Once upon a time, I went to college.

I love the songs that accompany memories when they play.  The ones that take you to a specific moment in time full of colors and smells and faces; even the ones that hurt a little.  Those are the kinds that remind you how to feel human again.  Every time I hear Ted Leo “The One Who Got Us Out”, I picture my faithful Honda Accord spinning out on the 405 North.  Underoath “Reinventing Your Exit” will forever mean Warped Tour 2004 and hotel rooms in Fullerton.  And I cannot get beautiful Georgia landscapes off my mind when Patty Griffin croons “Heavenly Day”.

But rarely does an entire album flood my heart and mind with memories scared and safe.  Earlier today, Jimmy Eat World’s “Futures” album came on my iPhone as I walked through the village, nearly bringing me to my knees.  Once upon a time, my high school dream was to attend Vanguard University of Southern California.  When I got accepted, it was everything I ever imagined my college life to be: school wide chapel service, a small student union that smelled of Seattle’s Best, incredible Bible classes, and minutes away from the beach.  I declared my major in Music Marketing and balanced classes with my job at Smartpunk just up the coast.

Unfortunately, because of a family situation I had to leave within my first year.  I remember sitting in that same faithful Honda Accord in the Catalina Hall parking lot, with Jimmy Eat World “Drugs or Me” on repeat in the dark.  The ocean air built condensation on my windshield as the heater blasted and my speakers cried out:

I wish you could see
This face in front of me
You're sorry you swear it you're done
But I can't tell you from the drugs

I think that was the first time I realized that our parents were adults with adult problems, and I had become one too.  The rest of that album played every day in my headphones until I finished out classes on VUSC’s campus.  And even though its sounds take me back to that hard realization of “growing up”, there is redemption in the memories of being young and free and conquering the world on my own.  Not to mention, a beautiful little song called “23”, which later accompanied beach drives with old friends and, recently, an entire year of my life.

As someone who finds memories hard to come by, I keep them in my songs and tattoos and photos.  I hold onto smells and recite touch with my fingertips.  My memories remind me of where I’ve come, what I've accomplished, and who I want to be.  And good or bad, they’ll never stop writing my story.