It was about a week ago since we had had our first check-in, and it was about a week ago since I had touched the document. This check-in was about making sure that our rough draft were ready, and unlike the other verbal check-ins it was graded. Upon my return home, this had always been on my agenda, just not a priority. An hour pasted, and there was not a second were the CHP was not on my mind; I had to get to work. I decided to call my work deluged mother to help fill in the cracks in my generic research about my grandmother, and auspiciously she was open for discussion. With music coming through one ear, and a surge of information in the other, I was like a machine. Asking all of the necessary questions, and composing them into one of my best essays. With the limited time my mother had, I had concluded, five of my eight paragraphs, and I was still going, soon after completing the rest of my essay after my mother’s reluctant departure. I had finally done it, I had written and formatted all 3000 words, but the means in which I did so partly relied on the shoulders of music. 

Even as I sit her now writing this essay, being I am commanded by the relaxing rhythms to stay on task, music still helps me to this day, regardless of what studies have shown. There was never one of my writing piece that was not in someway influenced by music. With the music circulating in my ears, I gain the powers enabled by determination to think about right now, the present. My bike being my determination, me the rider, and music acting as my training wheels; I would stagger without them. 

Unlike training wheels, music is something you can never out grow, it simply changes like a new upgrade.