A couple of weeks ago, I attended my high school's end of the year choir concert. For reasons that don't matter anymore, my wonderful time in choir during my childhood years was tainted, and as a result, I wasn't too excited to attend the concert. I did, mostly to see the people I cared about sing for the last time I could, and to support the music that always supported me.

The concert was very enjoyable, and despite the slight awkwardness of seeing people from high school I kind of forgot existed, I was very glad I went. I got to see my brother perform, my younger friends from previous years live out their last moments of senior year, and I actually got quite nostalgic. Choir had a huge impact on my life, and still does in my every day. Not only did I develop my musical skills, but my skills as a leader, a team player, and a determined individual. And even more than that, I learned how to love music in such a fierce way: it is an appreciation for the journey that's required to create great works. I regard all of these things as invaluable pieces of my character.

The other incredible thing exclusive to music is its ability to touch people you've never met before, maybe only talked to once or twice, or even strangers who are miles and decades away.

Music is a universal language - one that you don't need to understand, but you feel instead. It is something that transcends race, religion, hatred, ignorance. It is one that can hurt and heal.

This very week one year ago, I was traveling around Spain with my choir. We were lucky enough to have opportunities to sing in incredibly old and beautiful venues, including the Crypt of La Sagrada Familia, a highly acclaimed Monastery at the top of a gorgeous mountain, and many small churches that no one probably even knows the name of. What was so special about the experiences, however, was not where they took place - it was who they took place with. Not only was I surrounded by about one hundred people who I cared very deeply about, making music that we had worked tirelessly to master, but the strangers who watched us perform who couldn't even speak English.

My favorite performance by far was a joint concert with a local women's choir: they were probably the cutest little old ladies we had ever seen. They performed Bob Marley's One Love and a song from The Sister Act, complete with choreography and traditional Spanish dresses. They performed after our choir, and the best part of their performance was the fact that they sounded god awful. It was terrible, terrible singing. But they were the most enthusiastic and truly passionate singers I have seen to date. All of us who had taken Spanish in school made some effort to speak with them, and even though no one could really understand the words that were being said, there were hugs being shared, cheek kisses, photos, and laughter all around.

I had forgotten this golden memory up until now when recalling the concert from a couple weeks ago. I was approached after the concert by a young girl in the choir, probably no older than a junior, who I vaguely recognized from my time there. She came up to me with a huge grin on her face and told me she was so happy that I came back, that she had missed me so much. I couldn't remember her name. I wasn't sure if I ever really knew it. But I gave this girl a giant hug, which she didn't let go from for about three minutes. She kept saying how much it meant to her that I came, how I had been so special to her when she was new to the choir. "You were one of the older kids who was nice to me." I remember this comment vividly. I was taken so aback and admittedly started to tear up. So we stood there at the front of the stage while everyone around us exchanged hellos and how-are-yous, embraced and teary-eyed. My mom snapped a picture as I racked my brain to find something impactful and revolutionary to say to her. All that I could come up with was, "This music shit is special. Don't ever stop doing it."

While it probably wasn't the most eloquent thing I could've said, in hindsight, I wouldn't have changed it. High school is rough - everyone who's been through it can recall, and everyone in it can attest. It's stressful and awkward and frustrating. But having a place to come to and not have to think about assignments or drama is so so so important.

There is a reason why music is so impactful. Why people can't help but dance around when "their song" comes on. Why people can't help but cry when listening to their favorite Adele or Journey or classical song. Music is a tangible way of expressing emotion; transcending language, time, and ultimately, all of our differences. We must remember this when life seems to become unbearable, when the world becomes too dark and dangerous when we can't say what we need to say in words.

So don't let the fact that you're "tone-deaf" to keep you from singing in the car or the shower. Don't give up when your fingers get blisters from your guitar strings, or when you can't figure out the timing of that one stupid measure, or even when you lose your voice (like I do at least once a week). Don't let your stage fright keep you from having the time of your life on the stage, and don't let the fear of a voice crack or looking silly keep you from singing at the top of your lungs. At the end of the day, it really isn't about how good you sound: it's about the fun you have, the emotion you evoke, and the people you will inevitably touch, even if you don't know you do.

Most of all, if it's what you love to do, don't ever stop making music. After all, this music shit is special, isn't it?