Many of the essays I write start with me listening to a song and my memory going to a place because of that association. Yesterday, I was riding the ubahn on my way to an outdoor callisthenics class with a friend. I listened to a song from 2009 that brought me back to the feeling of driving in my first car and the first long driving trip I took by myself when I was 16.

The year 2009 was brutal for me. I was 16, my best friend died in a car accident and I was combatting a deep, dark depression that none of the adults in my life were acknowledging. You would think I would have been scared to drive at 16 since I got my license a few weeks after I lost my best friend to a car accident but surprisingly, I wasn’t. I found driving as my way to be alone and escape. I always listened to music and drove around my hometown when I had free time. I had an SUV as my first car and at this time, we were paying nearly $5 a gallon (if not more) due to the war in Iraq. I essentially worked to fill my gas tank and drive around—a very unique feeling of exercising your independence as an American teenager.

Every year there was a big party weekend called “Quadfest” at at university that took place in late April. It was a four hour drive down 81 and was essentially a straight shot. Somehow I convinced my mom to let me drive (alone) to the town nearby to visit my niece and nephew. I packed my bags and picked up my two friends and off we went. One of the friends was actually a guy I was semi-seeing at the time. I didn’t really know if I liked him but I found myself in a vulnerable position with an older guy giving me attention and so I caved. He and I drove together in the front with his best friend riding in the backseat as we rolled the windows down and drove to Radford.

I’ve driven so many places in the 15 years I’ve had my license… From driving from one side of the country to the other, to the many trips I took from Tennessee to Virginia (500 miles one way), to the 11 hour road trips to see my friends in Florida, getting in the car and driving has always been an escape for me. It all began with this trip to Radford with two guys I had no business being with. This weekend, compounded with my very fragile state, taught me a very important life lesson when it came to respecting myself and taking time to think through a situation and be content alone.

I’ll spare you the details because unless I did an entire essay about Quadfest over the years, it wouldn’t be that interesting. The main point was, I went to this party and the guy who had worn me down into liking him went missing. About an hour or two into the party, I had to use the bathroom and when I opened the door, there he was kissing another girl from our school. I remember thinking to myself “you’ve got to be kidding me,” for more reasons than one. I couldn’t think of a more blatant display of disrespect but I was so numb to pain and hurt at this point, all I could do was laugh. I distinctly remember clapping my hands when he walked out of the bathroom with her. The look in my eyes let him know that he wasn’t welcome to ride back home with me.

The next day, I stopped at a gas station and got some snacks and a drink. I rolled the windows down in my car and cruised down the highway with four hours of solitude. I could simply be alone and feel the sun on my arm that was hanging out the window. This is a core teenage memory for me. I thought about what had happened at that party and how stupid I felt. I thought about my best friend who I’d never see again. I thought about the homework I still needed to do when I got home. I thought about my niece and nephew and how I should visit them more often. I listened to a stupid Akon song at full blast because I could. My little world had felt very heavy and gloomy for many months. This was the first time I found myself genuinely content and happy to be in that moment.

isn’t it a special thing to know intimate, personal details about a person? like their favorite food, what movie they watch when they’re sad, things they love, things they hate, what makes them laugh, etc.

whenever someone mentions an intimate detail about me, i always feel seen and special. even still, i have old friends who send me pictures of artichokes because they associate them with me.

My only focus outside of work right now is being active which is really liberating. I’m trying to run, walk, exercise and do things outside as much as I possibly can.

I feel 1000% better and mentally clear for maybe the first time in my life. Interpersonal drama has vanished and I’m just alone with my thoughts most of the time being social when it makes sense. I love it.

sometimes i wake up and think:

holy shit, i live in Germany lol

It’s funny that I wrote a post about not getting lost in nostalgia but sometimes I can’t help it. I’d say this isn’t a case where it’s unproductive though. It’s coming from a nice place where I open a door, revisit happy times and do so with fondness rather than sadness or a deep desire to be back at that time. I’m trying to appreciate nice memories for what they are: memories.

The other day I was on an easy run after work and I was just trotting along, looking around with the sun at it’s highest. It was a particularly hot afternoon and everyone was out doing some sort of physical activity—the weather somewhat demanded it. I’ve been trying to listen to audiobooks vs. music when I run or at times nothing at all but on this run, I decided to listen to uplifting/nice music since I was at a jogging pace with no destination or distance in mind. On the classic rock, nice weather playlist on shuffle Pink Floyd’s “Wish you were here” came on. I decided it wasn’t the time for this song but it did direct me to put on the same title but by Incubus. I heard recently that certain songs that made an impression when you were a teenager can literally imprint on your brain and connect you to a certain time and transport you back there when you listen to them as an adult. This song is one of them for me.

When I was eight years old, I was going through one of the hardest times of my life and I can say that at 31 years old. I had an abnormal amount of stress in my life for someone under 10 years old but life at home was shitty and really unpleasant 95% of the time. My parents were in the throes of a nasty divorce which I was positioned squarely in the middle. My mom and dad separated for the final time and I had just started a new school, my first time in a public school and making friends while dealing with heightened levels of anxiety was really difficult. I missed school often. I wore sweatpants almost every day. I got sick a lot and it was noticeable to adults that something was not right at home. One day, I befriended a tiny blonde girl who was outgoing and funny. I don’t remember our first conversation or exactly how we connected as kids, but I do regard her as my first real friend and one that would remain a constant in my life despite distance or paths we took. We grew up together and I am forever appreciative of her being inclusive and kind to a kid who was craving connection and love.

So as I put on “Wish you were here” by Incubus, I thought of this person. I thought of the summer in 2007 when we were together at music festival watching this song live together. We were 15 years old and my mom allowed us to go to a two-day festival ALONE in Baltimore with the light supervision of my oldest brother, Jeb. We essentially slept at his house but spent most of the waking hours at this music festival watching our favorite bands in 90 degree weather surrounded by drunk people twice our age. It ruled. When we saw Incubus, it was probably 5pm, the sun was high in the sky soon to set. We were fatigued from standing in crowds/mosh pits all day but I remember closing my eyes and appreciating the moment of being with my oldest/closest friend, watching one of my favorite bands at that time and how lucky I was. When I listen to that song today, I could transport myself back to that moment in a heartbeat. It’s one of the best memories I have in the archive. At 15, I finally felt like for a moment I could be a little carefree and enjoy life with my friends.

Today, I talk with this friend often with a nine hour time difference and thousands of miles between us. We facetime and catch up as if we’d seen each other every day for the past 10 years. I haven’t seen her in person for at least five years if I had to guess. It makes me feel safe to see her or hear her voice. To be connected with someone who’s known me for the majority of my life and loves me the same. And to bring this to a close, here is a photo from that day.

“The moment you leave the teacup, that raging storm will be gone, and a gentle breeze will greet you in its place”