Music has always been important to me, important to my family as a whole. Some of the best memories I have involve blasting music in the car and singing along with my sister and my mom or dad.

The evolution of my music tastes has changed over the years to reflect my growing security in myself, but like most people- I think- I started out listening to what my parents listened to.

My mother listens to pretty heavy R&B with some top 40 mixed in; she’s a fan of Mariah Carey, Brian McKnight, Luther Vandross and Hall and Oates. My dad listens to exclusively “Dad Rock': REO Speedwagon, Queen, and his favorite, Neil Diamond.

Of course, as the younger sibling, I literally never got to ride shotgun, and therefore was never given radio privileges. This meant I was often subjected to my sister’s music preferences. She listened exclusively to top 40 until I enlightened her with a series of PowerPoints on the finer points of punk music on the eve of my first ever rock concert. We listened to a lot of Radio Disney, and then when my sister hit middle school we graduated to KIIS FM, where they were allowed to say bad words and I was introduced to rap music (ick!). It wasn’t until middle school, when I was able to develop my own musical preferences, thus begins my punk phase.

When I was 13, I heard a band called All Time Low for the first time. Around the same time, my sister found a song named, “I Must Be Dreaming” by a band called The Maine. This became my favorite song ever, and the Maine became my favorite band.

Also around this time, Pandora Radio became a thing. I realized that punk pop was something I really enjoyed, and that there was something exhilarating about casual cursing in music. My mom had a rule about not letting us buy music with bad words in it, even though she curses more than anyone I know, and always has. So my sister and I had to play her the songs we liked before we could buy them (Taylor Swift says “damn” in her song “Teardrops On My Guitar” and I got in trouble for buying it even though I had no idea, the Radio Disney version was obviously different!) At this point my sister had pretty much worn her down with Akon and Beyoncé, so I was able to sneak my “rebellious” songs past her until she sort of didn’t care anymore.

There was something so illicit about singing my new favorite songs and cursing under my breath. This was my teenage rebellion. Once I hit high schools, there was no going back.

I went to my first rock concert when I was 15, and fell in love with live music. I learned the difference between circle pits, mosh pits and the infamous wall of death.

I absorbed the intricacies of subgenres of punk music, and pop-punk forefathers like Blink-182 and Third Eye Blind. I mourned the loss of Fall Out Boy (and cried when they came out of their hiatus) and My Chemical Romance (and cried when they didn’t come out of their hiatus).

I argued with my sister about how the Jonas Brothers weren’t rock stars. I even embraced the full pop punk “emo” culture. I wore exclusively band t-shirts and skinny jeans for the first two years of high school. I often coordinated the color of my braces with my favorite album covers. I got the typical “scene girl” haircut (except not really because my mom wouldn’t let me). I wore the heavy eyeliner (also not really, because my mom would only let me wear brown eyeliner and the same raccoon eye simply cannot be achieved with brown instead of black). I never listened to the radio because they never played what I liked. I scoffed at top 40 music because “F*ck that, I’m punk!” (This was my motto for most of freshman year of high school).

I harbored some intense teen angst. But mostly, I enjoyed the music I had found and the friends I made through that music. I discovered that emotions I couldn’t express myself, I could find in a song that perfectly encapsulated my feelings. I discovered that music was a way for me to express myself. Concerts were a place for me to be myself, so I went to as many as I could.

Eventually, pop punk faded into the background of my music tastes; it’s still the backbone of my music library, but I unapologetically love One Direction and Taylor Swift. I like Lana Del Rey. I cried when I saw the 1975 in concert (the first time, I held it together the second time around, who knows what will happen the third time this fall). I have a low-key crush on Luke Bryan (he is a dreamboat). I think Billy Currington has a sexy voice. I listen to the radio, not all the time, but enough to keep up with current songs. I can dig Justin Bieber’s new stuff (I secretly really liked his old stuff too, I’m talking really old stuff, “One Time” and “One Less Lonely Girl” were jams).

But I’d consider myself an Indie gal these days. I like a bit of everything, but I lean toward mellow, underground, alternative influenced music.

The reason I chose to write about this is because this past weekend the Vans Warped Tour passed through town. I was absolutely obsessed with Warped Tour in high school.

For those of you who don’t know, the Vans Warped Tour is a festival style concert that travels across the U.S. that features punk rock bands (and Waka Flocka?). The bands often refer it to as “Punk Rock Summer Camp.”

It was my dream to go, but my mom never let me (This was a pretty common trend in my life). My dream line-up happened circa 2009, but 2012 was a close second.

Finally, when I graduated from high school, my mom bought me tickets. So I went and had the time of my life. The Maine was there as well as one of my other favorite bands The Summer Set.

After that year, I was pretty much done with the Warped scene, I felt like it was the perfect end-cap for my youth.

I went, I saw, I conquered.

But this year, my best friend wanted to go. I of course, said I’d go with her.

Coincidentally, the line-up this year was almost identical to the year I went before, but with a few additions (Sum 41 rocked my socks!). While watching The Maine, I realized that I’d been following their band for eight years. The lead singer (aka the love of my life) just turned 28! I thought to my self “Good God, he’s so old!” and then I thought: “Good God, I’m so old!”

For the past eight years, their band provided solace for me. When I was going through hell, I knew I could turn up my favorite songs and let them take me away for a while.

Their music changed my life, and I can’t help but think about how different I would be if my sister had never heard “I Must Be Dreaming” at her friend’s house 8 years ago.

How different would I be if I never found music that spoke to my soul?