sofia Coppola

When autumn came and the leaves rustled along the pavement, I introduced podcasts. I had never been very interested in them. I often lose the thread and tune out halfway through a discussion. But after months without constant music, I noticed that my attention span had grown. I found a few podcasts I genuinely enjoyed on the Swedish Radio app, one discussing classic literature and another about historical figures. I also listened to The New York Times’ The Daily for insight into world politics and Amy Poehler’s Good Hang for laughter. Most episodes were the perfect length for my door-to-door commute.

Still, I enjoyed the silence more.

I missed a lot of new artists during 2025. I had no idea what Olivia Dean, Gracie Abrams, or Chappell Roan sounded like. I did not listen to Lily Allen’s or Taylor Swift’s new album when it was released. And honestly, I was completely fine with that. When the music faded, so did the stress of keeping up.

Instead, I felt a new urge to keep up with the sounds around me. And I began to enjoy music differently. I started really listening to the instruments in a classical piece, noticing how the volume rose and fell. I turned it into a game with my three-year-old. We waved our hands during the high notes and swayed gently during the lower parts. It became a way to connect through music that might never have happened if I had not stopped streaming it so constantly. We also started putting on our own concerts, creating songs, making noise, being playful. In a strange way, by listening to less music, I became more connected to it. I learned to appreciate it more.

This year, I have slowly started to reintroduce music, mostly during my commute and only if I genuinely feel like listening. The urge does not come often. And I am okay with that.

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