Top Ten Albums of 2017

It was a very music-filled year for me, as pretty much every year is. So I figured why not create a list of all the albums I enjoyed listening to that were released this year. I’m awful at picking favorites, so these are just in release date order. Each one came to me at a different point in my life this year, and each one affected me in a unique way. So, without further ado, here are my top ten albums of 2017, along with two songs that stood out most on each album.

1.      Divide – Ed Sheeran (March 3)

·         What Do I Know? – about how music can change the world

·         Bibia Be Ye Ye – music video was made in Ghana featuring the happy residents

2.      Love Is Alive EP – Louis the Child (March 24)

·         World On Fire – about how the world covers up problems instead of facing them

·         Slow Down Love – awesome vocals and beat

3.      Memories…Do Not Open – The Chainsmokers (April 7)

·         The One – very relatable song about struggling to express emotions

·         My Type – about always falling for the same type of person

4.      Harry Styles – Harry Styles (May 12)

·         Carolina – really cool vibe, definitely more mature than One Direction

·         Sweet Creature – beautiful guitar and lyrics

5.      High Enough EP – Alexander Jean (June 26)

·         Fuck You No One Loves You Like Me – fun to sing loudly in the car

·         Wouldn’t Change Anything – beautiful harmonies from Mark Ballas and BC Jean

6.      The Storm – ZZ Ward (June 30)

·         Help Me Mama – shows off ZZ Ward’s unique vocals

·         Cannonball (ft. Fantastic Negrito) – great melody with gritty lyrics

7.      Younger Now – Miley Cyrus (Sept. 29)

·         Miss You So Much – about missing someone you see all the time

·         Rainbowland – fun duet with Dolly Parton, back to Miley’s country roots

8.      Tell Me You Love Me – Demi Lovato (Sept. 29)

·         You Don’t Do It For Me Anymore – Demi nails the cascading runs

·         Sexy Dirty Love – I just love the melody and descending half-steps

9.      Colors – Beck (Oct. 13)

·         Wow – odd at first listen but grew on me, fun to dance to

·         I’m So Free – makes me feel free

10.  Homework EP – Darren Criss (Dec. 15)

·         Going Nowhere – a happy-sounding sad song

·         I Don’t Mind – Darren’s first single in many many years, and he nailed it

Exposed

I have been way too busy with the start of a new semester (my second to last one!), so I didn't have time to write a blog post this month. Instead, I have decided to share something I wrote last semester in my creative nonfiction class. It's about a fiction/nonfiction reading I went to (sort of like a poetry reading, but short fiction/nonfiction pieces instead). Here goes nothing!

Exposed

The street was lined with cars, so we had to park at the Supermercado down the street. My friend (we'll call him Andy for privacy's sake) and I listened to 80s music on the way there: Elton John, Hall & Oates, Kansas.

            “We’re listening to 80s music, by the way,” I said, flipping through my phone to find the playlist.

            “No shame,” he chuckled, settling into the passenger’s seat.

            We walked in late. They said it wasn’t supposed to start until 7:30, but they must have started early because someone was at the podium reading when we tiptoed in. There wasn’t anywhere to sit, so we stood in the back corner by the door. The sunlight pierced my eyes until it descended below the building across the street.

            I figured it was too late in the person’s story for me to understand what was happening, so I took to examining the room instead. The exposed pipes and electrical outlets on the ceiling matched exactly how I felt in that moment and throughout the entire night: exposed, vulnerable, an outcast. Everyone in the room looked like they belonged there, with their dyed hair, beanies, and fashionable clothes, unlike me in my oversized plaid button-up, black skinny jeans, and converse. Next to them I felt naïve and inexperienced.

            I still don’t know why I felt this way. I was part of the Writer’s Workshop, just like them. I even recognized a few faces from classes. But something about the atmosphere made me feel as if they were living in a whole other world that I wasn’t welcomed to.

            When someone would finish reading their piece of prose, I always thought the same thing: I wish I could write like that.

            “I’ve never read anything you’ve written, but I bet you’re better than eight out of ten people in that room,” Andy said later as we got into my car to leave.

            “I doubt it,” I said.

            All night long, I kept glancing up at the bare lightbulbs overhead, trying to tell my brain to stay focused on the reader. If I stared too long, the bulb would leave a bright imprint on my eyes so that, when I turned my attention back to the reader, their head was an orb of light, a faceless voice.

            As my mind wandered, I wondered what the people walking by thought of us, a bunch of young hopefuls huddled together in this small space, reading for the sake of hearing what our written words sounded like as they rolled off our tongues. Most of the people that walked by had headphones in or were on their phone.

Whenever I felt my mind begin to stray off track, I checked my phone for the time. I wasn’t itching to leave, but I was worried that Andy wasn’t enjoying himself because this wasn’t really his scene. He clapped when appropriate and only checked his phone in between readers, but I got the vibe that he would rather be somewhere else. So would I.

I thought that this experience would instill confidence in me, that I would want to participate in something like that one day. But it ended up doing the exact opposite. I couldn’t picture myself reading my stuff in front of people in a million years. I would much rather keep my writing tucked away in the little manila folder on my computer desktop, safe from judging eyes.

I know that this isn’t practical. I know that if I want to be a writer, I have to eventually share my writing with others. It’s just so hard, allowing myself to be vulnerable and exposed to the immediate praise or rejection of the personalities in the room. I always tell people that I would much rather sing or read in front of 10,000 people than 10. Intimacy and rejection: two petrifying words that I have yet to conquer. Maybe I will, someday. But not today.

Mind over Mountains over Matter

Earlier this month, I took a little vacation to Colorado with my best friend. We needed a change of scenery and a break from the stresses of life. Along with new tan lines and a new Facebook cover photo, the mountains taught me a thing or two about life.

From far away (and at first glance), it was difficult to truly grasp the size and majesty of the Rocky Mountains. They loomed in the distance as a gentle reminder of their presence, but nothing more. As we drove through the valley, the wall of land rose up in front of us like New York City skyscrapers, intimidating and awe-inspiring. As we spiraled up the dirt road towards the trail-head, we were enveloped in a canopy of trees, so much so that I almost forgot we were ascending a mountain. The hike up was no different.

At about the halfway point on the trail, there was a break in the trees, and we could finally see just how high up we truly were. The Denver skyline was nowhere in sight. I took a moment to breathe in the mountain air and bask in the beauty of the minuscule world below. I felt a slight tug on my brain from the part that reminds me how small I am in this world, how insignificant. It receded as quickly as it had come.

Once we finally reached the end of the trail, we climbed the 143 steps to the Devil’s Head Fire Tower Lookout. As I walked around the outside of the tower, taking pictures of the view, I stopped for a moment and lowered the camera. You could see at least a hundred miles in each direction, and Pike’s Peak towered in the distance. So close yet so very far away.

Everything below was so small. I could pinch the tree tops and rock formations between my thumb and forefinger. The horizon, usually at eye level, appeared to be above me; no matter how high up you go, there is always room to go higher.

While standing atop a great mountain made me feel small, it also reminded me that even the smallest things have meaning and purpose. Without the bees, the beautiful flowers we saw during our ascent wouldn’t exist. Without the trees, the sun would have burned us up. Without each little individual rock and piece of earth, the mountains wouldn’t even have come to be in the first place.

Everything in this world, no matter how big or small, is valuable, including people. Even if it may not seem like it, the world would be completely different without you in it. You affect people’s lives even in the simplest of ways, ways that you might not even be paying attention to.

People matter. You matter. No matter how small you might see yourself in comparison to the mountains that life throws at you, you matter. No matter how many people tell you how worthless and minuscule you are, you matter.

I think the Matt Smith’s Doctor said it best: “900 years of time and space, and I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important.” You were zapped into existence for a reason. Don’t waste it obsessing over what others think of you. Be strong. Be courageous. Be the mountain.

Body Image

This is not going to be one of those posts where I say a bunch of negative things about myself and end with “but I love myself anyway!” This also isn’t me trying to get attention by saying negative things about myself in the hopes that people will say nice things about me. This is just me, as raw as it comes.

I’ve always been one to compare myself to others in every aspect of my life, but especially when it comes to appearances. No matter how often people tell me how beautiful I am, I can’t help but think about how there are people that are prettier than me. Clearer skin, more toned legs, flatter stomach, more voluminous hair, etc etc etc. I’m trying so hard to love the body that I’ve been given since I’m lucky enough to be blessed with good health, but I’m always going to want what I don’t have.

A lot of my poor perception of myself comes from social media. As much as I hate to admit it because I love them, platforms like Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, and Facebook are absolutely terrible for your mental health. You can get stuck in a loop of checking each one and obsessing over someone else’s hair, clothes, lifestyle, etc. I do it all the time. Seeing all these girls on Instagram with their perfect makeup and trim bodies makes me hate myself to a degree that’s hard to put into words. I know that looks aren’t everything and they shouldn’t matter, but I’m only human. I try to remind myself that God made me the way I am for a reason, and that just because I don’t look like them, doesn’t mean I’m ugly. But reminders only go so far.

I rarely ever post selfies because I rarely ever take a selfie that lives up to my ridiculously high standards. My smile looks too forced, one eye is squinting more than the other, there’s a zit on my chin that no filter can cover up, etc. I can’t help it. I will always be my harshest critic. I’m trying to run more and lift weights and do some abs, but I don’t have the mental or physical energy to be consistent enough for it to make a difference. I would love to be able to accept my body as it is, but as of right now, I don’t have the mental capacity to do that. 

A Developing Dream

Whenever someone asks what I want to be when I grow up, I like to say that I’ve always wanted to be a writer, that it was burned into my brain since I was a little kid. But lately I’ve realized that that’s not entirely true.

As a kid, I loved reading and writing short stories. My imagination was infinite, so there was no end to the worlds I could create inside my head and on the page. There was no doubt in my young mind that I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. I wanted to write books like the ones I loved to read.

In my late elementary and early middle school days, I still wanted to write, but I developed a new hobby. I wanted to be a singer, a rock star, just like Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers. I wanted to write songs that made people feel inspired to follow their dreams just like I was. I began to truly fall in love with music and everything it stood for and made me feel.

(There was a brief point in my life, sometime around when I started show choir in middle school, when I wanted to be a dancer, but we don’t need to talk about that.)

In high school, I was introduced to the journalism world and considered that as a more “practical” career path than writer or rock star. I took part in an internship with the Ralston Recorder, and while I enjoyed my time there and learned a lot about myself as a result, I can’t say that I fell in love with the profession.

Later on in my high school career, nearing graduation, I was forced to decide where I wanted to attend college and what I wanted to study. As an extremely indecisive person, this was an especially stressful time for me. What did I want to do for the rest of my life? I sure as hell didn’t know. So, I Googled potential career paths for people who enjoy writing. This is when I decided that I wanted to be a copy editor at a book publishing company. I know, it sounds exciting. Basically, I would read through manuscripts for grammar, punctuation, spelling, sentence structure, etc. It’s something I’m good at and even enjoy. That’s when I chose to attend UNO and major in creative writing.

When I tell people I am a creative writing major and English minor, I get asked the same question every time: are you going to teach? I’m always offended by this question, not because I hate the idea of being a teacher, but because I hate the assumption that the only thing to do with a writing degree is teach. Strong writing skills are valued in so many professions aside from teaching.

As I think about my college graduation a year from now, I can’t help but look back on the question: what do I want to be when I grow up? I still want to write, I still want to make music, and I still want to edit manuscripts. But as of the past week, I’ve been considering something I never would have imagined myself doing.

On Wednesday, May 17^th, 2017, I got the news that my high school band director, Marty Frye, had very suddenly passed away. I didn’t realize how much of an impact he had had on me until he was gone. I’ll spare the waterworks because that’s not what this blog post is about. As I pondered the profound impact Mr. Frye had on my education, love for music, and confidence in my abilities, I became overwhelmed with the desire to have that kind of impact on someone’s life.

So now, as I sit here writing this, I can honestly say that my dream has changed once again. Surprisingly to me but perhaps not for everyone else, I am considering being a music educator. I still plan to graduate next spring, but I don’t want my learning to stop there. Perhaps, sometime down the road, I will return to school and get another degree in music education. Life is short, so I want to make the most out of my time in this world and impact as many lives as I can along the way, just as my music teachers have done for me over the years. I believe in the power of education, and more importantly, I believe in the power of music.

“Music, once admitted to the soul, becomes a sort of spirit, and never dies.” -Edward Bulwer-Lytton

Grief is Complicated

The more death I experience in my life, the more difficult it becomes to deal with. I thought that as I got older, I would begin to understand grief and the grieving process more, but I am no closer to figuring it out now than when I was 12.

Death is one of those things that you don’t expect to happen to you. Death is something that happens to other people. In the beginning of my fiction studio this semester, my professor asked us if we remembered the moment when we finally realized our own mortality. As my classmates told stories of their childhoods, I racked my brain, trying to pick out a moment in my life where I truly understood that I will die someday. Three of my four grandparents died before I entered middle school, so it’s not like I had a shortage of death in my young life. But looking back, none of these deaths had the effect on me that my professor and classmates were describing.

That all changed on the morning of February 27, 2017.

When one of my good friends texted me telling me that my high school friend Tyler had died in a car accident the previous night, I thought it was a mistake. She must be talking about some other girl that I didn’t know. After the initial shock, I began to feel tears streaking down my face at a rapid pace. I remember being mad at myself because I had just put on my makeup for the day. I was confused as to why this was affecting me so deeply because I hadn’t seen Tyler in about 3 years.

But I think that just goes to show the type of person she was. I met Tyler Lin Cherrington in band during my sophomore year of high school (her freshman year). I don’t remember the first day I met her, or even my first impression of her, but I remember her spirit. There are too many words and not enough space in the world to describe Tyler. She was bubbly, confident, brave, bright, intelligent, funny, quirky, and kind, just to name a few. There was never a dull moment with her. At every band or theater party, you could always find her at the food table, grabbing the entire bag of chips and taking it to the couch with her. It’s a miracle she didn’t weigh 400 pounds based on how much she liked food. Whenever I passed her in the hallway or turned around to look at her in band, she would shoot me her signature double-chin look. She was the loudest quiet person I ever met.

Tyler had such a bright future ahead of her. She was the easiest person in the world to talk to because she was so accepting of everyone. She was friends with someone before I even had the chance to ask for their name. She’ll never get to graduate from college and pursue her dreams. She’ll never get to experience love and marriage and having children and buying a house and traveling the world. So much vibrant life, now gone.

Although I haven’t seen or even talked to Tyler in about 3 years, not a day goes by now that I don’t think about her. Losing her has left a hole in my heart. I aspire to be the kind, compassionate, carefree, and brave woman that she never failed to be. I see her in every ray of sunlight poking through the clouds, and my favorite elephant necklace has taken on a whole new meaning. I thank God for bringing her into my life, and I’m sorry I never got the chance to realize or tell her how much she means to me. I’ll always remember her shining spirit, and the memories we made will keep her alive in my heart, forever.

This loss of life made me realize that anyone could die any day. The girl I see every day on the shuttle, the guy I sit next to in class, my coworker, my best friend, and even me. I’m not saying that I now live in constant fear of losing someone I know at any given moment, but it’s definitely something I think about more often. If anything, this experience has taught me to cherish each moment I spend with someone and be completely open and honest with people, although I’m still working on that last part.

Lessons Learned From My Guitar

Since today marks the two year anniversary of the day I got my very first guitar, I decided to make a blog post about the lessons I’ve learned from this wonderful instrument.

Patience

Learning guitar is not easy, especially when you’re teaching yourself via YouTube and trial and error. When I first started out, I was so frustrated that I couldn’t stretch my fingers to make certain chords, and I didn’t feel like I was making any progress at all. However, once I learned a few chords and was able to play my first song (Introducing Me by Nick Jonas) and then eventually put out my first YouTube cover with my guitar (You Belong with Me by Taylor Swift), I started to think that maybe all this hard and frustrating work was worth something after all.

Commitment

Ask anyone who plays an instrument: If you’re going to learn how to play, you have to go all or nothing. I didn’t want my guitar to be something that sat in the corner of my bedroom collecting dust. I wanted it to become a part of me, and it has. My guitar has given me a new piece of my identity, another step closer to finding myself, all because I pushed myself to keep up with it. It’s hard to learn a lot when you have work, school, and the occasional social life, but I tell myself to at least pick it up and strum some chords for 10 or 15 minutes every day. After all, something is better than nothing.

Dreams

Learning to play guitar has only furthered my desire to become a professional musician. I am quite aware that it’s obviously not a practical career path, but everyone deserves to have a dream. I love music more than words could ever describe, and I want to use it to make people happy like so many artists have done for me. Look out world, these YouTube covers are just the beginning.

Self-image

For as long as I can remember, I have always been self-conscious of what others think of me. I’m often cautious in social situations, making sure that I don’t embarrass myself in any way. Ever since I started learning how to play guitar, I have been eager to show off my skills to others, especially through social media. I’ve been doing a lot more YouTube covers where I actually show my face, which was always something always I hated doing. I think it’s a good measure of my progress. I can see the way my hands move and if I’m developing the correct techniques. Looking back at all these videos, I can see my confidence slowly growing. I don’t have to look at the screen as much and can just focus on the music, letting the lyrics and chords flow through me.

I’m really proud of all the progress I’ve made, but this is not the end for me. I’m hoping to eventually take guitar lessons, and I actually just bought a ukulele today. My guitar has taught me so much about myself these past two years, especially in regards to what I’m capable of. Music has had such a profound effect on my life thus far, and being able to create my own music is the most rewarding feeling I could ever imagine. 

The Burden of Hope

When I was younger, I hated my name. I could never find it on gift shop key-chains, and I felt like it made me stick out like a sore thumb. I was too unique. I wanted to be like the Rachels and Katies in my class. I wanted someone to share a name with. As I’ve gotten older and experienced life a bit more, I’ve come to realize how silly the idea of hating my name is. I’ve started to think about what my name really means, and what that means for me.

The dictionary definition of the word hope is “a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen.” In Old English, hope meant “confidence in the future.” For a long time, I’ve pondered what my name means to me, and I’m glad to finally be able to sit down and share it with people.

Because my name is also a word with a very powerful meaning, I feel like I have to carry the weight of its meaning. I feel like I have to be hopeful and optimistic and confident that good things will happen. But this isn’t always easy. To put it plainly, life sucks. Life kicks you down, and it’s not always easy to get back up again. However, as Hope, I feel like it is my responsibility to not only pick myself up, but to help others get back up as well.

That being said, I feel like I have quite the burden to carry. Now, you might be saying, a name is just a name; it doesn’t carry any physical weight to it. I read a blog once that said that “Names are more than a convenience allowing us to talk to each other. Names are a gift from God. They contain His power. They define things. They define us.” Names are representations and reflections of who we are. Without names, we would all be the same. In the Bible, Proverbs 22:1 says “A good name is more desirable than great riches.”

The name Hope is more than just a name to me. It’s a physical representation of who I am and what I stand for. While sometimes it may feel a bit overbearing to have a name with so much density to it, it also gives me a guide for how to live my life and how to present myself to the world. My name may be unique and a burden to carry, but I like to think of it more as a blessing in disguise, sent by God to push me in the right direction, the direction of hope.

Sources

Dictionary definition: https://www.google.com/webhp?sourceid=chrome-instant&ion=1&espv=2&ie=UTF-8#q=definition+of+hope

Name etymology: http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=hope

Blog post: https://blog.compassion.com/the-importance-of-names/