I didn’t have the internet at my house for the past five weeks, thus no writing. I’ve missed it. Life has been filled with only the best. I received a turntable for Xmas. Not only was this an awesome thing to have, it was very symbolic for my current stage of life. In the past seven years, I there have been at least two record players in a prominent location in my home. Accompanying those record players were a collection of what ended up around 6,000 records. Music was always playing. Upon waking, during meals, while falling asleep, it was a constant. I have always felt very passionate about music. During these years, I was rarely the one that selected the music. Don’t get me wrong, I heard a lot of really good music and was exposed to things I would have never heard of otherwise. I am grateful for that music. However, stepping back from that situation, I’m realizing that my love for music went by the wayside. When I was alone at home, it was my rare opportunity to enjoy silence. Now that I am on my own, I am rediscovering the profound effect that music has on my life, how much I have missed it in my life. It’s as though music was hijacked for years. Living alone, with my own record player and my own records that I bought with my own money, I have been so moved by the depth and beauty that can be amplified then projected through speakers as a result of a needle falling into the grooves on a piece of vinyl. Grateful that I have the ability to hear and process that sound, then translate it into impulses that release chemicals that incite euphoria. The process of listening to a record, the loving act of carefully removing it from its cover, attentively placing the needle into the indentations and closing the cover gently as to not cause the needle to jump is a process. Dare I say it is a ritual? Having the pleasure of sitting and listening for about 25 minutes, then having to get up and do it all over again. Most of the records I have been enjoying lately are new releases. They lack the dust and age that gives them the snapcracklepops that records are known and loved for. Regardless, the sound is so much richer. The depth cannot even be compared to other forms of media. Even with speakers of the highest quality, other mediums sound flat and emotionless compared to vinyl. The last time I recall sitting and listening to a record, really listening, not just hearing it, was in middle school. After Denali goes to bed, a record goes on the platter and I sit in amazement at this newly rediscovered form of beauty in my life.