I’ve been thinking a lot lately about music — about its quality, about fanboys and fangirls, about what I like and don’t like, and about what I’ve thought in the past about people who enjoy certain artists or genres.

And then I got to thinking that none of that actually matters, because listening to music is, as I see it, one of the most personal of activities. It is entirely a matter of taste. You may enjoy a certain kind, but you certainly cannot prove its quality to someone else — unless that someone makes the arbitrary decision to enjoy it.

I enjoy many kinds of music. I listen to classical, jazz, rock, modern pop and I appreciate Eminem’s lyrical mastery. But it’s not as though I can convince you of that music’s worth or value. I can tell you what I think of it, but even if you listened to it and agreed with me, I wouldn’t have proven it — I wasn’t able to offer any evidence.

Fanboys and fangirls are probably at every concert for Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus, Selena Gomez and a host of other artists. Have you ever seen footage of the Beatles’ concerts? Fans can get pretty wild for their music. And I’m alright with it. They’re expressing their tastes and supporting an art.

When I think about music, I don’t like — such as rap, lots of the pop that comes over the airwaves and opera — I try not to denigrate it like I used to. I’ve come to realize that music is an intensely personal activity. And maybe I knew that all along, since I almost categorically refuse to play a piano anywhere people may be listening. Yes, I’m paranoid of being laughed at.

Music is so personal because it is inherently a taste — there exists no evidence for its quality, and if there was it would be unconvincing. Certain aspects of music can be judged — elegance, elaborateness, succinctness, volume — and the attractiveness of a song can be judged using those criteria. But whether you enjoy it or not is a rather arbitrary decision you make at some point in your life. And it is a decision that can be rescinded at any time you please.

I give applause to those people who are comfortable enough in their own skin to play their instruments or sing around strangers and large crowds. I could only do so in a large chorus, where anonymity prevailed. I was almost always horrified before playing in one of my piano recitals. I always asked myself, “What if they don’t like it?”

The main reason I write all this is to ask that everyone who criticizes music to take half a minute to listen to it, think about the lyrics, think about the elegance and give consideration before making that arbitrary decision. In listening to music, you ought to be able to read the expression on the artist’s face, or the thoughts in his or her mind. One of the reasons I listen to Chopin is that, given his emotive compositions, I can paint a mental portrait of him— I can see the expressions in his eyes.

Perhaps musicians don’t do it for you. Perhaps they aren’t out to win the contest of iTunes downloads or royalty checks. Maybe they compose, write and perform for themselves. Maybe they have something to say to anyone who is willing to give them a listen. So before you revile a song, artist or genre, entertain the idea that the people who have it all are just like you, with all your cares, worries and dysfunction.

I like music best when it speaks to my soul.