I still remember getting my first CD. I was in kindergarten and fresh off the yellow school bus when I walked into my kitchen and sitting on our round, wooden table was The Little Mermaid: Splash Hits in all of its Disney cartoon glory. I immediately grabbed the CD, ripped the packaging open (no easy task today, much less with 5-year-old fingers) and forced my mom to set up the stereo. It was the best present of my young life, one that I cherished and, much to my family’s dismay, played constantly throughout the next few years, singing along, karaoke-style, at the top of my little lungs.

While my love of music, specifically Disney musicals, was a fun and probably slightly annoying habit in my early years, it became a mode of survival the summer after third grade. My family moved to Omaha from Olathe. The transition wasn’t pleasant, and by summer I was friendless. But two discoveries made it not only bearable, but actually pretty fun. The first was the public library’s The Baby-sitter’s Club section. The second was Top 40 radio. When it came to my friend problems, I took on The Fresh Prince’s philosophy and assumed that “Parents just don’t understand.” As a result, I locked myself in my horrifically green-and-pink-flower-themed room with my most prized possession, my mini-stereo, listening to the sweet sounds of FM radio station Sweet 98 and reading.

I learned a lot that summer. I learned how to baby-sit. I learned that locking your room doesn’t mean your little brothers won’t find their way in. I learned that radio DJs get annoyed when little girls call repeatedly to request a song that isn’t on their playlist. I learned how to use music as a way to escape. In the confines of my room, Gwen Stefani told me what it was like to be “Just A Girl.” I wanted to have “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” with Deep Blue Something and I questioned who would save my soul right along with Jewel. I wasn’t sure what champagne was (I was a sheltered child), but I wanted to experience its supernova the same way Oasis did. Music became my perfect escape, and the artists blaring through my speakers, as well as the five members of the Baby-sitter’s Club, became my substitute friends.

By high school five years later, I had real friends. I made several of them, in fact, because—lucky for me—our huge choirs allowed me to use music to my advantage. Instead of using music as a way to pretend I had friends, I was able to use music to make more real ones. As Madonna says, “Music makes the people come together.” No matter how busy life got—and between musical, theater and show choir rehearsals, it got pretty busy—I never lost my love for radio, which is why, my junior year of high school, I began interning at the very station I once speed-dialed daily. The life of a radio intern isn’t exactly glamorous. I wasn’t partying with Linkin Park, or even blink-182, for that matter. I spent most of my time cutting apart station posters, going to promotional events at movie theaters and sports bars and, once, judging a kissing contest at the local mall. I had a blast. While the DJs were certainly a far cry even from Good Charlotte, they were rock stars in my eyes, and I got a kick out of getting to meet and spend time with Pat and JT, the morning show hosts, and the rest of the crew.

By the time I got to college, radio was officially my thing, but I didn’t know the University of Kansas had a radio station until Hawk Week. I still remember going to the Union and meeting Nick Ray, the promotions director at the time, a slightly flamboyant man with a sunny disposition and cool demeanor, a purveyor of all things hip. He was loud and proud of his station and immediately shoved an avalanche of red and black stickers and pins in my hand, along with a sign-up sheet to join the station’s staff. Before long, I was one of his minions, approaching people at football games, attending local concerts (for free!) to sit at the promo table, and helping plan stunts that would grab students’ attention (Remember the massive tractor outside the Union for Farmer’s Ball?). Nick took me under his wing—or maybe it was his turntable—and once he moved on, I took over his position, and am now the Live Events director for KJHK, and next year I’ll take over as station manager.

Music started out as a love for me. It became a necessity and then turned into a career path, which is really what these years are all about. You should find something you love and figure out a way to get paid to do it. It turns out I have no desire to baby-sit, or do anything else with kids. But radio is right up my alley, and I’ll be happy whether it’s working promotions for Z100, the biggest radio station in the country, or acting as faculty adviser for a station like KJHK. I guess, in that sense, college has done exactly what it was supposed to do for me. I’ve found my purpose. And in the words of Rihanna, “Please don’t stop the music.”