Jonathan Meyer.

All my life, I’ve been a deep thinker. For whatever reason, I play with thoughts and ideas more than is probably necessary. I replay memories in my head — both successes and utter failures — trying to learn from them. With life moving at a rapid pace lately, I’ve found myself staying grounded in some not-so-distant teenage memories. Hopefully you’ll enjoy a few of them.

A big realization in middle school was discovering that I could get on my bike and suddenly the whole community felt accessible. A friend lived maybe three minutes away by bike, a ten-minute walk otherwise. That mattered at that age. We assembled a good group of “the guys,” as my parents labeled us, and we rode and rode and rode around town. One day we thought we were invincible for pedaling over ten miles to visit a friend north of Toledo. We eventually learned we could also stop at local gas stations for snacks and drinks. Freedom tasted like Gatorade and ice cream.

In eighth grade, my friend Bryce and I cracked the code: if I rode from Tama to his house by the old football field in Toledo right after school, we could walk to Subway, eat a footlong before dinner, and still make it home in time to eat whatever our parents made. We perfected the timing during April, May, and June and were masters by the time school was out. I’ll never forget that sweet realization of transportation and money, we were completely unstoppable.

A few years later, once I could drive, something shut the world down — I can’t quite remember what it was… Anyway, it suddenly became convenient to have online friends beyond your usual bubble at school. My good friend Sean, from Denver, Iowa, and I met through honor bands, two trumpet players with typical “trumpet egos” who naturally gravitated toward each other. We recorded music, compared excerpts, and talked about brass instruments constantly.

When the world started returning to normal, his pep band started up before mine. Safe to say I was jealous. With our master plan set out, I drove my ’03 Taurus to Denver, snuck into his band for the night, and we shared the lead trumpet book. We did tear the house down (trust me!). Afterward, we drove to Cedar Falls and ate pizza in the backseat of his car. Simple. Perfect. This was not responsible (at all), but it was a great time

Another Sean memory stands out: All-State Band auditions my senior year — the pinnacle of my classical trumpet playing career. The process is tedious and designed to pull everything out of you. The most comforting part was that Sean was there with me. We had done the same work, attended the same masterclasses, memorized the same scales, and auditioned within the same hour.

After the first round, I made the recall list, one of eight trumpet players given a second look. A hallmark of All-State is how results are posted: a worker drops a long sheet of paper and a scroll unravels, revealing the accepted list.

When ours dropped, I saw Sean’s name in the final accepted spot. Directly underneath was mine: “First Alternate.”

One of the most bittersweet moments of my life, complete joy for my friend, but one spot short for myself.

It was a lesson in humility and recognizing that someone else can be just as deserving as you. Of course I wanted to go to the festival and be in the big band. But Sean had earned it, too. While I don’t label myself an All-State musician, I take great pride in knowing my friend is one.

A bit of a scattered collection this week. But sometimes remembering who you were helps steady who you’re becoming. Those happy memories make the daily bumps a little easier to handle.

Until I’m on break next week, I’m Just Jonathan.