I’ve lived in cities that never sleep, Where music spills from every street. Boston, with its Commons and clubs, Where students danced and poets rubbed Shoulders with jazz and rock and roll, A university city with rhythm and soul.

New York was a heartbeat. A pulse, a throbbing mass ready to explode, A symphony of sirens and saxophones, Where every corner had a soundtrack, And even silence had a groove.

Denver had Red Rocks, A cathedral carved by nature, Where the rock gods roared and the heaven and stars leaned in to listen.

I was spoiled. A smorgasbord of sound, A buffet of rhythms, A feast of frequencies. and then… Grenoble. A quieter cadence. tucked-away in the French Alps. Not loud, not brash But alive in a distinctive way. Every summer, the city gathers. Cabaret Frappé. Le Jardin de Ville. Music floats like lavender in the air, Free, For all who come. No ticket, no gate, just community. Family and friends. Just connection.

And I stand there, older now. Not chasing the newest beat,But letting it come to me. I remember my parents’ record collection, Thirteen show tune albums. I thought they were out of touch. I swore I’d never be like that. Et voilà. Here I am. The radio doesn’t pour the world out like it used to. But maybe that’s okay. Because now, I find music in moments. In laughter shared under summer stars. In eclectic sounds that set my senses on fire. In fleeting joy, In togetherness. Music isn’t just what you choose. It’s what chooses you, When you’re open, When you’re present, When you’re alive.