What is Searching for Stars?

It's a multimedia memoir — part book, part mixtape, part constellation of memory. Think of it as stories pixelated through sound, image, and nostalgia — a place where music and memory echo together. Imagine getting to know a new friend through her mixtape of memories, each story another piece of a constellation slowly taking shape, like sitting together in a fireside chat beneath the stars.

What does "musical echolalia" mean?

Echolalia is when words or sounds repeat — like echoes that return without being invited. Musical echolalia is how songs and lyrics loop in memory, shaping how we feel, remember, and even communicate. It's the heartbeat of this project.

Is this a book, a blog, or something else?

It's all three, and none at once. Searching for Stars is a living memoir told in fragments — part website, part audio archive, part retro dream. Imagine a mixtape that keeps unfolding into chapters.

Who is this project for?

For readers. For music lovers. Nostalgia chasers. For kids of the 80s, 90s, and 2000s — and for anyone who's ever pressed rewind on a memory. It's for seekers of light in the dark, and for those who feel music deep within their soul. It's for the little girl inside me who dreamed of being a writer, who thought in music video formation and remembered in lyrics long before she had words to explain it. It's for anyone who carries loops of sound and story in their mind and is still searching for ways to make sense of them. It's for my children — the living record of my life and the love story their father and I have built — so they will always know who I was, and how they inspired me to finally share my voice.

The pixel art style was inspired by our kids' love of old-school Nintendo and Sega games — a love my husband and I were proud to pass on to them. Memory itself often feels pixelated — fragments, pieces, little glowing squares that come together into something whole. Vivid sensory-filled memories, retro games, mixed CDs, VHS tapes, and the texture of nostalgia. I usually start with real photos from my life or family albums, then run them through tools like ChatGPT, Canva, and PicsArt, cropping, layering, remixing, and refining until it feels right. The visual art helps bring the stories to life like a pixelated scrapbook.

Can I listen as well as read?

Yes — the site weaves together audio narration, Spotify soundtracks, and pixel art. Each story has its own soundtrack, so you can hear the memory as you read it. You can also listen to the project in its entirety on Spotify, or hear the Searching for Stars soundtrack.

Where should I start?

Anywhere. That's the beauty. The project is a constellation, and you can enter from any star. It never happens in order — it comes in bursts, like shooting stars revealing their story one streak at a time. Certain images throughout the site are clickable, leading you to other pieces that share similar characters, themes, memory vibes, or synced timelines. Small bridges between stories that hum with the same rhythm.

Will this become a book?

That's the dream. Searching for Stars is being built as a digital-first memoir, but its fragments are already shaping into a printed constellation. Someday, you'll hold it in your hands like a mixtape for the soul.

How can I support the project?

Read. Listen. Share. Tell a friend who loves music. Post your favorite piece, or just press play. Every echo helps keep the stars alive.

What inspired Searching for Stars?

It was born from a lifelong love of music, memory, and storytelling — from mixtapes passed between friends, to songs that became soundtracks for entire chapters of my life. It's both a personal archive and an invitation for others to remember alongside me.

Is this project autobiographical?

Yes — it's my story, but told through music, movies, and memory loops that connect to something bigger. While it's personal, it's also universal, because the songs that shaped me are the same songs that have carried so many others, too.

If You See PerryAnn: Parking Lots and Playlists

Track One: New Player Joined

Game Mode: First Day of 7th Grade

Soundtrack: Nervous laughter and new beginnings

Setting: One hello away from changing everything

I spotted her sitting alone,

hair like wildfire,

eyes like the sky before a storm — quiet but aware.

She looked new.

I knew that look.

My mom always told me:

“When there’s a new kid, be the kid who says hi.

You don’t have to be best friends. But you can be kind.”

So I sat next to her and said hi.

I don’t remember exactly what I said.

Probably something awkward. Probably something real.

Her name was PerryAnn.

I remember thinking:

That name belongs in a comic book. Or a band. Or maybe a band in a comic book.

We laughed within minutes.

She had this huge, infectious laugh —

the kind that crashes through silence like a well landed combo.

I didn’t know it yet, but I’d just unlocked something rare:

New best friend: unlocked.

Achievement: lifelong friendship.

⸻

Track Two: If You C Jordan (Play It Loud)

Game Mode: Two-Player Mute with a Stereo on Blast

Soundtrack: Something Corporate on repeat, CD skips and all

Setting: My bedroom, controllers tangled in a pile

We’d mute the game. Every time.

Tony Hawk was on the screen skating his pixelated heart out

but the real soundtrack was a scratched-up copy of Something Corporate,

spinning like it was doing something sacred.

“If You See Jordan” was our song.

We didn’t just play it

we performed it.

Over and over.

Singing like nobody else existed.

“I don’t care if you dye your hair

you’ll always be a little redhead bitch.”

We’d lose it.

Completely lose it.

Rolling, laughing, half-hollering at the absurdity of it.

Perry was a redhead, obviously.

But she wasn’t a bitch. Not even a little.

She was one of the kindest people I’ve ever known.

That’s what made the line so funny. So perfect.

It became a summer anthem

part roast, part badge of honor,

part joke we couldn’t stop telling.

We didn’t care that the game was silent.

We were too loud anyway.

That summer, everything felt that way

loud, bright, stupid in the best way.

Our voices, that song, her laugh

they echoed off the walls louder than any soundtrack ever could.

⸻

Track Three: The Window Unit Summer

Game Mode: Sleepover Survival

Soundtrack: Late-night movies, skipped CDs, and Perry’s laugh cutting through the heat

Setting: One tiny bedroom, one barely-breathing AC unit, unlimited nights together

It was one of those summers where the heat felt personal.

Sticky, heavy, like it was trying to press you into the carpet.

But we had my bedroom.

And we had the little window unit.

And that was enough.

Barely enough, honestly

(it wheezed and clunked and barely reached the far wall)

but we’d cram ourselves into the cool corner anyway.

Blankets in the summer, because we were stubborn like that.

We watched movies until our eyes hurt.

Played Tony Hawk until the controller cords tangled like spaghetti.

Sometimes we paused it all and just talked —

about boys, about bands, about nothing.

Perry stayed over a lot that summer.

More nights than not, I think.

We shared that tiny space like it was a sleepover castle.

Two girls, a stack of CDs, a humming AC unit,

and the kind of laughter that makes you forget how small a room really is.

You don’t realize when it’s happening

but sometimes you’re living through something you’ll never forget.

⸻

Track Four: Back to the Future, Back to Her House

Game Mode: Sleepover Magic (No Controller Required)

Soundtrack: Faint movie fuzz and time travel unfolding in real time

Setting: Perry’s bed, summer haze, a new favorite trilogy in the making

We were just hanging out —

her room, her bed, maybe a bowl of snacks between us,

the TV humming with something in the background.

I don’t know if she planned it or if it just came on,

but at some point, Perry looked at me and said:

“Wait… you’ve never seen Back to the Future?”

It wasn’t judgment.

It was excitement.

Like she’d just realized she got to be the one to show it to me.

So we watched.

And I fell.

Hard. Fast. All the way in.

The colors, the music, the time travel, the skateboarding, the clock tower it felt like discovering a door that had always been there

but finally opened just for me.

Perry didn’t talk through it.

She just let it happen,

smiling when she knew a good part was coming.

From that night on, it was my favorite trilogy.

All three.

She handed it to me like it was no big deal.

Like she didn’t know she was handing me something I’d keep forever.

⸻

Track Five: Game Paused for Strawberries

Game Mode: Unexpected Upgrade

Soundtrack: Perry’s voice “Just try it.”

Setting: Somewhere between a dare and a snack

I didn’t really like strawberries as a kid.

Too mushy, too weird, maybe too sweet in a way I didn’t trust.

My mom used to sprinkle sugar on them,

but they never landed right.

Perry thought it was wild that I didn’t love them.

She didn’t tease, she just offered.

Held one out like a little dare and said:

“Try it like this. Just plain.”

So I did.

And just like that...

I liked strawberries.

No sugar. No fuss.

Just the fruit. Just real.

I think about that sometimes...

how something so small can stick.

Strawberries have been my favorite fruit ever since.

Thanks to Perry.

Just one of those Perry things.

⸻

Track Six: Black Tees, Blue Jeans, Checkered Vans

Game Mode: Full Character Customization

Soundtrack: Band tees, broken laces, and the bassline of becoming yourself

Setting: One summer, one style, one step closer to the real you

That summer, I lived in a rotation of Levi’s, band shirts, and sneakers that had seen better days.

Usually a black tee —

Get Up Kids, maybe my Universal Warning Records shirt if it was actually clean — worn-in and faded from the wash.

Fraying jean hems.

Shoelaces pulling loose from black & white Converse or my checkered Vans.

I didn’t call it a style.

It just was.

There wasn’t anything curated about it.

No Pinterest boards. No hashtags.

Just me

figuring out who I was without even knowing that’s what I was doing.

Perry fit into it perfectly.

She had her own flavor...

that easygoing, bright-hearted energy that made everything feel a little more possible.

We didn’t talk about identity.

We didn’t have to.

It was stitched into the sleeves of our shirts,

woven into the way we filled the long, slow days.

Looking back, I think that summer was the first time

I started to recognize myself.

Not who I thought I was supposed to be —

but who I already was.

⸻

Track Seven: Halfpipe Summer

Game Mode: Post Office Parking Lot Adventures

Soundtrack: Wheels on asphalt, sneakers dragging for balance, the low hum of freedom

Setting: Normangee, Texas (cracked lots and endless afternoons)

By fifteen, the rollerblades were still in heavy rotation

but the skateboard had officially entered the picture.

Most of my skating didn’t happen on a halfpipe.

It happened in parking lots, back streets, sidewalks...

anywhere the concrete stretched long enough to pick up speed.

The post office parking lot in Normangee was home base.

Rough pavement.

Hot Texas air rising in waves.

Plenty of room to push off, coast, and carve lazy arcs across the empty space.

It wasn’t about tricks.

It was about movement.

About balance clicking into place just long enough to believe you could fly.

We played Tony Hawk on the screen

but out there, under the real sky,

we were making our own runs.

Our own mixtape memories.

Our own game.

No pause button.

No restart.

Just pavement, bruises, and something that felt like freedom.

⸻

Track Eight: PerryAnn, Skater Girl Sidekick (Player 2)

Game Mode: No Maps, No Missions, Just Summer

Soundtrack: Something Corporate spinning and a whole lot of laughing

Setting: Wherever the day took us

Perry wasn’t a skater.

But she didn’t have to be.

She was just there always

laughing, hanging out, singing along to whatever was playing,

making every parking lot, every late-night drive, every game session better just by being in it.

She didn’t need a board under her feet to be part of it.

She was part of it because she was Perry.

Because she showed up.

Because she made everything feel bigger, brighter, better without even trying.

There was no plan.

No destination.

Just the easy way we filled the time.

Music. Games. Skating. Talking about nothing and everything.

And somehow, when she was there, it all just mattered more.

⸻

Bonus Track: Some Friendships Are Just Light

Game Mode: Final Save Point

Soundtrack: The echo of a summer you can still hear if you listen close

Setting: Somewhere between then and forever

Some friendships are loud.

Some are complicated.

Some burn out before you even realize what they were.

But some

the best kind

are just light.

Easy.

Solid.

Real.

The kind you don’t have to question.

The kind that shows up,

grabs a second controller,

sings the wrong lyrics at the top of their lungs,

and laughs with you until the summer slips away.

That was PerryAnn.

That still is PerryAnn.

Beauty and light.

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Searching For Stars

She Gave Me a Beautiful Window Back to My Soul: Healthy Is the New Skinny (A letter of light and gratitude for Katie Willcox)

By Lauren Nixon-Matney • February 2, 2026

I don’t remember deciding to look in the mirror. I was already there, half awake, the house finally quiet in that fragile way it gets after a feeding. Same bathroom. Same light. A body that no longer belonged only to me, still learning its new outline. I tilted my head, not with panic, not even sadness just habit. Like checking a bruise you already know is there. Like waiting for an apology that isn’t coming. What annoyed me wasn’t what I saw. It was how quickly my brain tried to narrate it. The subtle inventory. The mental before and after photos. The unspoken timeline of when I was supposed to “feel like myself again.” I remember thinking, with a tired little laugh, Wow. I just made a human. And I’m still doing this. Still scanning. Still measuring. Still standing here as if my body hadn’t just done something borderline miraculous. And the most unsettling part wasn’t the criticism it was how normal it all felt. Like this was just part of motherhood. Like this quiet self surveillance was simply another thing you were supposed to carry. I didn’t necessarily feel it all at once. There was no dramatic breaking point. It was more like a quiet irritation that refused to go away. The kind that taps you on the shoulder while you’re trying to move on. I remember standing there thinking how strange it was that my body could do something as massive as bringing a whole person into the world and somehow still be treated like a problem to solve. How quickly the conversation had shifted from look what you did to okay, now fix it. I hadn’t failed at anything. And yet, the language in my head sounded like I had. That’s when something finally clicked not so much with anger or rage, but with clarity. This wasn’t intuition. This wasn’t health. This wasn’t even coming from me. It was inheritance. Passed down quietly. Polished to sound responsible. Framed as care. And once I saw that, I couldn’t unsee it. Katie this is where you enter the story… Someone who said the thing out loud that I had only felt in pieces. Someone who named the difference between discipline and disconnection. Between health and harm. Healthy Is the New Skinny didn’t tell me what to do with my body. It asked a better question altogether: What if the problem was never your body in the first place? That question rearranged everything. You gave me language where there had only been pressure. You replaced noise with permission. You handed me tools not commandments and trusted me enough to use them. And that trust mattered. Because the moment I stopped fighting my body, I started listening to it. And the moment I started listening, I realized how long it had been trying to take care of me. It felt like getting this beautiful window. Not to change myself or crawl through but to finally see clearly. I kept thinking about how these things actually get passed down. Not through lectures. Not through rules. But through the tiny stuff. The comments made in passing. The jokes you barely even realize are jokes. The way you talk to yourself when you think no one is listening. Especially kids. Especially daughters. It hit me one night, sitting on the edge of the bed, that someday they wouldn’t need me to explain any of this to them. They would just pick it up. The same way I did. The same way most of us did. Quietly. Without consent. That realization felt clarifying. Not heavy. Just honest. Some patterns don’t need a big exit. They just don’t get invited into the next room. And because of you, Katie, I found the strength to stop fighting myself. To stop trying to fit my body into some mold it was never meant to belong in the first place. To me, you are truly one of the most beautiful women and souls in this universe! Beautiful is the woman who breaks cycles. Beautiful is the voice that replaces shame with truth. Beautiful is someone whose work doesn’t just inspire it liberates. Thank you for changing how I live inside my body. Thank you for changing how I mother. Thank you for helping me choose health over punishment, presence over performance, and confidence that doesn’t ask permission. You saved me in ways you may never know. Thank you so much for opening the window. I’m raising the next generation with it wide open to limitless views of beauty! Lauren