Why Do We Like What We Like?

Our preferences could be more about belonging

One night, my high school musician friends squeezed into my father’s old Pontiac and he drove us to Washington, D.C. to hear Count Basie perform live. I doubt that we spent a lot of time listening to Basie then—it was more the music of my father’s time—but we appreciated an opportunity to see live music, especially in the city with someone so famous. Dad knew we’d remember this night, and our time to experience it was limited. Basie didn’t live too many years after that performance.

Photo by Alex Zamora on Unsplash

It’s no coincidence that I like jazz and my father was a jazz musician. We become our environment. Sadly, jazz—our great American music—is not as popular as it was. But it brings back memories that anchor me to a small piece of this world’s history. That night in D.C. was one of many over the years where I got to sit in the audience of clubs to watch, listen, feel a connection to music in a way that radio just can’t provide. Live music makes the audience feel like they get to be a part of the music. And I was proud that night of my father, for bringing me and my friends into his world. I see now that music was more than entertainment. And jazz, specifically, gives me a sense of belonging, an understanding of my identity. Jazz belongs to me.

Why do we like what we like?

My mother used to say that fall was her season, and now I feel this way too—even though I also enjoy spring and summer. I’m not saying much about winter. I just returned from a walk and the whole world is wet today, with shiny leaves stuck to the path underfoot. The trees are hinting at change, but for now there’s a lot of green still painting the air. And yet, everything looks gray, too, and somehow that makes me happy. It shouldn’t. Everybody says “What a nice day” when the skies are clear blue and the sun is beaming. Those of us who also like gray mostly keep it to ourselves. I think it’s the excitement of change that feels good, along with the repetition of seasons cycling. After this many years watching them come around, decades of my history are churning along with it. I belong in these seasons of change.

Photo by Jason M on Unsplash

Are we made or do we shape our own mold?

I wonder if everything about us is simply conditioned. The type of work we feel drawn to, the climate, the kind of home, our style of dress, our music and entertainment choices, whether we have dogs or cats or both. We think of it as our preferences, but how much of that was really a choice? Did your family teach you what you like to eat? And if so, could it be changed and would we be the same people? Surely, we are deeper than our preferences, and yet I can’t imagine liking metal music or rodeos or living in the city and still being Trevy.

What if we’ve been trained into liking what we like and we’re not as unique as we thought? Who cares if our identities are completely manufactured? Except that if that’s true, then they could be changed into something else. Maybe. I did try living in Florida for a while and the weather never felt right even though I was young and enjoyed the beach. The climate benefited me, but still I missed winter coats and boots, indoor fires, a period of gray skies. I was ultimately not able to undo that connection. I didn’t belong there.

Luck of the draw

All of this makes me really grateful for some things and I bet it does you too. Like the kind of family you were born to, and the place where you lived. If we are going to be so shaped by our environment early on in life, then just imagine the situations you could’ve been born to. Because this goes well beyond simple tastes and preferences. It leads to whether or not you live somewhere today that has running water, climate control, shelter, paved roads, relative safety. There are places you could have been born where you never heard jazz or any music at all other than maybe singing around you. And maybe that would be okay too. Maybe if you grew up and moved away through some good fortune, you might look back at that life and think “But that was me. That’s where I’m from and it will always stir my heart.”

I don’t know. But I don’t have to create my world all over again. The one I have is pretty good. And as much as I may have complained over the years, it always has been. Our time here is nothing more than a great experience. And today, the change I feel in seasons is pulling me out of my mind’s task, connecting me to my history and, hopefully, my future too, and reminding me that some of the simplest pleasures are the most satisfying.

“I am what time, circumstance, history, have made of me, certainly, but I am also, much more than that. So are we all.” –James Baldwin.

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