There’s a moment, usually at the top of the hill on Torrey Pines Road, when the Pacific unfurls in front of you, glittering and endless, and the sunlight pours over everything like melted gold. It’s the kind of view that makes you turn down the music just a little, like an unspoken rule that nature deserves the spotlight here. Except, of course, if the song playing feels like it belongs to that moment—the way a Jack Johnson tune wraps itself around a La Jolla sunset or how Fleetwood Mac’s "Dreams" somehow syncs perfectly with the rhythm of crashing waves. That’s what a great soundtrack can do: it doesn’t just complement your life; it becomes an irreplaceable part of it.

Music, for me, has been a constant—equal parts therapist, co-conspirator, and time machine. Some playlists carry me through long writing days, while others remind me of summers spent peeling sunburnt skin and laughing into the salty breeze. And because this platform loves blending the magical with the practical (just like the perfect love story, am I right?), I’m breaking my life into chapters, unspooling the soundtrack that defined—and inspired—each one.

Let’s tune in, shall we?

Act 1: Tidepools and Teenage Tumult

Growing up in La Jolla feels a bit like being cradled by nature’s most indulgent lullaby—waves gently breaking on the shore, palm fronds whispering in the wind. It’s no wonder my early years were all about easy, coastal vibes. Back then, my Walkman (anyone else feel old?) blasted endless loops of The Beach Boys and Crosby, Stills & Nash. By association, I’m convinced these bands practically raised me, though I owe a good chunk of my musical education to my dad, who hummed along while restocking organic avocados and refusing to wear shoes in public.

My standout track? The Beach Boys’ "God Only Knows." Listen, I was a dramatic teenager prone to waxing poetic about unrequited love (of which there was a lot—carrying dissected seaweed samples in a Ziploc bag isn’t the greatest romantic flex). But "God Only Knows" was like a gentle pat on the back—a reminder that love could be expansive, unending, and made entirely of harmonies and heart.

Act 2: UC San Diego, Where Dreams Change Keys

When I started college as a Marine Biology major (cue my mom’s hopeful smile), I’d imagined days spent saving coral reefs and nights sipping lattes in quiet victory. What I got was a schedule dominated by chemistry labs and the tragic realization that I was useless at memorizing the periodic table. Rescue arrived in the form of a creative writing elective, led by a professor who said things like, “Write the ocean into metaphors until you feel it in your chest.” Suddenly, music became as much a tool for self-discovery as writing was.

Sufjan Stevens’ "Come On! Feel the Illinoise!" scored my first major heartbreak—not from a person but from the marine biology dream I had to let go of. The song is whimsical, melancholy, and oddly hopeful all at once, mirroring what it felt like to pivot from what I thought I wanted to what I truly needed.

Fun fact: Stevens’ lyrical lineup includes a reference to predatory wasps. Is there a marine biology connection here? Sure. Is that why I cried every time I listened to it while staring at the San Diego skyline? Absolutely not.

Act 3: The Turtle Years (aka That Hawaiian Internship)

Interning in Hawaiʻi for six months gave me the reckless energy of an Eat Pray Love reboot—but with way more mosquito bites and slightly less spiritual clarity. I researched coral reef ecosystems by day but spent most nights on the beach, chasing ukulele melodies from someone else’s Bluetooth speaker. That summer was soundtracked by Israel Kamakawiwoʻole’s soulful covers and Jack Johnson’s "Better Together." Johnson, by the way, is basically the patron saint of coastal life. His music practically tastes like pineapple juice and smells like coconut sunscreen.

It was during one of these Hawaiian evenings, watching the sun melt into the horizon, that I first scribbled in the journal that would eventually inspire my book. Writing by moonlight, with songs like these as my ambient background, made me feel seen—like the ocean itself had a hand in shaping who I might become.

(Also, PSA: If someone serenades you with an acoustic version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” you’re legally obligated to feel a little in love with them. I don’t make the rules.)

Act 4: The Writing Life

Ah, the chapter where I become me. Or, rather, the version of myself who could actually call writing a career and not feel like an imposter. Writing can be lonely—just you, your thoughts, and a blank screen daring you to make magic—but music is the sidekick that never lets you down. Some people swear by silence during the creative process. Me? I’d rather have The Lumineers.

Their album "Cleopatra" became the anthem of my first book-writing experience—equal parts bittersweet and triumphant, much like the stories I was shaping about growing up by the sea. Tracks like "Ophelia" reminded me to embrace imperfections, not just in my work but in the messy, wonderful process of being human.

By the way, if you’ve ever wanted to romanticize deadlines (a true Herculean task), try blasting Florence + The Machine while furiously typing in three-day-old pajamas. Florence Welch’s cinematic voice will fool you into thinking you’re in a creative montage where everything is working out spectacularly, even if you’re just spiraling over a dropped comma.

Practical Playlist Tips (aka Bring This Back to YOU, Reader)

Sure, not everyone grew up dissecting kelp on family weekends, but here’s the thing: you don’t need to live in a seaside paradise to embrace the soundtrack life. Start with these tips:

  • Match Music to Mood: Just got ghosted? Queue up something cathartic like Adele (or, if crying isn’t your vibe, go for Lizzo—confidence in 3…2…1). About to write your wedding vows for real? Ed Sheeran’s here for you.
  • Geographic Inspiration: Pair your environment with the right sound. Driving through the desert? Lana Del Rey vibes. A rainy city commute? Nothing hits like Norah Jones.
  • Create a Personal Anthem: Identify the song that defines you right now. It might change every season, but having one go-to track can anchor even your wildest moments. (Mine’s currently Maggie Rogers' "Alaska"—fitting, because you carry your natural world everywhere you go.)

In Closing: What’s on Your Soundtrack?

When I think about love—whether it’s love for a person, a place, or a passion—it often arrives wrapped in melody. Music isn’t just an accessory to our lives; it’s a way to remember ourselves, stitched into every verse. My soundtracks remind me where I’ve been, sure, but they also serve as reminders of where I’d still like to go. Besides, there’s comfort in knowing that even if the journey gets messy, it’ll always have a killer beat.

So, tell me: What track holds your world together right now? And does it sound like the waves rolling in, like hope in harmony with heartache? Because trust me—there’s something special about living your life on shuffle.