The Airplane Analogy

I went through a rather long phase of being unable to fly...on an airplane, of course. The very thought of boarding a plane would nearly cause an anxiety attack. My fear really stemmed from the thought of free-falling - something happening to the plane mid-flight, and then having all sorts of seconds to think about the impending crash as we hurled to the ground. It was such a horrible fear that I had even vowed I would never fly ever again unless it was an absolute necessity, a matter of life or death. Thankfully, I was relieved of this debilitating fear through a single hypnotherapy session - it sounds crazy, but its true. In reality, it was very liberating to not only be able to fly again, but to actually enjoy the flight and even be excited about boarding a plane.

Over the last two years, I had to do quite a bit of traveling for work. While it was pretty exciting to live the 'jet-setter' lifestyle and have the opportunity to travel to conferences all around the country, slowly, my anxiety started to return. There were a few instances of really bad turbulence and flying through lightning storms. I had an extreme case of claustrophobia when seated on the aisle and having the shades on all windows within my view drawn down. Once again, I dread travel by air. On one of my last flights, I was finally able to analyze a connection with just a deep down repulsion to feeling completely helpless. Once the plane is off the ground, i have no control over what happens. I'm strapped in for a ride, speeding ahead with no way to stop it. This helplessness, charging forward into whatever lies ahead, reminds me of life and the inevitable end that awaits us all. There is nothing we can do to stop it, we just have to strap in.


When I was little, I used to have a deep-seeded fear of death. At night, I would have these moments of panic, which my mom helped me to term as 'bad thoughts' when I would actually have the thought that someday, I am going to die, and I would immediately start to hyperventilate and cry. I remember one night in particular, curled up in my mom's lap, sobbing, as she rocked me back and forth. I remember telling her, "But I don't want to die." Even now that I'm older, I still can get myself to that place have clarity, realizing that there is an end to my life, and it makes my breath catch and my heart race. 

In the short span of 20 months, there have been five significant deaths in my life. Seeing firsthand this eventual end of life has helped me to grasp the reality and connect with the true notion of death. I've seen the effects of old age and disease, both of which have some layer of comfort in preparation. When someone you love is diagnosed with a terminal disease or beginning to succumb to the effects of aging, you get the chance to savor ever moment together from then on until the end comes. Of course, it doesn't make the loss any less painful. The experience of a completely unexpected death is a bit more traumatizing. No warning, no preparation. This element of surprise has given me a totally different perspective to ponder and internalize. You always hear about tragic accidents, but it's not the same until it happens to you.

Regardless of the way it happens, the reality of death remains. I understand that I will see the passing of many more loved ones, and I acknowledge the fact that it will be difficult every single time. I also know that my own death could happen at any moment, and I must ensure I do all that is within my power to make the most of each second I have in life. To love, to explore, to learn, to fly.

Dad, Daddy, Father

  

Since yesterday was Father's Day, it seems only appropriate to write about my dad. I feel extremely lucky to have grown up with a great father who would do anything and everything to spoil his daughters. As an adult looking back on my childhood, I recognize just how much he provided for us, and I also realize there must have been many, many sacrifices that both my mom and dad must have endured. The most obvious sacrifice was the fact that my dad continued to work in Southern California after we had moved to Oregon. He would be gone for weeks at a time, driving back and forth numerous times. Even though I have clear memories of him being gone a lot, it seems like he was always around when it mattered. Horse shows, ballet recitals, school performances...he was always there. I'm sure there may have been times when he couldn't make it back for one event or another, but those aren't the times that I remember. It definitely speaks to his dedication, love, and support. And whenever he was in the audience at one performance or another, he was always videotaping. I am so extremely thankful for his constant video documentation of our life. It's very meaningful not only to have recordings of all of these events, but to know Dad was behind the camera and capturing those moments was also special.

I also have really great memories of family outings, vacations, and parties - now that I'm grown up enough to know my dad a little better, I can only imagine how much he didn't enjoy the crowds and chaos, but it never showed. We were a very busy family, always involved in the community and different organizations that required a lot of time and effort for both parents. I have a great appreciation for the memories we created together and, again, to have my dad so involved. And I remember the little things, too, like the bedtime stories or helping with homework or playing card games. His reading of "Mr. Skinny" will probably always be one of my favorite childhood memories. He was always quick to be silly and make me laugh. He was also stern and set great ground rules which I know contributed to my success as an adult (I'm sure my sister would have different memories of the rules, but she was a different teenager than I was *wink*). It really means a lot to me that every time I call home and talk to him, he always says, "Say hi to JC for me" before I hang up. Knowing that my dad cares about my husband may be a little thing, but it's really pretty huge.

My dad is also extremely handy and has built and fixed many things. I remember when he made standards for jumping our horses, and when he created riding areas at two different houses we lived in so we could effectively ride at home. Horse riding was definitely a big part of my childhood, and it was always a special treat when Dad would ride with us. 

I've been trying to think of my favorite memory or a really great story to tell about my dad, but truly, it's the overall "dadness" of him that just makes him so wonderful. Everything all wrapped up into a bundle of love, caring, and protection. I wish I didn't live so far away and could spend more time with him (and mom too, of course!).  But there's something pretty great about knowing he's proud of me and sharing in my accomplishments. I love my daddy very much!

Hopes dashed

There's really nothing quite like the feeling of disappointment - that complete, blindsided-type of disappointment when all of your momentum is heading in one direction and you're suddenly slammed with a curve in the road which propels you in the opposite direction. It takes a second or two to get your balance again, to try desperately to figure out what just happened while attempting to move forward in the new direction. There's that pit deep in your stomach from the total let down of expecting one thing but being met with another. There's the embarrassment of being so confident in one outcome when things turn out differently. No matter how many times you try to protect yourself from this feeling by not getting your hopes up, you really just can't avoid it when you believe in something so strongly that is not entirely in your control. All you can do is learn from the experience and make adjustments.

I think the first time I remember feeling this way was in second grade. Granted, things are a bit exaggerated when you're that age, and you really don't know the power of disappointment. I was cast as Dorothy in my school's production of The Wizard of OZ, and it was really an elaborate production. We had costumes, set pieces, sound effects, and a large auditorium. Looking back, this really wasn't the self-defining moment that my younger self believed it was. Yes, it was a pretty big deal to have auditioned and been granted the leading role, but within the continuum of life, it really didn't matter. At the end of the performance, we all went out on stage for the final bow. As we practiced, I stepped forward for my individual bow, and someone from the audience came running to the stage with a large bouquet of flowers. Even though I had no idea who this person was, there was absolutely no question in my mind that those flowers were for me. I took a few steps toward the edge of the stage and leaned forward to gather the bouquet in my arms. Just then, another student ran up and accepted her flowers. I was completely shocked and shaken. I was embarrassed and devastated that the flowers were not actually for me. Again, a completely insignificant event that was monumental to a young girl. 

Fast-forward a few years, still in my youth, I was absorbed by the concept of Publishers Clearinghouse. Each time the mailings arrived, I would help my mom fill out the forms and return them, faithfully. I was convinced that we would be winners. How could be possibly not win? We had done everything that the contest required us to do, and, more importantly, we deserved the money. Finally, the day arrived when the winners would be surprised at their homes with a giant check, presented on live TV during the Super Bowl. My family was never really in to sports, but I remember sitting in the living room, watching the game and eagerly awaiting halftime when I knew the Publishers Clearinghouse segment would air. I vividly remember looking out the window, down our long driveway which winded through a wooded area which slightly obstructed the view of cars pulling up to the house - I was convinced that I could see people hiding just out of sight, holding a bunch of balloons that they would be bringing up to our door with the check. At one point, the telephone rang, and while my mom said it was a wrong number, I knew that was the Publishers Clearinghouse folks checking to make sure we were home to accept our winnings. When the segment aired, and another family was surprised at their doorstep, I was crushed. I couldn't understand how it was possible while in my mind, everything pointed to us as the winners. I was utterly devastated, over something I had spent so much time building up in my head. The hard slap of reality stung for a while.

Auditioning for a community theater production and not being cast, trying out for a high school play and not getting a part, competing in horse shows or speech competitions and not winning an award - there were several other times in my childhood that I was convinced things would turn out completely differently than the real outcome and felt totally blindsided by the results. Now, as an adult, I'm learning that you really can't avoid times like these. There are events like job interviews that you absolutely have to go into with a high level of confidence and get to a point of convincing yourself that you are meant to have this job. Lacking this confidence may have a negative impact on your interview and could result in less than positive results. So you've got to be all-in. You have to throw yourself head-over-heels into the situation. Of course, there are times when you can tell that it's not a good fit and can move on before you even hear from the potential employer; but other times, truly, all signs point to a job offer. You build it up so much in your mind that when you do get that call, or that e-mail, saying another candidate has been selected, it is completely devastating. It's a personal blow and results in deep-seeded self doubt. How could I have not seen that coming? What did I do wrong?

Again, it should all be a learning experience. The only way to move forward is to focus on the next opportunity. Hopefully, the road will begin to straighten out and the curves will become less destabilizing. Soon, there will be a stretch of predictability and a moment in time when reality actually matches up with the way its played out in your mind. Until then, just keep driving.

Phoenix Phood Phanatics

This weekend, JC and I ate a pizza covered with wild boar meatballs, rabbit sausage, and finocchiona (a.k.a. awesome salami). Thank you, Parlor. If you would have presented this meal to me six years ago, I would have quickly turned up my nose.

In the time that we've lived in Phoenix, both of our palates have expanded dramatically and has allowed us to discover some pretty phenomenal food options. Some people spend their extra money on expensive purses or lavish trips...we spend ours on delicious food. Granted, with all of the exotic flavors and unique joints we've come to enjoy, we've also gotten very smart about portion control - we split everything. Not only does it help to keep the costs and calories down, it also allows us the opportunity to try a wider variety of dishes. 

As we've branched out and followed our noses (and stomachs) outside the norm of chain restaurants and the well-publicized eateries, we've also had some fantastic experiences with the people. One of our absolutely best choices off the beaten path is a place called Elie's Deli. They don't have a website, and being located in a near deserted strip mall can't possibly help drive up business. Elie's is basically the definition of a diamond-in-the-rough. The food is authentic and truly made with love by a brother and sister team who runs the business themselves. There are no employees, just the two of them, and the occasional appearance of Elie herself - the stereotypical, middle eastern grandmother. I'll admit, I was nervous the first time we stopped in, worried that two Caucasians might be completely out of place and even treated as if we didn't belong. Oh, how I had drastically misjudged the experience. Natta and her brother are so extremely welcoming and so gracious for every customer that comes to enjoy their food. She genuinely takes an interest in every person who walks in the door - she actually wants to hear the answer when she asks, "How has your day been?" We have become regulars at Elie's and are easily identifiable by what we order. When I call ahead, I'm always greeted with, "I know who you are!" It brings such a huge smile to my face and fills my heart with joy just as the food fills my belly with goodness. 

Another great local joint is Kitchen 56. The assortment of unique twists on traditional flavors makes this a place to visit over and over. It's hip and fun, yet sophisticated and classy. The atmosphere is very fun and relaxed, and we've never had bad service. Everyone who works there seems to truly enjoy what they do. It has definitely grown in popularity since the first time we visited right after it opened, but it's worth having a big of a crowd for the comfort of knowing it won't be closing anytime soon.

A not-so-hidden gem and mouth-watering delight is Delux. If you want a burger, this is the place to get a burger. The fries are also delicious and served in a "basket" - a mini shopping cart - with an exquisite aioli dipping sauce. This is hands-down the best burger in town. And they have wonderful hot dogs as well. That's all that needs to be said about Delux.

Looking for a sandwich? Duck and Decanter has many locations around town yet somehow still maintains that mom-and-pop feel. Again, terrific service from friendly people, with a wide assortment of tasty treats between two slices of bread. JC created his own sandwich combining the menu's standard marinated roasted chicken breast with a half-portion of duck breast, and he has creatively named it "The Double Fowl". One day I was in picking up some lunch to go, the manger happened to take my order. He commented on the delicious sound of those two meats, and I shared my husband's clever naming. The manager was delighted and said they just might add it as a special during baseball's Spring Training season. Ah, my culinary hubby!

There are so many other places around town that we frequent on a regular basis, expanding our tastes while trying not to expand our waistlines too much. There's really something special about enjoying food from a restaurant that is just that - something special. No more Taco Bell or Applebee's for this desert duo - our tastes are far too sophisticated for the monotony of the well-beaten food path. 

...and that's when I knew I was claustrophobic

I feel very fortunate to have lived a life free from any major sickness or injury. That being said, I've had my fair share of pain and discomfort that comes with an assortment of minor illnesses and conditions that require medical attention. Growing up riding horses and dancing, it seemed inevitable. Falling off a horse, or being stepped on and bitten, are all part of the package deal, just like blisters and bloody feet come along with serious ballet training. The day I dislocated my left knee cap during a PE soccer game in middle school was a bit of a turning point which lead to my first surgery. What I remember most about that experience was the extreme nausea I sustained as a result of the anesthesia. Waking up from a medically-induced sleep and vomiting almost instantly is not a fun experience, and that's when I knew I was semi-allergic to anesthesia. 

I had my wisdom teeth removed my freshman year of college. It wasn't a horrible experience, but I was quiet swollen, and it happened to be within a week of my birthday. I had feared a return of the nausea and was not looking forward to any post oral surgery vomits, but my worries were for nothing, and everything turned out well, until I tried to take Vicodin. My stomach did not react well at all to the powerful pain killer, and that's when I knew I could never be a drug addict.

During a routine visit to the dentist in 2010, they noticed white tissue on the underside of my tongue. Because I've never smoked a cigarette in my entire life (not once!), I was very annoyed and even angry at the potential of any oral cancer. During this same time, I was having horrible pain in my lower abdominal area consistent with ovarian cysts and possible endometriosis. This pain required a variety of different procedures including multiple ultrasounds (both external and internal) and a CT scan. My experience with the CT scan is not one I will quickly forget. Eventually, it was determined that taking a surgical look inside would be best to see what was causing the pain. As it turned out, I scheduled my tongue biopsy a few weeks prior to my laproscopy - because two medical procedures are more fun than one. Honestly, I was more nervous about the laproscopy than the biopsy, but soon learned I had misjudged the pain and pure discomfort of a tongue biopsy. For several days, I couldn't eat, could barely drink, and was becoming an expert drooler. Any slight movement of my tongue resulted in an unbearable amount of pain, and that's when I knew I had greatly underestimated the role of my tongue in every day life.

Being a ballerina for 12 years, I knew a day would come when I would pay the price for the hours of twisting, bending, and stretching. For as long as I can remember, I have had a constant ache in my hips - nothing that wasn't easily ignored, but just enough to tell me there was a problem. JC has been requesting for quite a while that I go get things checked out, and I have been putting it off simply because I already know there's something wrong. Finally, I gave in and visited an orthopedic hip specialist who took x-rays and announced there are signs of hip impingement syndrome in both hips. This required a closer look through an MRI with an injection of contrast. The doctor said they are only able to conduct the procedure on one hip at a time, so we decided to start with my left. I was very relieved that I would not have to relive the horror of drinking barium, and for some reason, I thought the injection with be much like a vaccine shot into the side of my hip. Of course, I made the mistake of conducting a bit of research on the internet and learned the contrast is actually injected through a large needle straight into the hip socket. Awesome. It was a very unpleasant experience. Although it wasn't necessarily painful, the sensation of a needle touching my bones was terrible. After the contrast fluid was sufficiently injected, I was off to the MRI. The technicians quickly strapped me into place, tying my feet together in a pigeon-toed position to effectively open the hip, and I was given earplugs, headphones, and an emergency button to push if I need to stop the test at any time. Then, into the machine I went, and that's when I knew I was claustrophobic. I truly didn't think I'd have any problem with an MRI, but I would be lying if I didn't contemplate pushing that emergency button within the first 30 seconds. Of course, I knew that if I stopped, I would just have to start all over again. So, I managed to slow my breathing, close my eyes, and focus on the music in my headphones. I honestly don't know how long I was in the machine, but I was definitely relieved when it was all over. 

I am very grateful for the wonders of modern medicine and the various resources available to doctors in order to diagnose the causes of pain and sickness.  I am also extremely glad I do not have to frequent these sorts of tests on a regular basis;but, I know many people who do, including my own mother. It seems like a necessary evil, having to withstand a high level of discomfort in order to appropriately deal with a constant issue. In the end, it really all boils down to an increase of knowledge about ourselves and our bodies that we may not otherwise be able to obtain.

You're Hired!

Let's face it - the process of seeking employment is grueling. Looking for a job is almost a full time job itself, without the pay and benefits. Unfortunately, I'm at a point in my life where it's "that time again", and I've been forced to search for the next notch in my career belt. While I'm sad things didn't work out the way I really wanted them to with my current job, I am almost relieved to be on the hunt for something new. There's nothing fulfilling about working in an environment where you're under appreciated and down-right disrespected (that could be a blog post of its own).

With all of the different jobs I've had to this point, you can imagine just how many interviews I've experienced. I feel like I'm almost becoming some sort of an expert on anticipating questions and reading the reactions of the interviewer(s) to know whether or not I'm selling myself. I've also become increasingly more relaxed in interviews, which is definitely an advantage. It has been extremely beneficial to go into an interview with the mindset of, either I have what they're looking for, or I don't. Amid all of the successful interviews I've had, there have certainly been some weird questions, odd scenarios, and very memorable experiences.

I feel very fortunate to have extremely supportive parents who understand the importance of education. They never expected me to have a job while I was in school because they wanted me to be completely focused on my studies. My senior year of high school, I decided I really wanted the experience of a job. I was brought in for an interview at a local health club/gym, and I was pretty excited. When I arrived, there were several people all waiting, dressed in professional clothing. Clearly, they were not here to get sweaty in the gym, and I quickly found out we were going to be taking part in a group interview. What exactly is a group interview? Well, it is just what it sounds like. Together, all of the other candidates and I sat around a large table. The interviewers would pose a question to the group, and then it was fair game for anyone to respond. The point was to quickly identify the leaders of the pack and easily see the natural roles we all took in a group environment. So, there were some candidates who literally sat there the entire time and never said a word; there were some who were verbally jousting with everyone to try and get the first word in; there were others were extremely strategic, biding their time, letting others blurt out the first responses, then professionally agreeing or disagreeing with what had already been said and adding their own perspectives. It was probably one of the most psychologically exhausting interviews I've ever had.

One of my very first post-college interviews was for an elementary teaching position on the Oregon coast. I had provided my resume to the district as a job fair, and when I received the call, I thought they must really have liked my resume since I had never completed an application and they were asking me to drive an hour and a half (each way) for an interview. The interview was conducted by a panel consisting for two teachers, two administrators, and two additional staff members - only slightly intimidating. After the first few questions, I started to relax a little and felt pretty confident. Then, one of the interviewers asked a question....in Spanish. I sat for a moment, frantically grasping at my mere three years of high school Spanish, attempting to at least comprehend what I was being asked. No clue. Finally, I responded, "I'm sorry, I don't understand what I'm being asked." There was a brief pause, and one of the administrators asked, "You have your ESL endorsement, don't you?" Well, yes, but I'm not fluent Spanish. "We're looking for someone who is bilingual. Can you try to respond?" I was stunned. For those of you who don't know, there is a big different between an English as a Second Language (ESL) endorsement and a bilingual endorsement. Yes, I had taken additional classes in order to learn best strategies for teaching students whose native language was not English, but that doesn't mean I was bilingual. The interview abruptly came to an end, and I began the long drive home with my tail between my legs.

With a career in education, I quickly learned some of the tricks. It's common knowledge that the school secretary and custodians run the school just as much as the principal and teachers. Therefore, it's important to smile and make a great first impression with anyone you come into contact with at a school site - word will get around very quickly if don't. After my first year of teaching, I had decided to move to a different school and began to dreaded job search. I was called in for an interview with a charter school. At that time, I didn't know much about charter schools, other than the fact that they were different from district schools. This particular school was housed in a strip mall/industrial park-type area with a small, fenced in playground around the back. There was an intercom and doorbell on the front door, requiring any visitors to be buzzed in. As I entered, I cheerfully introduced myself to the secretary and was asked to have a seat to wait for the principal. As I waited, I glanced around the office, attempting to look very interested in the student art on display. Eventually, a few teachers walked by. I made eye contact and smiled. One of the teachers stopped and learned toward me. "Run away. Trust me, you don't want to work here," she whispered, and then continued down the hall with the others. Before I could fully wrap my mind around what had just happened, the principal walked out and invited me into his office. To be honest, I don't even remember the questions he asked, but I do remember thinking they weren't the type of educationally-based questions I thought he should be asking. I also remember when his cellphone rang. Not only did he answer, but he stayed sitting at his desk while holding a conversation with his wife about what he needed to pick up at the grocery store on the way home. After he hung up, he offered me a job on the spot. I asked if I could have some time to think about it, then politely declined the next day.

My most recent interview experience was very interesting. The hiring manager and direct supervisor both conducted the interview, and their personalities left a lot to be desired. They both had an air of superiority about them and were almost annoyed that I was in the room. It was apparent that there wasn't a set of planned questions or even a consistent method they used for interviews, because there were several moments when they both asked a question at the same time and talked over each other. While the man seemed to be more curious about what I had to say, the woman had so many large, non-verbal gestures which told me she completely disagreed with every word that came out of my mouth. The interview was scheduled to last an hour, but from start to finish, was only about 20 minutes. I still haven't received the obligatory "we've selected another candidate" e-mail, but I have no doubt it will arrive soon. 

There's something so degrading about jumping through the hoops of the hiring process. Anyone who knows me can attest to some of the pretty amazing things I've accomplished in the realm of education. Not to be arrogant, but I truly believe any school or education-related business would be very lucky to have me on their staff. I think it would be much more suitable for all potential employers to send me their resumes and allow me the opportunity to carefully select my next move. But, instead, I will continue slogging through the monotony of schoolspring and careerbuilder ads, searching for a place to spread my expertise. At least I can hang on to the pure entertainment value of the interview experience.

I'm a loser

For the first time in a really long time, I feel confident, capable, and ready to tackle life. A big change from my last post, right? There are lots of things that I can attribute to this dramatic improvement, but the most noticeable difference is my weight. I am down to the lowest weight I've been in the last four years, and only five pounds away from my pre-wedding weight (for some reason, that seems like an important benchmark). At this point, I've lost just about 25 pounds since the heaviest I've ever been in my entire life. Ironically, the heaviest version of myself will forever be immortalized in a documentary I was part of. I think it will serve as a permanent reminder of where I never want to be again. Though it is slightly embarrassing to see myself like that, and it's very easy to use the old excuse of the camera adding 10 pounds...so do pizza and fried foods. The food choices I was making were pretty horrific, and just plain unthoughtful.
When I was younger, I was blessed with an amazing metabolism. In high school, I was extremely active with ballet. I was dancing at least two hours every day, sometimes much longer. Even then, I was not making the best choices with what I was eating. On my way home from dance, my dinner of choice was usually McDonald's. I would easily put away a quarter pounder with cheese and super size fries. With all of the dancing I was doing, I never really gained the weight I should have with these calorie-loaded meals - but imagine if I had instead eaten some grilled chicken and vegetables.
About the time I headed off to college, my body started to change. Not only had I reduced the amount I was active, but I was continuing to eat whatever I felt like eating, whenever I felt like eating it. In addition, I experienced some pretty high levels of stress and depression my freshman year. All of these factors resulted in the significant weight gain, really the first time. Like many young women, I started to have a very negative body image which resulted in dabbling with anorexia, then swinging like a pendulum into binge eating. There was actually a point when I had a jar of peanut butter under my bed which I would mindlessly eat with a spoon. It's a little astounding to think back to that point. While I've had a few other low points and difficulty coping at times, that was pretty much the bottom for me.
Last summer, I really thought we were moving back to Oregon. I had successfully navigated the interview process for a position with the Department of Education, and I was convinced the next call I received would be a job offer. When I opened the e-mail which read, "...we have selected another candidate", I was devastated. But for the first time in my adult life, I used the negative feels to fuel a fire. I slowly started to discover the difference between what I can and can't control in my life, and I started to exercise again. I really wasn't too consistent, but the fact that I had started moving helped some of the weight to begin melting away.
It wasn't until October 2012 that JC and I really started to make serious changes in the way we ate. Since I had tried the South Beach Diet in the past with some success, we decided to use that as a guide for improving our food choices. While we both have a great appreciation for delicious, decadent food and tend to eat out quite a bit, we've really started to make better decisions, focusing on moderation and portions. I'll admit, we definitely could be more committed to the diet, but we've made great progress. Ultimately, I am much more aware of what I'm eating and conscious of what I'm putting in my body than I've ever been. This is definitely a step in the right direction.
Rediscovering zumba was also a game-changer. I love zumba. It has become such an addiction, partially because of the fantastic workout, but also because it helps me connect with my inner dancer. Dancing is such an important part of how I identify myself, and it is so gratifying to have found that love again.
I feel amazing. While I know there is still progress to be made, I finally know I'm heading in the right direction. I'm figuring out what works and using it to my advantage. Ultimately, I am proud of myself, and that in itself is a great accomplishment.

Saying goodbye...

I don't know what to write. I don't have the words to say what I want to say, in the way I want to say it. I'm sad, frustrated, angry, depressed, disappointed, yet filled with the most pure feelings of love, comfort, and hope. It has become completely draining to range from highs to lows in a constant ping pong match of emotions over the last few months, most particularly the last three weeks. Almost every aspect of my life feels like it is in complete disarray. It's hard not to fall into a pity party, though it feels so unproductive and brings on feelings of guilt.

It all seems to stem from the realities of life - life as an adult. While I greatly appreciate the freedoms and experiences of being an adult, I am extremely envious of my younger self who was blissfully unaware of just how much it hurts to age. I feel like I have much to celebrate. Just one week after my 29th birthday, I officially completed my second Masters degree and added a school principal certification to my professional tool belt. Unfortunately, that same day, my Yaya was diagnosed with an  aggressive cancer that began a rapid decent in her health. Early this morning, she passed away in her sleep. As much as it hurts to lose my grandma, I am beside myself with worry about my own mom. The last few years, it has been difficult to live far away from my parents, knowing they are essentially alone and, like everyone else, dealing with the effects of age. I have taken such comfort knowing my mom and Ya-Ya had each other for company. Their weekly culinary adventures have been a highlight for both of them, and for me to hear about. This connection and bond between them has provided a much-needed filler for my mom with both of her own children living in distant states with visit few and far between. Not only will my mom experience the pain of losing a parent, she and my dad will once again be alone.

Of course, the age-old advice of taking comfort in the happy memories helped me through the day, reliving some spectacular times that I shared with my Yaya. She truly was an amazing woman, one I always looked up to and who truly lived life to the fullest. My sister wrote a wonderful blog post, and I'd like to share some of my own memories which will probably not make any sense to the outside world but will (hopefully) prompt a laugh or two from family.

• Yaya was quite the avid smoker in my early years, and I remember happily climbing into her lap as she'd puff away, often commenting on how much I enjoyed the smell of smoke. I remember my mom was horrified that I would perhaps become a smoker myself, but I've actually never put a cigarette to my lips. And today, I am very repulsed by the smell.
• I don't know if I have an actual memory of the "stepford parties" or if my memories are merely aligned to the multiple video viewings over the years. I do know that Yaya was always quick to partake in the silliness of these parties, putting on lip sync performances with eccentric costumes and choreographed dance moves. 
• Yaya always lived near the beach, and often had access to a pool. It took me a while to overcome my fear of water when I was young, and I never really was a swimming enthusiast, but I remember finding much comfort in Yaya's arms while splashing around in the pool at her apartment. 
• When we moved to Oregon, Yaya would make the long drive up to visit every Christmas, timing her visit with my annual performance in The Nutcracker. Over the years, she would come bearing many gifts wrapped in beautiful paper, earning her the name "Yaya Claus". She would also pack a cooler and grocery bags filled with the flavors we craved but couldn't find in Oregon - Marie Calendar's potato cheese soup and jalapeno-flavored refried beans.
• One year while visiting in Oregon, she made an impulse-buy that forever changed our family. Maggie. I wish I could find a picture of this puppy who later grew up to be a monster dog, full of love and energy. I know Maggie's passing was extremely difficult for Yaya, though the void was soon filled by Buddy, the most loving cat I've ever met. Buddy and Yaya were quite the pair, and I know he brought much joy to her, even in her last days. The truly exemplified an unbreakable bond between pet and owner.
• When Yaya moved to Oregon a few years ago, it was almost like a rebirth for her. She was more active, more involved in the community than I could ever have imagined. She has seen more of northern Oregon than I have, and I am so thankful to have shared in her adventures via all the photos she's posted.

I don't think it's really hit me that she's gone. I'm still struggling with the constant realization that JC's father has been gone for over a year. I'm tired of cancer interrupting...and ending...the lives of people I love. 

I am very thankful to have many memories to hold on to, but memories will never replace the laughter and hugs from Yaya.

Horsing Around

When it comes to sports, JC and I definitely have different passions. I'll be the first to admit that I have been converted into a semi sports enthusiast, learning the rules, understanding the significance of key plays, and tolerating hours of ESPN. I've sat through my fair share of NFL/NBA drafts, cheered on the "home" teams from both Arizona and Oregon (and sometimes Washington), and have even begun to enjoy sports-related video games.

But deep in my heart, my favorite sport to watch will always be equestrian-related. I truly miss my days of horse riding, and it's always somewhat fulfilling when I have an opportunity to watch professional riders in action. From horse racing to three-day eventing, I do appreciate the occasional televised event. I'm also very thankful that JC has been open, and even eager, to watching these events as well.
This morning, I was taking care of some domestic duties when I received a text from JC: "I'm watching cross country equestrian". It warmed my heart that he chose to tune in for his own enjoyment, but also that he let me know it was on. I quickly wrapped up what I was working on, and ran upstairs to watch.
Cross country is an intense, even dangerous, event for horses and riders alike. It definitely takes a great deal of training, practice, and endurance to travel the course of cumbersome, intimidating hurdles spread across uneven terrain. I remember my sister and I always loved the rare opportunities we had to ride through a cross country course, while my mom always dreaded it. Her reasoning makes sense - if something goes wrong, these obstacles aren't as forgiving as the jumps used in stadium jumping. In fact, JC watched as quite a few riders went flying as their horses refused to jump over giant logs and steep embankments. One can't help but remember the tragic unhorsing of Christopher Reeve on a similar course.
Watching the cross country event this morning really got me thinking - life is really one big cross country course, scattered with treacherous obstacles at seemingly random points with spaces in between when all you can do is anticipate what may lie ahead. Sometimes it's smooth sailing, you and your mount effortlessly gliding up and over the obstacle; other times you become unseated and have to gather the courage to get back up and try a different approach. While cross country competitors always have an opportunity to walk the course before they ride, they can't completely predict how the horse will react. There will always be unexpected objects which cause the horse to spook or refuse, forcing the rider off balance.
As I ride through my cross country course of life, I am thankful my horse has been fairly reliable. There have been a few moments I've lost my seat, but managed to stay in the saddle. I know there are some fairly perilous hurdles looming in the near future, but I am confident I have the ability to charge on and soar over what lies ahead.

#Numbers

In 5 short days, we will usher in the month of May in the year 2012. This is a very significant month in my life, connecting to many milestones and moments I will never forget. When I really think about it, I almost have a "6 degrees of separation" relationship with the month of May - one memory that relates to another, weaves through to another, and links to yet another. In the end, it all boils down to numbers that, when taken out of context, may seem fairly insignificant. Math has never been my subject of strength, but I have a deep respect for the meaning of numbers, especially when representing dates, times, measurements…

May 13, 2005: JC and I engaged in our first official date. There had been a bit of a love connect brewing for 2-3 weeks, ranging from passive flirtation to more direct methods of conveying attraction. Through the running time of 118 minutes of Hitch, we both pondered the development of our relationship and the significance of this first date. The next day, we became a couple – and we’ve never looked back since. As corny and sappy as it may sound, we really have been inseparable since day one. It’s hard to imagine that we will be celebrating seven years of coupledom this year.

Not long after we started dating, I remember having a conversation filled with raw emotions and inspiring a true connection between us. JC expressed his deepest fear – losing his father. At the time, I had only met EC once, if at all, so I really didn’t grasp the full gravity of their relationship. Of course, I can sympathize with the general fear we all have about losing loved ones, particularly parents. I truly had no concept how important this man was in JC’s life.

Almost exactly six years later, JC’s father was diagnosed with cancer. By this time, not only did I have an opportunity to gain more understanding of the bond between father and son, I had also developed a relationship of my own with EC. It’s almost too easy to take the reality of life for granted; the false comfort of, “it’ll never happen to me” and “that only happens to strangers” really was my mindset for the majority of my life. I had never suffered the loss of someone close to me, with the exception of 10 or more childhood pets. While I had experienced the passing of one paternal grandparent and two relatives-by-marriage, I was emotionally disconnected enough from these individuals that I really wasn’t affected by this portion of the circle of life.

May 2011: Shortly following the diagnosis, EC underwent surgery in an attempt to remove the cancerous tissue. With just over 1,300 miles separating us from our family, distance became an unbearable obstacle. JC was able to fly home for the surgery, which lasted an excess of seven hours. Although successful, pathology reports showed the cancer had already spread beyond its point of origin into other major organs.

June 2011: Both JC and I made a trip home to visit his father, also taking the opportunity to celebrate our three year wedding anniversary and JC’s 27^th birthday with a trip to his mother’s beach house. This was the first time I had seen EC in about 21 months – while his personality seemed close to normal, his body showed signs of the malignant invasion. Even with the evidence directly in front of me, I still struggled with the reality of what was transpiring. It was extremely difficult for me to grasp the magnitude of the disease. Wasn’t the surgery supposed to help? How is it possible for a disease to have such an established presence without anyone knowing? Soon after our visit, EC began chemotherapy treatment in an attempt to slow the progression.

Over the next five months, JC made three additional trips home, traveling a total of 13,000 miles and spending approximately $1,500 on airline tickets. He was able to help care for his father, assisting at different stages of the chemotherapy cycle with each visit. While I strongly believe he would have regretted not being part of this process, I also think it was extremely difficult to watch his father’s health deteriorate before his eyes.

October 2011:  EC celebrated his 75^th birthday on the 9^th day of the month. JC mailed home a carefully selected birthday card, one which appropriately and effectively expressed a message of love while also representing understandable trepidation of what was to come. During this month, I experienced the passing of my great-aunt, a woman I deeply respected and loved. I felt this was my first real brush with death, a heartbreaking loss that struck my hard. Immediately, I was filled with regret, having not visited her in nearly three years.

JC and I had both planned to fly home to celebrate Thanksgiving, but we began to understand that it might be too late. Instead, we decided to take advantage of a three-day weekend and bought tickets for 11/11/11.

November 2011: At 10pm on November 8^th, JC received a text message from his mom, telling him it was time to come home. We both knew what that meant. Even at that late hour, I was able to make the necessary changes to our travel arrangements in order to secure seats on Southwest flight 657 at 7:15am the next morning. We arrived at the airport after a mere five hours of sleep, if that, which only exacerbated our emotional state. I have never been an enthusiastic flyer, and this was not a flight I was eager to take. By the time we touched down nearly three hours later, we battled car trouble and traffic to arrive at JC’s mom’s house around 12:30pm. We were greeted by JC’s two sisters and two of his three brothers. His father was surrounded by his family, having slipped into a sleep symbolic of the battle his body continued to fight against the invading disease. This image of a man, drifting slowly from life, is one that will be forever engrained in my mind. Not just any man, but a man I had spent a great deal of time with; a man who meant more than anything to my husband.

At approximately 3pm on 11/9/11, exactly one month after his 75^th birthday and a mere six months after begin diagnosed with cancer, EC passed away. I watched the moment he took his last breath, experienced the process of death which seemed so rapid yet drawn out almost too long. It was a moment of extreme sadness yet pure relief. Over the next 9 days, we rode the rollercoaster of grief through the series of events which accompany the passing of a loved one.  Making arrangements, attending the funeral mass, visiting family…clinging to each other and finding comfort in our love. Ironically, November also marked five years since JC and I moved away from home and began our post-college lives together.

February 2012: Fast-forward three months, JC received news that his grandmother (EC’s mom) had passed away. At age 96, this woman had endured the passing of four of her children before her. She was an extremely strong woman who lived through the Great Depression as a single mother, raising seven children, and surviving both breast cancer and a stroke within her lifetime.

May 2012: As the days and months continue to roll by, the pain and grief continue to ebb and surge like a costal tide. Next month will mark six months since EC’s passing and one year since his cancer diagnosis - 525,600 minutes. It seems almost unfair to think of how quickly it all happened. I still struggle with reality and attempt to reconcile the lack of fairness in life’s events. We continue to celebrate the milestones and anniversaries, the holidays and cyclical measures, always taking note of the absent family members. Hopefully, we will have some time to heal before we must add another heartache to the list. I’ve learned that it’s never easy to lose someone you love, but it helps to deepen the love you feel for everyone special in your life.

Live Like You Were Dying

It's difficult not to ponder your quality of life when someone close to you is fighting an end that is approaching much too rapidly. Unfortunately, it's also far too easy to get wrapped up in the daily drama of work, relationships, bills, and...life. While living in the moment is considered an admirable quality by some, I find much more satisfaction in looking to the future and setting my sights on what lies ahead; there must be a balance between the two. Sometimes it takes looking forward to truly appreciate the here and now, putting the small steps into perspective of a larger goal.

Overall, I enjoy my job; however, on a day-to-day basis, I find myself being dragged down and feeling unsatisfied. While I am gaining valuable experience and developing skills I may not have ever had the opportunity to even explore, there have been considerable challenges recently that test my endurance and perseverance. But by taking a step back and reflecting on where I'm headed, I know these bumps in the road are manageable and probably even necessary.

There is still so much that I want to do and see in my lifetime - I refuse to accept Mexico as the only other country I've visited; I am no where near finished with my formal education; I want to engage in meaningful research; I'm ready to experience once again living closer to family; I strive to feel complete fulfillment.

Life is much too short and moving far too quickly to be caught up in the small stuff.

Gratitudeus maximus

In recent years, it seems like every time things start to level out and feel positive, a nasty dark cloud comes along to block out the sun. It's easy to get swallowed up by the tough times and lose sight of all that is good in life. I would have to say that the last few months have been especially difficult, constantly testing my emotional strength; nevertheless, there is still much to be thankful for.

• JC and I may not have the perfect marriage, but who does? I think we definitely have things going in the right direction, and am truly head over heels in love. We've known each other for 6 years, but it seems like we've been friends forever. I feel supported, respected, protected, and (most importantly) loved every moment of every day. We travel through life, hand in hand and side by side, tackling challenges together and celebrating the triumphs. I am very thankful for my relationship with my husband.
• Living a few states away from my parents, and many states away from my sister, has been tough. With family scattered in all directions, it's difficult to feel that true sense of "home". But being apart does not prevent that deep-down family bond from taking root in all that I do. I strive to make my family proud, and I constantly refer back to the morals and ethics instilled in me from my parents. I know I would not be where I am today without their support and love. I am the woman I am because of my upbringing and my family. I am grateful for my parents and sister.
• Every day presents a unique set of challenges, but I have finally found a career that brings me great satisfaction. For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to do something that made a difference, to leave my mark on the world. Not only do I see my work making an impact, I have also found myself working beside some amazing people with a common goal. The education system is broken, and we a making strides to fix it. I am acquiring skills I never thought I would develop; I am able to guide others in transforming their teaching practice; I am helping students to become well educated and prepared to enter into the world beyond school. I am extremely appreciative of the work I am able to do.

A roof over my head, food in my belly, overall good health and happiness - I am grateful of these things as well. In general, I have no complaints, plenty of reasons to wake up each day with a smile on my face. There will always be moments that will shake my security and challenge my confidence to move forward - this is part of life.

"Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.
Life is beauty, admire it.
Life is a dream, realize it.
Life is a challenge, meet it.
Life is a duty, complete it.
Life is a game, play it.
Life is a promise, fulfill it.
Life is sorrow, overcome it.
Life is a song, sing it.
Life is a struggle, accept it.
Life is a tragedy, confront it.
Life is an adventure, dare it.
Life is luck, make it.
Life is too precious, do not destroy it.
Life is life, fight for it."
— Mother Teresa

Zumba makes me happy

It's no secret that I've always enjoyed movin' and groovin' to music. There are a two ultra-embarrassing home videos that come to mind of spazz-tastic prancing and spinning in the living room (Paula Abdul and Garth Brooks...), both at a fairly young age. Then, of course, there are the more sophisticated moments of actual choreographed movements that have been captured on video from numerous Nutcracker and Spring Recital performances. Ultimately, I really love to dance.

When I started getting serious about ballet, I was constantly told that to be a good ballerina means having some experience in other forms of dance, like jazz and modern. I was hesitant to try anything other than ballet because I felt I was more the graceful type. The reality was, I carried myself in a more balletic way, and it was somewhat awkward to let loose. To this day, standing with my feet in a parallel position feels so weird; standing turned out feels much more natural. I tried jazz, modern, and tap in conjunction with ballet, and I can say I really did enjoy them. At the time, I'm not sure I really drew the connections between the disciplines that I can now, but it was a smart move to at least expose myself to other forms of dance.

Recently, I decided to try dancing again. I found a great studio that is for adults only and really focuses on the fitness side of things. My favorite class is their Bella Barre, which incorporates ballet, pilates, and yoga. There's lots of stretching and strengthening, all set to whatever type of music the instructor feels like playing. I've never been particularly strong in any area of my body, but after four months of classes, I'm starting to notice muscles in places I didn't know I was even supposed to have muscles. I'm no where near looking like a body builder, or even sporting anything resembling a six pack, but I can just feel a difference in the way I move. Awesome!

There are so many other classes offered at the studio, and I thought I would try Zumba. I was totally nervous at first, recessing back to my old awkwardness of movements outside the realm of "ballet technique". When I signed up for the class online, I almost chickened out at the last minute. But Zumba has become one of my new favorite styles of dance! There's a little hip hop, a little aerobic dance, and a whole lot of Latin moves. Best of all, I leave every class absolutely drenched in sweat - not because I'm insanely out of shape, but because there is so much cardio and non-stop movement. Yes, there are times when I feel like a total dork, but there is such a wide range of skill levels in the class that everyone just blends in. There's no judgement. No competition. Really, there isn't even any particular technique to master. It's all about moving in a somewhat choreographed manner and just letting go of the stress.

Every Friday and Sunday, I sweat it out in Zumba. Mondays and Wednesdays are focused on toning and limbering in Bella Barre. I think I've finally found what I've been searching for.

Somewhere in my youth or childhood...

I was planning to continue with that "Post of the Day" list from long ago, but when I started thinking about just the sights and smells of my childhood, I became lost in so many full memories that couldn't just be limited to a simple visualization or aroma. So, instead, I thought I'd share a few snippets of very random memories I stumbled across.

• Surprises were the norm throughout my childhood. I remember when my sister and I were told, "if you clean up the playroom, we'll buy you a Nintendo." It took an entire day to clean and organize the room (I think we probably did a lot of playing in the middle of cleaning...). When we were finished, we asked if it was too late to go out and buy the Nintendo that very day. "Sorry, you'll have to wait until tomorrow." But then, suddenly, the Nintendo appeared, having already been purchased and in-house. What an awesome surprise!! Then, of course, there's the classic, "No, no, no, we're not the owners" event when we were given our first horse. I remember the Christmas we found a surprise computer, in the shower. Or, there was the day when Mom would pick us up from school for a "doctor's appointment", and we were surprisingly whisked away to Disneyland. I have always loved surprises, and I think my parents set the bar pretty high early in my life.
• Dogs, fish, ducks, horses, rats, cats, a bunny, guinea pigs...my childhood was filled with loving animal companions. I deeply regret feeling that caring for some of the pets was a bothersome chore, but I do have fantastic memories of bonding with all of them, especially the dogs and horses. I miss them all very much but am so glad to have carried that love of animals into adulthood.
• I remember watching "Fiddler on the Roof" while laying in the back of the car, driving between California and Oregon. Homemade beef jerky was one the favored treats, and the many stops along the way were always fun - "brown water", Anderson's split pea soup, "horse gone". I distinctly remember one trip, we were staying overnight at a hotel, and it happened to be Easter. I was worried that the Easter Bunny wouldn't visit us because we weren't at home; sure enough, we woke up to eggs hidden around the hotel room and baskets full of treats. What a clever bunny!
• The worst illness/injury I remember as a child was when I stepped on a bee. I was at a horse camp, having a water day of some sort. We were running around barefoot on a clover field, and I felt a sharp pain in my foot. I hobbled over to the port-o-potty and asked one of the other campers to go get an adult. She came back shortly and told me that the adult said, "Don't worry, you're ok", but no one was coming to help me. I asked her to go again, and finally an adult came. Apparently, this little "helper" had said I was upset because there were bees around me...she didn't mention I had actually been stung.
• We moved...a lot. It wasn't a negative experience, and while I can't say I had a favorite house, I do know my least favorite was the Schoolhouse Creek house. This was the first house we moved into when we arrive in Oregon, and it was up a long, dark, dirt road, slightly up a mountain. At the bottom of the mountain was an old graveyard. I absolutely hated driving passed the graveyard every time we came home or went out, especially if it was at night. But just knowing the graveyard was nearby made me extremely uneasy in the house itself. I was so relieved when we moved.
• I loved watching my sister play video games. While I would play them once in a while, I was much happier just watching.
• I remember the day my parents told us they were getting a divorce. It was really shocking, but my biggest concern was where my dad was going to live and how I was going to be able to still spend time with both parents. But there was no divorce, and life continued on almost as if the conversation never happened. At the time, I never even thought anything of it, but I know now how hard my parents worked to keep things normal. I have such admiration for the way they continued to mend their relationship and getting ready to celebrate another anniversary in September (38 years, right?).
• Ballet was a huge part of my childhood. I remember the first class I took at Stillpoint Dance Studio, when it was in the back of a hair salon and people used to walk through the studio in the middle of class. I felt so uncoordinated and out of place, but then the movements became so natural and are still very much a part of me.

Look out, World

I have always wanted to be the best. Obviously, no one ever goes through life, striving to be mediocre or with a burning desire to fail, so perhaps it seems a bit of a no-brainer to always shoot for excellence. I suppose it would be more accurate to say, I've always been an overachiever. Not only to I "shoot for the moon", but I do everything in my power to do more than "land among the stars". Maybe it was because, growing up, I watched my sister achieve greatness (honestly, who graduates high school with a 4.25 GPA?!), or because I had the complete support of my parents to do whatever I wanted to do with my life (showing horses, studying ballet, competing on the speech team, acting, singing, etc., etc., etc.). I'm really not satisfied to be "one of many", I want to stand out. Some may consider this a personality flaw, and at times, I even frustrate myself with my break-neck desire for high achievement; however, I can honestly say I would not be where I am today if it were not for this passion for pushing limits.

At age 27, I am a homeowner, I hold a Masters degree, I have distinguished myself as a National Board Certificated Teacher, and I am happily married. I am working as the Director of Curriculum and Instruction at a charter high school, making history as the first single-gender public school in our state, and will soon be featured in a nationally-released documentary. I love my professional life, I love my personal life - I'm an all-around satisfied person.

But I'm not finished. This is not the end of my journey. As far as I've come, and as much as I've already accomplished, there are still many milestones I have yet to conquer. The question is, what are my next steps? What direction am I headed in? Is it time to sit back and enjoy the ride, or should I keep pushing to the top? Who knows what opportunities lie ahead, who I will meet along the way, what impact I will leave on society. I want to be someone of note, someone who truly matters, someone who makes a difference.

Is it conceded to want these things for myself, or are these lofty aspirations justifiable?

The creation of ACJC

Shortly after we were married, my husband and I bought a second guitar to use with the game Guitar Hero. This gave us the ability to "start a band". Given our initials, it seems like a total no-brainer to call our band AC/JC, a clever play on words. When I decided to create a blog, I had intended for it to be a mutual project, somewhere that both of us would post different tid-bits to connect with our families and friends. Naturally, I thought it appropriate to use our newly created band name.

As things have progressed, this blog has really been more of a solo adventure. Maybe someday JC will hop on board and share some of his very insightful ponderings. Either way, the name is here to stay.

Music = Art

I'm sure everyone has pondered - if you had to choose, would you rather be blind or deaf? Of course, my preference would be neither, but I've begun realizing just how distraught I would be if I were to lose my sense of hearing. Specifically, I would be completely lost without music. My whole life has been filled with an appreciation for music - piano lessons at an early age, participating in different choirs and band in school, a deep connection through dance, a form of escape when life has been challenging, and truly respect for every genre. It has lead me to really explore how certain songs make me feel, and I've become somewhat fascinated with the variety of connections I feel. Let's explore these connections together, shall we?

1. Lyrical connection: There are some songs whose lyrics just speak to me. Some illicit personal connections while others seem to speak to other situations. When listening to the words of some songs, I can't help but create my own "music video" in my head with images that seem to fit the words perfectly. Whether it's something related to my own life or simply life events in general, I really associate mental images with the words. I blame this on fanvids my sister and I used to scour years ago during our obsession with The X-Files.

2. Nostalgic connection: Certain songs are strongly anchored in memories, usually a time that I had listened to the song. For example, listening to David Duchovny by Bree Sharp reminds me of riding in the car with my sister. We were on the freeway in Grants Pass, windows down, music blasting, singing along at the top of our lungs. Of course, I'll always have that memory, but there's something about listening to the song that snaps me right back to my place in the passenger's seat, bringing back the sights/sounds/feelings more than just sitting and recalling alone. The same can be said about You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC; this song was played at the end of (almost) every school dance in high school. Hearing this tune now brings about a smörgåsbord memories from all four years - the dresses, the friends, the nerves of trying to get the attention of my crushes. I know a lot of people look back on their high school years with disdain, but I feel lucky to have had a wonderful experience.

3. Emotional connection: When I want to melt into a relaxed state, I listen to Aqueous Transmission by Incubus. I get pumped up and energized whenever I listen to Burn it to the Ground by Nickelback. It's not necessarily the lyrics of a song that I connect with, but the music as a whole. Depending on my mood, I always know of a song that can support or change the way I'm feeling. Music really is powerful in controlling my emotions.

Music really is art - I feel very fortunate to be able to experience a wide range of connections with this type of sound. This Googled definition really sums it all up: an artistic form of auditory communication incorporating instrumental or vocal tones in a structured and continuous manner.