Reclaiming the Radio—And Everything She Took With It

This Was The Day I FINALLY Took My Life Back After My Divorce

One of my great victories since my divorce has been reclaiming the radio.

I was in a very codependent relationship for 8 years. Over all that time, my ex dominated the radio in the car 100% of the time. No exceptions.

Don’t get me wrong, she had pretty good taste in music.

However…

I became alienated from my taste in music. I forgot how much music enriched my soul. I was wholly alienated from myself.

Why did she dominate the radio?

Why did I go along with it?

These are questions I can spend an eternity thinking about. After a certain point, I accept what happened.

I was living with a control freak who had to have absolutely everything her way.

My need for her approval was weaponized against me. I hated it when she criticized my taste in music. She only had to tear me down a few times before I shrunk myself to invisibility — giving her free reign to control the radio whenever we were in the car together.

We lived in the middle of nowhere and were attached at the hip. We both worked from home, and we were both foreigners in a new country. We shared one car.

Sometimes, I got to listen to my tunes — when I was in the car alone. But, still, I felt like I wasn’t allowed to have my tastes and preferences.

So, even when alone, I still was pretty detached from my taste in music.

It’s obvious now that I’ve reinvented myself as a salsa and bachata dancer. I am so incredibly passionate about my craft.

Today, I’ve got non-stop bachata playing on the radio.

My tastes are so dialed in… it’s not uncommon for me to go to a party and feel like the playlist in my car was better.

This deep immersion into bachata is part of my process as an artist.

One of the things my fellow dancers never get to see is how much I live and breathe salsa and bachata music.

It’s one of the things that makes me a great dancer. I’ve absorbed these bachata songs into my bones.

So, when I hear them out in the wild, I can respond to them in all sorts of subtle ways that others can’t.

Knowing the songs intimately gave me more time to conceive of my next move on the dance floor. That extra half-second of reaction time makes all the difference.

The sweet bachata in the air itself is a symbol of my freedom.

I’m obsessed with Romeo Santos. It’s an obsession that’s quite hilarious. Romeo Santos is the most well-known bachata singer. One of the things that I love about him, as well as Bachata in general, is how much he loves women. With Romeo constantly playing daily, I live in a headspace that’s a never-ending soap opera. There’s always drama, spice, and flirtation in my mind and heart.

The previous chapter of my life. 8 years in a toxic relationship. That side of me got utterly erased.

This is what I was like before I met my wife. And I’m SO GLAD that it has made a comeback and survived to the present day.

I was listening to Romeo Santos 10 years ago — living in New Hampshire in the middle of nowhere.

I had to drive an hour and forty-five minutes to find the closest salsa community.

Every week, sometimes twice per week, I’d make that almost 4-hour round trip. I’d get home around 2 or 3 in the morning. I never regretted it.

I look back on those days — when I was left to my own devices and felt free to be myself completely. Those were the days of my life.

What a cowboy. What a swashbuckler. Nothing could stop me.

10 years later… I’ve become an even purer version of that guy. My younger self would be so proud to see what I became.

During this former relationship, I got trained out of being myself. I know this sounds wild to say out loud, but there came a point where I wasn’t allowed to be myself anymore.

And, incredibly, I went along with that. I must constantly remind myself of my part in this unhealthy dynamic.

Had I written this post 2 years ago, it would have been all about my ex’s flaws and misdeeds, with much less self-reflection.

Everything changed the day I moved out…

I had been nervous about leaving my car behind, but I had no choice. When I separated from my ex, I decided to fly back to St. Lucia to be with my family for a few months.

Codependent as I was, the car was in her name, so I couldn’t even put it in storage without her consent, which would never happen.

I was also nervous because, after 8 years of being used and abused, I finally understood that my ex-wife never treated my things with the same respect I would. She had recently gotten into a minor car accident with that car, and all while acting like I had no right to even be upset about it.

I was also starting to understand her capacity for vengeance.

I didn’t exactly think she would do any further damage to my car — but I don’t think anyone would feel right about leaving one of their most prized possessions in the hands of their new sworn enemy. I certainly didn’t.

I returned to our house to get the rest of my things, and we spent a good hour arguing about her handing over my car.

She essentially blackmailed me into staying for the afternoon, saying she would refuse to let me have the car if I didn’t. She wasn’t bluffing.

She had driven the car 11 hours to Atlanta and back while I was gone without changing the oil.

She fixed the smashed front but never took the car to a mechanic, so the minute I sat in the driver’s seat, I knew something was wrong.

Every time I turned left, the car would rattle and shake—a most unwelcome reminder of my ex-wife.

I left our house for the last time and drove to a mechanic to fix it immediately. Some people like to have their possessions in tatters, but I want my things to always be in good condition.

After that, I drove to Rochester, NY.

That was the day I finally reclaimed the radio.

This reclaiming of the radio symbolizes a much more significant victory.

It’s mind-boggling to look back and see how deeply policed I used to be. When you consider the situation for what it was, I wasn’t allowed to be myself.

But something extraordinary happened. One day, I started living out loud in every aspect of my life. This goes far beyond my taste in music.

Now that I’ve become a real card-carrying Buddhist, I reflect on those eight years and think about how I was always interested in Buddhism. Still, instead of pursuing that interest, I listened to guided meditations secretly with my headphones on when nobody was looking.

I talked about trying a 5k for years.

And I remembered the old days when I was a runner in high school.

But then I finally took the plunge.

I started running races every week.

And I worked my way up to half marathons.

After the first 5k, I told myself I must do 100 more before I die. And you know what? I’m getting extremely close to that 100 mark already.

For almost a whole decade before this phase, I sat on my ass and got fatter and fatter.

And I hated it. I can’t even stand to watch Netflix anymore. It feels like a palpable waste of time when I could be running, dancing, meditating, or playing the flute.

My ex-wife knew I played the flute when I was younger. But, in 8 years, she hadn’t heard me play once.

She would be shocked to find out how good I have gotten. I picked up my old instrument, which had been sitting unused for 20 years, and I taught myself how to play all over again — way better than I ever used to be as a kid.

In my adult mind, climbing the hurdles necessary to get better is much easier. I felt a sense of responsibility to bring it back, knowing how much my mother sacrificed so that we could all become talented musicians.

I also felt I owed it to myself. I could sense that my inner child felt like it was an undone task.

That’s the main reason I brought it back. Playing the flute is a direct connection to my childhood self. All of the struggles and complexities of those days come right back to me when I play.

Thankfully, today, I get to play whatever I want. I almost have Flight of the Bumblebee mastered. I can also play the Simpsons theme song and Paint it Black by The Rolling Stones, among many others.

Every time I press play, it’s a reminder—this life is mine, and I will never hit mute on myself again.

Until next time,

Anton

Dancer, Writer, Buddhist

P.S. If this resonates, forward it to someone who needs to read it.