I thought it would be a private relationship between me and my record player. Music collections, no matter what they are made of, can be so intimate they border on embarrassing. Not sure what to buy, I clicked on review after review, talking myself into and out of nearly every purchase. But the thing about a collection is you have to start collecting, and what I thought would be a solitary indulgence quickly became an absorbing bridge to new communities, new conversations and new weirdos.
My old records, dumped in a purge to shed an old skin and gain a new perspective, wasn't exactly a thoughtful curation. Its size, which may have looked impressive on the shelf, was mostly due to inheritance and not intention. Still, I probably should have held onto those early Cosby recordings or Mama's entire collection of Paul McCartney and the Wings. But sometimes you have to let go.