Another day. Another track.

I’ve been described as a party girl by a bunch of people. But I don’t think that’s really what I am. I think what I really am is a dancing girl. Since dancing usually happens at a party that’s where you’ll find me. But honestly I dance everywhere.

In the bathroom, getting out of the shower. In my bedroom, getting dressed. In the kitchen, cooking. At my desk, working. In the street, dancewalking. No matter where my booty feels the need to move, it will.

There’s just something about dance that fuels me. I remember during my senior year of undergrad, I started hanging out with dance majors and going to their performances. And I was hooked. And pissed.

Why didn’t anyone tell me dance was something you could actually do? Why didn’t someone tell me that all the raving I did in high school didn’t have to go to waste? That the rare happiness I felt in the wee hours of the night could be had when the sun was out too. 

Because that happiness is so incredibly rare. And no…not because of any drugs. But because it’s one of the few times you can have this incredible conversation without having to communicate with anyone else. When all you have to do is listen…and respond in whichever way feels right to you. It’s one of the few times when you can just do what you feel without taking anyone else into account. When you can just close your eyes, smile, and disappear.

Sunday, Another Day. Another Track turned one year old. 

Crazy. One year. One fucking year.

I remember writing the first review. Sitting in my hotel room during the Eyeo festival in Minneapolis. Feeling a little lost. Feeling a little injured. I remember inadvertently watching Twilight, hearing a Bon Iver and St. Vincent song, and being compelled to start a music project that had been floating around in my head the past few days.

The months before Eyeo, I’d been sitting on a train everyday listening to the same song over and over again. While I asked the same questions over and over again. And coming up with the same answers that made my eyes well up…and made me get angry at myself for forgetting kleenex over and over again.

I remember during Eyeo, listening to Nicholas Felton talk about Feltron.com and how he collected his data. I remembering wondering what my quantified self would look like. What would be the data points in my life that would show me the patterns of the my year? 

Easy.

But how could I quantify the music I listened to? And what did it mean if I was listing to the same track? If it was on repeat for months, could I look back and tell that I was stuck dring those months? Would the song tell me anything about why I was stuck? Would a tag cloud of lyrics identify when I was hurt? Could a BPM indicate heartbreak?

Maybe the quantified self didn’t work here. Maybe just seeing the song I listened to one day wouldn’t tell me anything about why I felt I had to listen to it that day. Or how it changed my day after i did.

Maybe I would just have to write about it. Maybe I would just have to sit down and be honest about why I listend to a same song over and over again. And asked the same questions over and over again. Maybe I would need to realize that it wasn’t the music I had been listening to and writing about for The Owl Mag that needed reviewing.

I spent the last night of the Eyeo festival drinking with my friend Luke. A random guy I met the first day there who became my Eyeo partner in crime. A week of going to talks, lectures, and meet-up, culminated in a brilliant night of beers, brainstorming, laughs, and postulating. But one part of the conversation has stuck with me.

Me: “I never fuck up.”
Luke: “And that’s why you haven’t had many relationships.”

Yep. Someone who had known me for less than a week called me on my shit. And made me realize that there were a shit ton more songs that I needed to listen to.

Today is that day.

In 2009, I remember feeling a little off. I remember having this great job at this great company but feeling like something wasn’t right.

I remember sitting down to watch Beautiful Losers one night and feeling this chill. This weird feeling that was both comforting and disturbing at the same time. Like I saw where I was supposed to be and where I wasn’t at the same time. 

So I applied to grad school to change directions and become a designer. 

I thought grad school would give me the tools I needed to be a designer. But I didn’t realize that grad school would give me the experience I needed to be a better person. I didn’t realize that grad school would be this experience that would tear away at the parts of myself I had so carefully built, to uncover the flaws and talents that lie underneath.

I didn’t realize that grad school would be this force that would spread and be felt in other parts of my life. That would push me to do so much I had held myself back from experiencing: To leap. To love. To fail. To push. To break. To try. 

My favorite part of Beautiful Losers was something Mike Mills said:

‘The Mainstream’ was like my first girlfriend that dumped me really hard and I’ve never forgotten her. That’s really embarrassing to admit but it’s kind of true and I think that’s why my work often relates to it. Even if I’m like poking at it or fucking with it, it’s because I’m still in love with her and hate her. Feel jilted, you know?

I remember relating to that so much when I watched that movie before grad school. But now, after grad school, after this intense experience, after leaping and loving and failing and pushing and breaking and trying more than I ever have, I understand what he was saying. And I am so grateful for it. And so grateful or all the Beautiful Losers I have met and will meet in my life. But more that anything, I’m grateful to be one of them.

Eight days and counting.

Two classes down. Two classes to go. And tomorrow is the big one.

Tomorrow is our venture presentation. The big daddy of presentations. The culmination of the past year of hard work and awesome collaboration.

It feels so weird to know that three years of grad school is coming to an end so quickly. I feel like I’ve been looking forward to it ending for so long. But now it feels different. Don’t get me wrong, I am done with school. But I think I had a different conception of what “done” meant.

I think I thought “done” meant that I cold put it all behind me and move forward. That I would never again have to focus on anything CCA related for the rest of my life. That I could drop the mike and walk off the stage…never looking back. But I’m realizing now, that is so far from what’s going to happen.

There are so many people I’ve met that are going to be permanent fixtures in my life. As colleagues. As mentors. As friends. As people who will constantly inspire me, motivate me, and make me smile. And they will always remind me that CCA was a part of making that happen. They’ll remind me of what I’ve learned, what I want, and what’s important. These people and these experiences aren’t going to be things I put behind me as I move forward. They’ll be right along side me reminding me of where I want to go.

12 days left…and counting.

Finally…the last week of class.

Finally…this song is released.

15 days and counting…

…but this is the last week. This is the last push.

And I need to push hard. I need to get down and dirty. I need to go all night. Because this is the last week for me to do get it all done. To get all the assignments in. This is the last week until I can go back to what I was doing before grad school:

Pushing hard, getting down and dirty, and going all night…

…but with a smile. 

16 days and counting…

Another long productive day at work. Followed by a long productive night of school. I don’t know how much longer I can take this. 

I guess around 16 days or so.

17 days and counting…

But right now i’m too tired to count.

G’night

18 days and counting…

18 days until I can stop counting. 18 days until I can stop waiting. Until I can stop anticipating. 18 days until this incredibly exhausting and enriching year is over.

18 days until I can have time back. Time to go out. Time to have fun. Time to take on the world with a second wind that I didn’t even know existed.

18 days until I can say “goodbye” and “thank you” to the choices I made, and say “well hello” and “get fucking ready” the ones I’m about to make. 

18 days.