I have come to realize that my life is an ongoing adventure of falling inexplicably and undeniably in love with music.

It started in the littlest of moments, in the gentle voice of my mother as she sang my unruly brother and my insufferable self to sleep each night, the soft caress of lyrics so comfortingly familiar lingering in my ears and whisking my young mind far away onto a dreamscape painting with music’s lasting memory. It began in the stirrings of my small heart as, though only half-conscious (despite stubbornly holding onto the ruse of being fully awake), I mouthed the words along with her. Not wanting to break the beautiful sounds as they whispered softly through the air but wanting somehow to learn from them and find my own voice, I told them as much. Someday, I promised those sounds, I’ll join you.

It blossomed in the heart of elementary school where, full of passion and vigor and not yet shackled by concern for the opinions of others, I joined my peers in nearly screaming - it wasn’t nearly, it was actually, but hey, indulge me - in early age music classes. We raced around the room chasing each other with our voices and colored egg shaped musical shakers as our small arms’ ammunition until we collapsed in a heap on the ground, voices rasping and overwhelmed with joy. It grew steadily as I learned the joy of singing with others, the possibility of a stronger sound when my voice joined another, and another, and so on.

It began to grow sturdy roots in middle school and high school, though very slowly at first. My mind threw itself into anxiety and doubt over whether the sound of my voice could measure up to that of others. If it couldn’t, should I bother with continuing to sing? I tried not to make a sound outside of set musical environments, and in those situations I pushed and pushed my voice to see if I could force it to be what I wanted it to be, what others were. But it didn’t work like that, it never does. My burgeoning love for music had to come to terms with the fact that I didn’t need to be the best to be give my all, to glorify my God with my voice, to connect with those around me. As I joined my high school’s choir and began to participate in musicals, I began singing in the hallways, in the car, during lunch, throughout the day in any moment I could spare for it. I fell more in love with it, learned to follow it, to share it with others. I learned that it was through sharing it with other people that I could find the friends nearest and dearest to me and grow in music as I went.

It grew stronger as I reached the upper levels of high school and realized a couple of simple things. One, I wanted to chase music wherever it was willing to lead, in whatever capacity I could do so. And two, there were two human beings, my two younger sisters, to be specific, who were following right down the line that I had already walked. I started singing more around the house, challenging them to singing duels and duets (same thing with siblings, honestly), to jousts with volume, to simple singalongs to our favorite musicals. They challenged me right back, keeping me on my toes and keeping me singing just as I hoped and hope I can keep them singing. They taught and teach me so much, continuing to spur on my love of music.

It gained an entirely new sense of purpose and life freshman year of college. The Emory Concert Choir was a dream I was unsure I was even qualified enough to achieve. I signed my name to the audition sheet in shaking handwriting and hoped for the best. I met new people my first week by browsing the musical kids and opening with the lines, “Hi, my name’s Anna, how’s your sight reading, would you like to go practice?” I could hardly believe the news of my acceptance nor could I believe the sound that burst from the souls of my colleagues from the very first day of rehearsal. It was…I suppose it’d be painfully cliché to say “magical,” so I plan to say that anyways. It was and it has been and it will be. Then and now is the time I am learning what it takes to not simply settle for good but to be extraordinary.

With a group of people as absurdly talented as that which I have found, good seems to come naturally. But extraordinary? Extraordinary is unlike anything I have experienced before. Extraordinary is not singing letters, is not singing nonsense syllables strung together; it is singing the words, no matter the language or if there even is one, like you mean every single one of them, is understanding the meaning behind the piece and sharing that meaning with every single person who chooses to listen. Extraordinary is hard-won and worth every ounce of the effort it takes. Music is worth every ounce of the effort it takes to be passionate beyond words and in love beyond measure.

And now we hit upon where I am now. Still seeking to grow my love of music, still trying to find ways in which to do so, and…honestly, what I’ve found has been beyond words, as music tends to be. My love for music is alive in the friendships I have made by raving over a choral or musical piece, from the late night or all night jam sessions to favorite songs with some of my favorite people, in the opening sounds of a day of rehearsal or in the powerful swell of a favorite piece. It is past expression and defies definition.

My gosh, do I love music.