Times when I’m at my best…

It’s Friday night. All of my roommates are gone. I turn on every light on the top floor of our house and crank up the music. With the sounds of Andrew Bird booming throughout the house I get myself a Peroni to drink. I clean my room get everything in order, and think about how I’m going to do homework and get ahead before Monday comes. I lay on my bed facing the ceiling enjoying the tunes. I think about how I should go change my laundry and pick up my guitar, but the music won’t let me. I have to finish the song, and after the song finishes I have to listen to the next one. I let my mind wander, and follow it wherever it takes me. I see my older brother Brent and I in Honduras cooking French toast and looking out our window at the Caribbean. I see myself walking through barrios in Buenos Aires with Moby rocking each step. I feel the rain—it doesn’t matter, I keep walking.

If life is a series of events, I think about the ones that have meant the most to me. My mom calls because it’s Friday night and she’s worried about me. Laughing I answer the phone and we talk for over an hour. She tells me how the phone conversation made her week, and I tell her how she helped make my night. I tell her about the music I was listening to, the things I had been thinking about—Spain, school, and how last year at this time I was holding a surf board, and I miss that. But I’m happy. I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing.