Yes, I’m the guy you rolled your eyes at on the bus.
It started simply enough, with a forgotten pair of headphones and a long commute ahead of me. I didn’t want to sit in silence, so I played my music out loud.
I thought people would tell me off or give me disapproving looks, but something unexpected happened instead. A stranger smiled at me when they heard a song they knew, and someone else nodded in approval at another song.
In these moments, my music became more than just an escape for me—it turned into a bridge, connecting me to the people around me in short but meaningful ways.
Yet, this choice isn’t without its controversies. So for everyone who has glared or rolled their eyes at me, here’s why I continue this habit.
Breaking the Silence
I remember one time on a busy city street. As I walked along, lost in the beat of a jazz song, I saw an old man walking next to me. His steps matched the rhythm of the music. We looked at each other, silently sharing the moment.
We shared a discussion about the artist I’m listening to and his other recommendations. It turns out, he’s a jazz musician himself and has a few music uploaded on Spotify.
Right then and there, I followed his artist profile and have listened to some of his songs ever since.
For that moment, the music had brought us together. Two strangers united by a shared love for the music.
There’s a real joy in sharing my music with the world. It’s like letting myself be vulnerable, letting others see a bit of who I am.
On good days, it feels like putting on a public concert where I get to pick all the songs. The excitement of playing a song that resonates with a passerby, the feeling of sharing a favorite tune, the quiet acknowledgment—these moments make the risks worth it.
By playing music openly, I’m saying “I’m here,” sharing my taste, and sometimes even making a statement.
On the other hand, I think listening to music with headphones is isolating and rude.
It cuts people off from their surroundings and the people around them. I see people on buses and in the streets glued to their devices, plugged into their music. They’re totally isolated and detached from the world and people around them.
I know this has become the new normal, and society is supposed to be horrified by it.
Safety Concerns
Aside from sharing music, I can’t ignore the safety risks that come with using headphones.
Studies have shown that wearing headphones can make you more likely to get hurt, especially if you’re walking.
I know this from experience too. A friend’s brother was attacked while listening to music with headphones on.
It’s really important to be aware of what’s going on around you, including things like traffic, distracted drivers, and sirens. I think using headphones in public just isn’t worth the risk of getting hurt or worse.
Dancing Around the Pitfalls
But this open-listening thing isn’t perfect. For every smile I share with someone, there’s a frown or a look of annoyance from someone who thinks my public concert is just noise.
The criticism isn’t totally wrong.
Of course, not everyone will like my music choices. Some might find it rude or annoying. To them, I apologize and promise that I’m not trying to force my music on anyone—I’m just trying to share it.
Public spaces are for everyone, and in my quest for connection, I have to admit that I’m forcing my choice on others. I’m stepping on their right to silence or their own music preferences.
So, as an open listener, I’ve learned to be mindful of where I choose to share my music. Spaces that invite communal experiences, such as parks or beaches, have become my stages, while I tread more carefully in enclosed or solemn environments.
In quiet places like waiting rooms, I keep the volume down or use headphones out of respect for others.
When I do play music openly, I try to pick songs that aren’t too explicit or polarizing, knowing that public spaces are shared by people of all ages and backgrounds. I’m also open to feedback from others. If someone says they’re uncomfortable, I’m willing to turn down the volume or change the song.
Listening to music without headphones in public is an experience full of contradictions.
It’s an act of sharing that risks forcing itself on others, a quest for connection that can lead to isolation.
The key, I’ve found, is finding a middle ground—sharing without overpowering, adding to the public soundscape in a way that enhances it rather than takes away from it.
But in those moments when everything lines up just right, when a stranger’s foot taps along to the beat of my music, there’s a magic that rises above the criticism and challenges.