Chasing the Spark- By Alaina

For as long as I can remember, I’ve moved from one obsession to the next like it was my full‑time job. I don’t “kind of” like things — I deep‑dive, hyperfocus, and emerge weeks later with a new personality and a small pile of merch. Anything that sparked emotion in me became my entire world for a while. And honestly? It still does.

My first great love was music. I was a child of the 80s, which meant Michael Jackson wasn’t just famous — he was the cultural event. I had every album, every doll, every VHS tape. If it had his face on it, I owned it. I even have a vague, dreamlike memory of the Disney ride, like a fever dream of sequins and space. That era was my first taste of what it felt like to fall completely in love with something.

Then came country music. Yes, I know — not the plot twist you were expecting. But I had every album, wrote fan letters, and wore cowboy boots like I was auditioning for a life I absolutely did not live. It was a whole era.

Cue my teen years, when being cool wasn’t cool, and I fell headfirst into The Beatles. Wrong decade, wrong generation, zero regrets. I collected everything: mugs, albums, blankets, toys, movies, tin lunchboxes. If it had a yellow submarine on it, it was coming home with me.

In my twenties, the pendulum swung again — this time straight into the sun‑soaked world of Jimmy Buffett. Growing up in Jersey, going “down the shore” was practically a personality trait, so beach music felt like destiny. I finally had a word for what I’d been chasing all along: escapism. I collected the albums, the shirts, the memorabilia. I still have an entire room in my house that is aggressively, unapologetically Key West green.

But here’s the thing I didn’t understand until much later: every obsession was about the same thing. Joy. Emotion. Imagination. The stuff that makes life feel bigger and brighter.

I’m a very privileged, very spoiled (in the best way) human. I work hard, I’m educated, and I don’t struggle. That puts me in the unique position to — as Gazelle would say — “try everything.” I don’t have kids, but my students keep me up to date on trends whether I ask for it or not. And somewhere along the way, I circled back to Disney.

In the past year alone, I’ve gone three times and taken two cruises. I now live for vacation. I spend money on things that make me happy and I refuse to apologize for it. My house is beachy. My office is Disney. My current obsession is Star Wars — specifically Andor, because apparently I’m in my morally complex rebellion era.

And through all of this, I’ve realized something important:

I am who I am because of the people who taught me that imagination, kindness, joy, and creativity matter.

Walt Disney taught me to dream.

George Lucas taught me to build worlds.

Mr. Rogers taught me to be gentle.

Jim Henson taught me to be weird and wonderful.

Steve Irwin taught me to love fiercely and care deeply.

They were the blueprint.

I’m just living the grown‑woman, neurospicy, collectible‑filled version of it.

And honestly? I think they’d be proud.

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