Put Myself In The Music

I love music; it's my go-to over television any day of the week. There's something magical about the way words and beats can resonate with me, even from artists who have no clue who I am. Call me a hippie at heart, but that's just me.

   I'm an old school rap kind of gal, even as I approach 50. Give me some Tupac, Too Short, or Eminem, and suddenly, I'm 16 again, with the whole world ahead of me.
     The other day, while driving with all my windows down and Eminem blaring, it hit me: blogs are like rap songs. We're all just trying to express ourselves in whatever way we can. I may not have the voice of an angel or the most polished writing skills, but sharing my story with whoever it resonates with brings me joy. So, to whoever's listening or reading, I see you. And hey, I'm glad I'm not alone.
In my moments of irrational rage or hormonal outbursts, I always find solace in turning up my music as loud as possible and letting out a string of expletives. It's like a temporary escape from the chaos of hot flashes and fits of anger.
    I chuckle at how not so hardcore I must look, driving my little car with music blasting. Young folks probably think I'm with one of their friends or something, looking somewhat puzzled to see my almost 50-year-old self rolling by.
Some days, I wonder if I'm slowly morphing into Don Johnson from Miami Vice... Someone, please smack me if you ever catch me in a white sports jacket, rocking a gold chain, cruising in an old convertible sports car!.
    Hormones are the absolute worst, and dealing with the "Attack of the Hormones" can be downright unbearable at times. But hey, I keep showing up, second by second. That's gotta count for something, right?

By: Raquel Riggie