Juxtaposed Journeys: A Reflection Inspired by Back to Black

Welcome to the first post of 2025! I hope your holidays were everything you needed them to be—filled with family, friends, and those fleeting moments that remind you how good life can be. Here’s to an incredible 2025 for all of you.

It’s been a while since I last posted—I know, I know. Hopefully, you’ve missed me as much as I’ve missed sharing these learnings with you.

My winter break was a mixed bag of familiarity and unexpected growth. I had the joy of seeing my family again, which always feels like pressing "pause" on everything else. For those curious, my amazing grandma is still thriving (as flawless as ever), my grandpa’s health has been a bit worrying, but his stubborn spirit remains unshaken—think Paul Mescal in Gladiator II. My parents and sister? Also doing great.

But this trip wasn’t just about reconnecting with loved ones. As I’ve told my friends Max and Eric, it ended up being unexpectedly transformative. You’d think a transformative moment would be marked by huge revelations or dramatic life events, but instead, it was a quiet unfolding—books, deep conversations with my mother, and some overdue introspection. At the same time, it all felt so normal.

It’s strange, isn’t it? You expect change to come with fireworks, but this was more like sitting by a fire—slow, warm, and comforting. And yet, there was something about the simplicity that threw me off. It made it harder to fully grasp what I’d learned, like trying to make sense of a reflection in rippling water.

And then, art did what it does best: gave me clarity when I least expected it. Somewhere over the Atlantic on a 13-hour flight back to Boston, my time was spent the usual way—books, music, and the occasional existential crisis in a cramped seat. A forgotten song shuffled into my ears: As Tears Dry on Their Own.

I was instantly dishelved. The Motown-inspired beat felt warm and nostalgic, while the lyrics cut with a quiet ache. The tambourine’s cheerful shake almost demanded a head nod, even as Amy Winehouse’s voice delivered a raw honesty about loneliness and self-destruction. “I shouldn’t play myself again / I should just be my own best friend.” Somehow, at that moment, the song became the comfort I didn’t know I needed. It led me to dive back into the entire Back to Black album—a record that’s always felt important but now seems even more profound.

Background

When Amy Winehouse released Back to Black in 2006, she became one of Britain’s biggest pop stars, and yet she couldn’t have been more different from her contemporaries. Her first album was cheeky and full of sharp humor, but Back to Black introduced the world to a new side of Amy: darker, rawer, and unapologetically complex.

She didn’t just break the mold; she smashed it. With her towering, messy beehive, unapologetic tattoos, and magnetic swagger, Amy became the booze-swilling, foul-mouthed jazz singer who was equal parts pin-up and sailor. In an era when pop music prized sweetness and perfection—girl groups with polished harmonies and polished images—Amy was a walking rebellion. Her chaotic brilliance drew me in. If you’re familiar with Daisy Jones from Daisy Jones & The Six, you’ll understand what I mean when I say Amy carried a similar chaotic, magnetic energy.

Daisy Jones

But behind her larger-than-life persona was an artist whose vulnerabilities bled through her music. Tragically, Back to Black would become one of the best-selling British albums of the 21st century in part because it’s haunted by what came next. Amy’s struggles with addiction, mental health, and the pressures of fame were heartbreakingly public, and she passed away just a few years after the album’s release.

It feels disrespectful to use words like “messy” or “booze-swilling” to describe her, knowing these same descriptors were weaponized by tabloids to tear her down. And yet, these elements were part of the raw, unfiltered authenticity that made her music so magnetic. Her ex-manager, Nick Shymansky, has said he believes she might still be alive today if she’d chosen sobriety over creating Back to Black. But Amy did make the album, and it remains one of the most devastatingly honest pop records ever created. As a teenager, I loved its beats and macabre glamour. As an adult, I keep returning to its emotional depth and unflinching honesty.

Back to Black is a chronicle of temptation, misery, and loneliness. Though often framed as an album about heartbreak, in my mind it is more self-reflexive. Amy wasn’t just singing to an ex-lover—she was wrestling with herself. Songs like Rehab and Love Is a Losing Game dive into depression, addiction, and inner turmoil in ways that were startlingly unusual for a chart-topping pop record.

Take the line from Rehab: “I’m gonna lose my baby / So I always keep a bottle near.” How many other Grammy-winning pop stars in recent memory have explored themes like that with such brutal honesty? It’s important to consider the rawness of this album not just in the context of its success, but also in light of what happened to Amy after its release.

And yet, despite the heaviness of its themes, Back to Black is filled with so much life. It’s the type of record that leaves an indelible mark—not just because of what it represents in Amy’s legacy, but because of how deeply personal it feels for anyone who listens.

Analysis 

As Tears Dry on Their Own

It only feels right to start with the song that sparked this entire reflection: Tears Dry on Their Own.

Fun fact before I begin, this song is actually a creative take on the soul classic Aint no Mountain High enough, if you look at the chords for both songs, they are very similar, Winehouse just changes the melody to make it almost unrecognizable from the famous song.

Amy Winehouse & Blake Fielder-Civil

Getting back on track, many people link this song to Amy Winehouse’s infamous breakup with Blake Fielder-Civil, who left her for his ex-girlfriend (though the two would marry just months later, in May 2007). At first glance, the lyrics seem like a straightforward chronicle of heartbreak:

"He walks away, the sun goes down

He takes the day but I’m grown

And in your way, in this blue shade

My tears dry on their own."

It’s tempting to interpret this as Amy trying to pick up the pieces of herself after her breakup—grieving the loss of someone who took all the light from her life. “The sun goes down” paints a picture of her world growing darker in his absence, while “my tears dry on their own” hints at her determination to move forward despite the pain.

But for me, this song reaches deeper than heartbreak. When I really listen to it—when I sit with the emotion behind the lyrics—it feels like a reflection on self-actualization. Tears Dry on Their Own isn’t just about letting go of someone; it’s about the process of reaching a state of emptiness, where you strip away everything—your illusions, attachments, and emotional crutches—and allow yourself to absorb the truths around you. Emptiness isn’t a void here; it’s a starting point, a space where transformation begins. To me it makes perfect sense, how else can you truly grow if you don’t first make room for the lessons life is constantly trying to teach you?

Amy’s journey through this emptiness comes through in the verses following the chorus:

"I don’t understand, why do I stress the man

When there’s so many better things at hand

We coulda never had it all, we had to hit a wall

So this is inevitable withdrawal."

This is where Amy begins confronting herself. The first step of self-actualization is accountability—asking yourself the difficult questions. In this case, she wonders why she’s pouring her energy into someone who doesn’t deserve it. That first line feels like a flash of clarity, the kind of question you can only ask when you’ve sat in the quiet discomfort of your own emptiness.

The last two lines—“We coulda never had it all, we had to hit a wall / So this is inevitable withdrawal”—drive home another critical step in her process: acceptance. She’s not just letting go of Blake; she’s letting go of the dream she had of their relationship. To fully reach emptiness, Amy has to release the idealized version of what they could’ve been. This isn’t just heartbreak—it’s a dismantling of the illusions she had built around her pre-conceived opinions and expectations. Hence, maybe that’s why I see the line “My tears dry on their own” as more than just moving on from heartbreak—it’s about creating room for growth, for lessons, and for self-discovery.

What makes this song so powerful is how it embodies the uncomfortable, messy reality of personal growth. Reaching emptiness isn’t glamorous. It’s painful and disorienting, like standing in the wreckage of something you once clung to. But Amy shows us how sitting in that space—letting go of the weight of the past and the anxiety of the future—is what allows you to fully flow with the present.

Through Tears Dry on Their Own, Amy captures the essence of self-actualization. It’s about learning to let go of illusions and slowly build happiness from within. It’s a quiet, internal process—nothing like the fireworks we often expect from life-changing moments. Instead, it’s like watching ripples on a lake, slowly smoothing out over time (sound familiar?).

Back to Black 

In line with the theme of self-actualization, Amy Winehouse gives us another glimpse into the journey toward emptiness with the haunting title track, Back to Black.

This song, like the entire album, beautifully juxtaposes vintage and modern elements. Winehouse draws heavily from the vitality of iconic soul girl groups like The Shangri-Las and The Velvelettes, but she infuses that classic sound with bold, contemporary perspectives. For example, if you listen to Wake Up Alone and compare it to The Shangri-Las’ Remember (Walking in the Sand), you’ll notice striking similarities in the chord progressions. This blending of the old and new is one of my favourite aspects of the album.

The Shangri-Las

Amy doesn’t just borrow the sound of these vintage artists; she reimagines it. Where the girl groups of the past often used metaphor and restraint to explore love and heartbreak, Winehouse is unfiltered and raw. Her boldness—both in her lyrics and delivery—feels almost jarring when paired with such nostalgic sounds, creating something entirely unique and undeniably powerful. You can hear it most clearly in Back to Black, where she turns inward and dissects her own behavior in the aftermath of heartbreak:

"My odds are stacked

I go back to black."

Black is such a loaded, powerful color—it represents death, emptiness, and depression. In this song, it symbolizes not only the death of her relationship but also the loss of a part of herself. In the music video, where Amy attends a funeral, this imagery becomes literal. But the death she’s mourning goes beyond her relationship. It ties into her personal struggles, particularly her battle with addiction. For Amy, "going back to black" isn’t just about heartache—it’s about retreating to the numbing comforts of alcohol, even as she recognizes its destructiveness.

This idea of “black” representing both heartbreak and self-destruction becomes even clearer as Amy reveals the cyclical nature of her pain. She sings:

"I love you much, it’s not enough

You love blow, and I love puff

And life is like a pipe

And I’m a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside."

Every time I hear that last line, it hits me. It’s such a visceral image—being small, stuck, and powerless, spinning in a loop you can’t escape. It perfectly captures the hopelessness of being trapped by your own choices and emotions. This moment is a testament to Amy’s unparalleled writing ability, a quality that sometimes gets overshadowed by the happy, Mark Ronson-produced beats of the album.

But this isn’t just Amy lamenting her situation—it’s her questioning it. The way she articulates her truth shows a glimmer of self-awareness, a willingness to confront herself. She’s starting to take responsibility for her actions and the role she plays in her pain, even as she struggles to reshape her patterns. To me, this realization/ability to see and name her behaviour—is the first step toward something deeper.

The final refrain, “I go back to black,” feels like resignation on the surface, but it also carries a quiet acceptance. It suggests a readiness to face what “black” represents, not to remain there, but to sit with it long enough to respond, rather than react, to her circumstances.

Amy’s ability to blend vintage sounds with raw, modern vulnerability throughout this whole album  mirrors this inner journey. The nostalgic orchestration evokes the past—those familiar, comfortable patterns she’s trying to let go of—while her unfiltered lyrics pull her into the present, forcing her to confront her reality. This juxtaposition isn’t just a musical choice; it’s a reflection of the tension within her. The song almost suggests that sometimes going back to black means not staying there, but to clear the way for something new.

Takeaway

So what was that transformative experience I underwent over break and how is it related to Winehouse journey?

Well, as I’ve mentioned before—particularly in my review of Bon Iver and ZNMD—I’ve been feeling new passions arise. For a long time, my life felt monotonous, as though I was living on autopilot. Every day seemed aimed at the same goals: a good job, good money, good grades, and “success,” however I happened to define it at the time. Don’t get me wrong, those are admirable goals, but they always felt… shallow. They didn’t seem like they were helping me truly grow.

Yes, I achieved things that looked great on paper. I got leadership positions, compliments on being “smart,” and jobs I worked hard for. But I wasn’t truly happy—I was just living in the perception of it. My mind was always racing, yearning for two seemingly contradictory things: the peacefulness of stillness and the thrill of a fast-paced life that matched my “go, go, go” mindset. I know, it sounds paradoxical, and maybe it is.

That’s when I started reading books again. As Ivan Pavlov said, “If you want a new idea, read an old book.” So I did—everything from non-fiction to Sally Rooney’s Intermezzo (Love me a cheeky romance) I discovered something I didn’t know I’d been missing: the art of letting go in order to truly experience being.

In one of the articles I read for my behavioral neuroscience class, I came across a quote by sociologist Charles Horton Cooley:

"I am not what I think I am, and I am not what you think I am. I am what I think you think I am."

At first, it sounds confusing, but let it sit with you for a moment. Our identities and egos are so often shaped by what others think of us—or more accurately, what we think others think of us. That’s not a revolutionary idea, but I had a different takeaway. Not only is our self image tied up in how we think others see us, but most of our efforts at self improvement are really just us trying to meet that imagined ideal. 

For instance, I deeply admire my family. Because I imagined they see wealth as a marker of success, I’ve spent my whole life chasing wealth. If we imagine that a friend is judging our looks, we tailor our appearance in response. In West Side Story, Maria meets a boy who's into her, what her very next song? “I Feel Pretty”.  

What I realized was that the reason my goals felt shallow was because I was living in a perception of a perception of myself. Cooley called this the “looking-glass self.” In many ways, it’s like Amy’s world, where outside voices shouted labels like “whore,” “drunkard,” and “chaotic.” She was surrounded by expectations and judgements, just as so many of us are: Get into the best schools. Find a lucrative job. Get married. Buy a home.

I’m not criticizing these cultural norms—they exist for a reason. Models of what a fulfilling life might look like are helpful for a society. But I had been adopting those goals without reflection. I wasn’t asking myself why I wanted them, which meant I could never truly understand why I felt so unfulfilled by them.

Long before winter break, I started letting go of those external influences—of the constant need to meet expectations. I began making a conscious effort to be more aware of myself, of others, and of the world around me. Like Winehouse’s journey inward, the biggest benefit of this process was finding values that truly reflected me. In Think Like a Monk, Jay Shetty refers to these values as guiding values; these values are the ones that communicate to us about who we want to be, how we treat ourselves and others, in a way, they act as the ethical GPS we can use to navigate through life.

Once I figured out my values, everything started to shift. Life felt like it had more direction, like I was being pulled subconsciously—toward the people, habits, and actions that aligned with who I truly was. These values made it easier to focus my time and energy on what mattered. Sure, my friends sometimes comment that I’m “too busy,” but I see it as my values protecting me from distractions.

Getting to that point wasn’t easy. Just as Winehouse’s songs are drenched in her pain, my own journey required deep reflection on some of my hardest moments. It took constant, conscious effort to reframe the way I thought about myself, others, and the world. A big part of that was learning to step away from what’s often called the “monkey mind.” This concept stems from the idea that our minds can either elevate us or pull us down. Today, like many people, I struggled with overthinking, procrastination, and anxiety—patterns driven by indulging in monkey mind that flits from thought to thought, challenge to challenge, without ever truly resolving anything. A way I was able to shift away from that mindset, was taking myself on solo dates—going to plays, sitting in restaurants alone, or simply exploring a new space by myself. These moments of isolation gave me the clarity to distinguish and more importantly befriend my own voice from the noise of media, society, and external pressure.

When I travelled to India to see my family, I brought this transformed perspective with me, expecting to share my growth with the people I love. But what I found surprised me. Familiar places had changed, and my perspectives were, in some ways, waved away as “philosophical shi*t.” But these changes are inevitable. I know my family reads my blog (love you, Mom, Dad, and Sister!), so I want to emphasize that this isn’t a critique in any way. It’s simply an observation.

The changes I noticed in my family—both individual and collective—pushed me into another round of introspection. I found myself asking questions: Had these changes always been there, and I just hadn’t noticed? Or had I changed too much? Or was it both? I wondered if the person I had become was now seeing them through a new lens, or if I was holding on too tightly to the idea of who they used to be. Maybe it was the natural ebb and flow of relationships, or maybe it was my own growth that made these differences feel more pronounced.

Throughout my trip, I went on a journey to answer these questions for myself, simultaneously however I was enjoying every minute I could spend with them, maybe that is why this part of the blog is taking me weeks to write, I do not know how to articulate what I learned from that duality. Just like Winehouse juxtaposed old and new in her music. I was confronting my old understanding of my family while trying to reconcile it with what was in front of me. Like Amy, I realized that change—whether in people, relationships, or even ourselves—is a byproduct of life’s natural flow. My job wasn’t to resist it but to flow with it, to take each moment as it came and let it guide me where I was meant to go.

Maybe that’s why Tears Dry on Their Own connected with me so deeply. Or maybe it’s because I’ve finally come to understand that to grow individually, you have to let go—and to give back meaningfully, you have to accomplish both. In some ways, this blog is my version of Back to Black. I connected with this album because I feel like I understand the place Amy had to reach to create this music—a place of emptiness, quaint transformation, and small changes that spark entirely new perspectives.

A place defined by black. A kind of black that only Amy Winehouse could truly understand.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s time for you to find your definition of black too.