Fleetwood Mac has followed me through more chapters of my life than almost any other band.
Funny how certain songs refuse to stay in the past. They just keep showing up, carrying old versions of us with them.
When I was in college, I didn’t really know who they were.
I had friends who lived in a condo just off campus. One night they invited me over, and as I climbed the steep steps to their second-floor apartment, I could already hear the music. Their balcony overlooked a big courtyard, and theirs was the only place with the lights on. Before I even reached the door, I could hear a crowd inside singing at the top of their lungs.
I remember stopping for a second before I knocked.
Who is this?
Whoever they are, they’re good.
Eventually someone slowed down long enough to answer my questions. Fleetwood Mac. Stevie Nicks. Lindsey Buckingham. Christine McVie.
From then on, I was hooked.
Years passed. Life became more complicated. There were seasons that felt uncertain, and then one day I met a man named Lou.
We met online, but our first date felt anything but awkward. He was gentle. Calm. The kind of person whose kindness shows up before he ever says much.
By the end of the evening, I had a feeling I didn’t want the night to end.
As he got out of the car, I had one very clear thought:
If he never asks me out again, I at least want to know what it feels like to kiss him.
So I leaned over, put my hands on his face, and kissed him.
That was the beginning of everything.
We kissed at the movies.
We kissed in restaurants.
We kissed walking down the street.
We kissed in parking lots.
When he’d see me, he’d pull me close before he ever said hello.
And somehow, all these years later, I still want to kiss him every chance I get.
I’ve never told Lou this, but every single time Fleetwood Mac’s “You Make Loving Fun” comes on, I don’t hear the song first.
I see him.
I see him climbing out of his car before our first date, throwing his arms up in the air
with that easy confidence that seemed to say,
Well... this is me. I hope you like what you see.
I did.
More importantly, I loved who I met.
That song has quietly held onto that memory for all these years.
It's funny how music does that.
A three-minute song becomes a time machine.
Some people count the years.
I count the songs that still make me fall in love with him.
