Special by Lizzo. Fine Line by Harry Styles. Hamilton by Lin-Manuel Miranda. These three albums have nothing in common. Well, almost nothing. They don't mean much to the other 8.2 billion humans on the earth.

Every human other than me.

They are merely a small part of any other person's day but hold so much power in my life. It's funny really, how something as small as a colorful piece of plastic with little spiraled grooves can affect my mood so much. Music has a way of helping me feel things, work through things, and even grow. It's not just something I listen to anymore; it's part of who I am.

My vinyl collection represents who I am as a person and how I've changed over time. It's been there through everything: playing loudly while I sing and dance with my friends after a weekend dinner and playing quietly in the background while I stress about my overwhelming week ahead. It all started in middle school when my parents got me a Victrola suitcase record player and Taylor Swift's Lover album for my birthday.

My sister, Mailie, and I ran up to my room. I took the light blue circular disk out of the pink paper case and carefully laid it down on the record player. "Hurry up, hurry up!" My sister pleaded.

I maneuvered through all the buttons until I found the right one and hit start. It took a second for the record player to come to life, but soon we heard a loud click, the sound of static filling the room. We were captivated. Slowly, the record started spinning. We got closer, our eyes level with the colorful disk, white noise in our ears. The hairs on my arm stood up as I excitedly waited to be transported into a musical world. Then, the most magical sound encapsulated my body, and my jaw hit the floor. Taylor Swift's voice started to echo through the room; her words danced off the walls.

How many days did I spend thinking ‘bout how you did me wrong, wrong, wrong?

From then on, I realized how fascinating it is listening to an album on vinyl. Something about the way you can hear every instrument, the raw emotion through the artist's voice, and the seamless transition of one song to the next. It truly is a full-body experience.

On my next birthday, I was opening presents aside my sister anxiously waiting as I tore the green wrapping paper off the gift she gave me. I immediately saw the black and white color of Billie Eilish's When We All Fall Asleep Where Do We Go? album and shrieked. Sophomore year, my sister and I bonded over our love of live music, particularly Billie Eilish.

Once again, Mailie and I ran upstairs and sat on the floor of my room, awaiting the arrival of yet another magical music experience. I clicked the button, and the vinyl began serenading my room.

White shirt now red, my bloody nose.

"Wow," we both remark.

We sat on the floor again, the glow in the dark vinyl illuminated my room in the darkness of the night. Mailie and I were connected by the message Billie was singing through her lyrics. We don't have a perfect relationship, but what's truly powerful is that something as small as our love for the same music has the power to connect us year after year.

In fact, my favorite thing about having a vinyl collection is the community it gives me. Or, if I'm being honest, one community in particular: Girlhood.

During my high school experience, listening to music, particularly vinyl, has introduced me to so many different genres of music and albums that I never would have listened to. From Beyonce's Cowboy Carter to Chappell Roan's The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess. It has broadened my horizons and allowed me to meet so many new friends. Through meeting people at concerts, and sharing our stories, I have connected with so many others.

Now, I often scroll through my vinyl to replay old memories and revisit past phases of my life. What I often find is that each album tells a story and sparks a part of my brain that brings up hidden feelings: comfort, happiness, or even anger. Immediately, if only for a ten-song track list, I am transported back into that time in my life and get to relive those feelings I once felt. I picture myself during Covid wearing my graphic tees, listening to Taylor Swift. Myself in junior year listening to Olivia Rodrigo with friends, as we get ready for the GUTS world tour. Myself in the last few weeks, listening to Noah Kahan, while weighing my pro/con lists about the most important decision of my life so far: deciding where I go to college. Memory after memory. Everything floods back to my brain. The days I once lived in now feel like nostalgia.

And we'll all be here forever, you're gonna go far.

Listening to music not only gives me a chance to slow down and reflect on the present moment, but also the chance to reflect on past versions of myself. I get to see how much I've changed and grown. I've reflected on how much I have matured and become independent through the music I listen to.

Sometimes I think about what it will be like to revisit albums like Fine Line and When We All Fall Asleep Where Do We Go? when I am older. Will I discover new parts of myself or find messages in the lyrics that I missed the first time?

Recently, my grandmother went through her vinyl collection and gave me several records she thought I would enjoy. Now, my collection doesn't just let me revisit moments from my own past, but it also invites me into hers. Each album holds a story, not just of the music itself, but of why she chose it, what it meant to her at the time, and the memories she attached to it. Listening to them feels like a shared experience, connecting me to a version of her I never knew.

My vinyl collection isn't just about music; it's about the story of my life. It's about the memories I've made, the people I've met, and all of the different versions of myself I've been along the way. These albums have been with me through the highs and lows, the quiet nights and loud singalongs. They've helped me feel things I didn't always have words for. Whether it's listening with my sister on birthdays, meeting new friends at concerts, or hearing the records my grandma used to love, music has been a constant source of love and comfort for me over the years. And even though I don't know exactly what's coming next, I'll always have these albums to come back to.