When I Put My Headphones On Quotes

I draw a line down the middle of a chalkboard, sketching a male symbol on one side and a female symbol on the other. Then I ask just the men: What steps do you guys take, on a daily basis, to prevent yourselves from being sexually assaulted? At first there is a kind of awkward silence as the men try to figure out if they've been asked a trick question. The silence gives way to a smattering of nervous laughter. Occasionally, a young a guy will raise his hand and say, 'I stay out of prison.' This is typically followed by another moment of laughter, before someone finally raises his hand and soberly states, 'Nothing. I don't think about it.' Then I ask women the same question. What steps do you take on a daily basis to prevent yourselves from being sexually assaulted? Women throughout the audience immediately start raising their hands. As the men sit in stunned silence, the women recount safety precautions they take as part of their daily routine. Here are some of their answers: Hold my keys as a potential weapon. Look in the back seat of the car before getting in. Carry a cell phone. Don't go jogging at night. Lock all the windows when I sleep, even on hot summer nights. Be careful not to drink too much. Don't put my drink down and come back to it; make sure I see it being poured. Own a big dog. Carry Mace or pepper spray. Have an unlisted phone number. Have a man's voice on my answering machine. Park in well-lit areas. Don't use parking garages. Don't get on elevators with only one man, or with a group of men. Vary my route home from work. Watch what I wear. Don't use highway rest areas. Use a home alarm system. Don't wear headphones when jogging. Avoid forests or wooded areas, even in the daytime. Don't take a first-floor apartment. Go out in groups. Own a firearm. Meet men on first dates in public places. Make sure to have a car or cab fare. Don't make eye contact with men on the street. Make assertive eye contact with men on the street.

The essence of what trauma does to a person is it makes them feel like they don’t deserve love,” the voice in my headphones said. I was on the train, on my way to yet another doctor’s appointment, but this statement rang so true that I dug furiously through my bag and pulled out a notebook to write it down. I was about to put away my pen when I heard another especially good line, so I kept it out, writing furiously on my lap. My friend Jen, who often sends me little poems and links throughout the day, sent me this podcast—Road to Resilience,

After It happens when I’m at bodegas. It happens when I’m at school. It happens when I’m on the train. It happens when I’m standing on the platform. It happens when I’m sitting on the stoop. It happens when I’m turning the corner. It happens when I forget to be on guard. It happens all the time. I should be used to it. I shouldn’t get so angry when boys—and sometimes grown-ass men— talk to me however they want, think they can grab themselves or rub against me or make all kinds of offers. But I’m never used to it. And it always makes my hands shake. Always makes my throat tight. The only thing that calms me down after Twin and I get home is to put my headphones on. To listen to Drake. To grab my notebook, and write, and write, and write all the things I wish I could have said. Make poems from the sharp feelings inside, that feel like they could carve me wide open. It happens when I wear shorts. It happens when I wear jeans. It happens when I stare at the ground. It happens when I stare ahead. It happens when I’m walking. It happens when I’m sitting. It happens when I’m on my phone. It simply never stops.

For years before the Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps won the gold at the 2008 Beijing Olympics, he followed the same routine at every race. He arrived two hours early.1 He stretched and loosened up, according to a precise pattern: eight hundred mixer, fifty freestyle, six hundred kicking with kickboard, four hundred pulling a buoy, and more. After the warm-up he would dry off, put in his earphones, and sit—never lie down—on the massage table. From that moment, he and his coach, Bob Bowman, wouldn’t speak a word to each other until after the race was over. At forty-five minutes before the race he would put on his race suit. At thirty minutes he would get into the warm-up pool and do six hundred to eight hundred meters. With ten minutes to go he would walk to the ready room. He would find a seat alone, never next to anyone. He liked to keep the seats on both sides of him clear for his things: goggles on one side and his towel on the other. When his race was called he would walk to the blocks. There he would do what he always did: two stretches, first a straight-leg stretch and then with a bent knee. Left leg first every time. Then the right earbud would come out. When his name was called, he would take out the left earbud. He would step onto the block—always from the left side. He would dry the block—every time. Then he would stand and flap his arms in such a way that his hands hit his back. Phelps explains: “It’s just a routine. My routine. It’s the routine I’ve gone through my whole life. I’m not going to change it.” And that is that. His coach, Bob Bowman, designed this physical routine with Phelps. But that’s not all. He also gave Phelps a routine for what to think about as he went to sleep and first thing when he awoke. He called it “Watching the Videotape.”2 There was no actual tape, of course. The “tape” was a visualization of the perfect race. In exquisite detail and slow motion Phelps would visualize every moment from his starting position on top of the blocks, through each stroke, until he emerged from the pool, victorious, with water dripping off his face. Phelps didn’t do this mental routine occasionally. He did it every day before he went to bed and every day when he woke up—for years. When Bob wanted to challenge him in practices he would shout, “Put in the videotape!” and Phelps would push beyond his limits. Eventually the mental routine was so deeply ingrained that Bob barely had to whisper the phrase, “Get the videotape ready,” before a race. Phelps was always ready to “hit play.” When asked about the routine, Bowman said: “If you were to ask Michael what’s going on in his head before competition, he would say he’s not really thinking about anything. He’s just following the program. But that’s not right. It’s more like his habits have taken over. When the race arrives, he’s more than halfway through his plan and he’s been victorious at every step. All the stretches went like he planned. The warm-up laps were just like he visualized. His headphones are playing exactly what he expected. The actual race is just another step in a pattern that started earlier that day and has been nothing but victories. Winning is a natural extension.”3 As we all know, Phelps won the record eight gold medals at the 2008 Beijing Olympics. When visiting Beijing, years after Phelps’s breathtaking accomplishment, I couldn’t help but think about how Phelps and the other Olympians make all these feats of amazing athleticism seem so effortless. Of course Olympic athletes arguably practice longer and train harder than any other athletes in the world—but when they get in that pool, or on that track, or onto that rink, they make it look positively easy. It’s more than just a natural extension of their training. It’s a testament to the genius of the right routine.

After It happens when I’m at bodegas. It happens when I’m at school. It happens when I’m on the train. It happens when I’m standing on the platform. It happens when I’m sitting on the stoop. It happens when I’m turning the corner. It happens when I forget to be on guard. It happens all the time. I should be used to it. I shouldn’t get so angry when boys—and sometimes grown-ass men— talk to me however they want, think they can grab themselves or rub against me or make all kinds of offers. But I’m never used to it. And it always makes my hands shake. Always makes my throat tight. The only thing that calms me down after Twin and I get home is to put my headphones on. To listen to Drake. To grab my notebook, and write, and write, and write all the things I wish I could have said. Make poems from the sharp feelings inside, that feel like they could carve me wide open. It happens when I wear shorts. It happens when I wear jeans.

Remember when I said I was a bit scattered? It wasn’t just when it came to jobs. I had a slew of strange ex-boyfriends, too. There was George, who liked to wear my underwear . . . everyday. Not just to prance around in—he wore them under his Levi’s at work. As a construction worker. That didn’t go over well with his co-workers once they found out. He works at Jamba Juice now. I don’t think anyone cares about what kind of underwear he wears at Jamba Juice. Then there was Curtis. He had an irrational fear of El Caminos. Yes, the car. He just hated them so much that he became really fearful of seeing one. He’d say, “I don’t understand, is it a car or a truck?” The confusion would bring him to tears. When we were walking on the street together, I had to lead him like a blind person because he didn’t want to open his eyes and spot an El Camino. If he did, it would completely ruin his day. He would cry out, “There’s another one. Why, God?” And then he would have to blink seven times and say four Hail Marys facing in a southerly direction. I don’t know what happened to Curtis. He’s probably in his house playing video games and collecting disability. After Curtis came Randall, who will never be forgotten. He was an expert sign spinner. You know those people who stand on the corner spinning signs? Randall had made a career of it. He was proud and protective of his title as best spinner in LA. I met him when he was spinning signs for Jesus Christ Bail Bonds on Fifth Street. He was skillfully flipping a giant arrow that said, “Let God Free You!” and his enthusiasm struck me. I smiled at him from the turn lane. He set the sign down, waved me over, and asked for my phone number. We started dating immediately. He called himself an Arrow Advertising executive when people would ask what he did for a living. He could spin, kick, and toss that sign like it weighed nothing. But when he’d put his bright-red Beats by Dre headphones on, he could break, krump, jerk, turf, float, pop, lock, crip-walk, and b-boy around that six-foot arrow like nobody’s business. He was the best around and I really liked him, but he dumped me for Alicia, who worked at Liberty Tax in the same strip mall. She would stand on the opposite corner, wearing a Statue of Liberty outfit, and dance to the National Anthem. They were destined for each other. After Randall was Paul. Ugh, Paul. That, I will admit, was completely my fault.

A few years ago, I was at a coffee shop in Los Angeles sipping on an almond milk latte, scrolling through Twitter, when a group of white girls sat next to me. They were talking about their study abroad trip to Spain that summer. One of them said how important it was "in today's market" to speak Spanish. I put my headphones on and kept reading the news stories on my feed. I came across the story of Natalia Meneses and her three-year-old-daughter, who were harassed by another shopper at Walmart for speaking Spanish. The little girl saw some flower hair clips and said, "Mira, Mami!" This was a private moment between daughter and mother. An older white woman who overheard the conversation turned to Meneses and said, "You need to teach this kid to speak English, because this is America and kids need to learn English. If not, you need to get out of this country." Only when we have the audacity to use our mother tongue do racists worry about the future of the country, but for others it's an added skill to speak Spanish. For us it threatens our livelihoods, our families, our lives.

The high point of my stay in the house came late one night when I heard a commotion in the common living room. I walked out to see one of my roomies wielding a kitchen knife at two other residents. I took two inquisitive steps toward the scene when a cop burst in and tackled the offender. I returned to my room and put my headphones on. I jumped at the chance to live in an actual apartment.

Ihung up with Josh, and the switch flipped in my head. Sloan called it my velociraptor brain because it made me fierce and sharp. Something big had to trigger it, and when it did, my compulsive, laser-focused, primal side activated. The one that got me a near perfect score on my SATs and got me through college finals and Mom. The one that made me clean when I was stressed and threatened to launch into full-scale manic OCD if left unchecked—that kicked in. Emotion drained away, the tiredness from staying up all night crying dissipated, and I became my purpose. I didn’t do hysterics. Never had. When in crisis, I became systematic and efficient. And the transition was now complete. I weighed only for a second whether to call Sloan and tell her or go pick her up. I decided to pick her up. She would be too upset to drive properly, but knowing her, she would try anyway. From Josh’s explanation of the situation, Brandon wouldn’t be out of the hospital anytime soon. Sloan wouldn’t leave Brandon, and I wouldn’t leave her. She would need things for the stay. People would need to be called. Arrangements made. I began to compile a list in my head of things to do and things to pack as I quickly but methodically drove to Sloan’s. Phone charger, headphones, blanket, change of clothes for Sloan, toiletries, and her laptop. It took me twenty minutes to get to her house, and I got out of my car ready for a surgical extraction. I stood there, surrounded by the earthy smell of Sloan’s just-watered potted porch flowers. The door opened, and I took in her blissfully ignorant face one more time. “Kristen?” It wasn’t unusual for me to stop by. But she knew me well enough to instantly know something was wrong. “Sloan, Brandon has been in an accident,” I said calmly. “He’s alive, but I need you to get your purse and come with me.” I knew immediately that I’d been right to come get her instead of calling. One look at her and I knew she wouldn’t have been able to put a foot in front of the other. While I mobilized and became strong under stress, she froze and weakened. “What?  ” she breathed. “We have to hurry. Come on.” I pushed past her and systematically executed my checklist. I gave myself a two-minute window to grab what was needed. Her gym bag would be in the laundry room, already filled with toiletries and her headphones. I grabbed that, pulled a sweater from her closet, selected a change of clothes for her, and stuffed her laptop inside the bag. When I came out of the room, she had managed to grab her purse as instructed. She stood by the sofa looking shaken, her eyes moving back and forth like she was trying to figure out what was happening. Her cell phone sat by her easel and I snatched it, pulling the charger from the wall. I grabbed her favorite throw blanket from the sofa and stuffed that in the bag and zipped it. List complete. Then I took her by the elbow, locked her front door, and dragged her to the car. “Wha…what happened? What happened!” she screamed, finally coming out of her shock. I opened up the passenger door and put her in. “Buckle yourself up. I’ll tell you what I know on the way.” When I got around to the driver’s side, she had her phone to her ear. “He’s not answering. He’s not answering! What happened, Kristen?!” I grabbed her face in my hands. “Listen to me. Look at me. He is alive. He was hit on his bike. Josh went on the call. He was unconscious. It was clear he had some broken bones and a possible head injury. He’s at the ER, and I need to get you to the hospital to be with him. But I need you to be calm.” Her brown eyes were terrified, but she nodded. “Right now your job is to call Brandon’s family,” I said firmly. “Relay what I just said to you, calmly. Can you do that for Brandon?” She nodded again. “Yes.” Her hands shook, but she dialed.

You need to make sure you always have a reserve of willpower available for the on-the-fly decision making and controlling your reactions. If you run your willpower tank too low, you’ll end up making poor choices or exploding at people. The following are some ways of making more willpower available to you: --Reduce the number of tasks you attempt to get done each day to a very small number. Always identify what your most important task is, and make sure you get that single task done. You can group together your trivial tasks, like replying to emails or paying bills online, and count those as just one item. --Refresh your available willpower by doing tasks slowly. My friend Toni Bernhard, author of How to Wake Up: A Buddhist-Inspired Guide to Navigating Joy and Sorrow, recommends doing a task 25% slower than your usual speed. I’m not saying you need to do this all the time, just when you feel scattered or overwhelmed. Slowing down in this way is considered a form of mindfulness practice. --Another way to refresh your willpower is by taking some slow breaths or doing any of the mindfulness practices from Chapter 5. Think of using mindfulness as running a cleanup on background processes that haven’t shut down correctly. By using mindfulness to do a cognitive cleanup, you’re not leaking mental energy to background worries and rumination. --Reduce decision making. For many people, especially those in management positions or raising kids, life involves constant decision making. Decision making leeches willpower. Find whatever ways you can to reduce decision making without it feeling like a sacrifice. Set up routines (like which meals you cook on particular nights of the week) that prevent you from needing to remake the same decisions over and over. Alternatively, outsource decision making to someone else whenever possible. Let other people make decisions to take them off your plate. --Reduce excess sensory stimulation. For example, close the door or put on some dorky giant headphones to block out noise. This will mean your mental processing power isn’t getting used up by having to filter out excess stimulation. This tip is especially important if you are a highly sensitive person.

But I know myself. Know that I can’t stand bracelets or even hairbands around my wrists. As much as I’d love and cherish the device, I’d eventually take the watch off. Then I would put it down somewhere, and it would disappear one day, mixed in with my clutter. Another piece of Josh would vanish. I grit my teeth and close my eyes. Dom would never be so careless. He probably has a custom-made watch stand by his bedside and cleaning supplies to make sure the glass face doesn’t smudge. “Keep it,” I grind out. “He left it to you.” “Maddie—” “Leave me alone. I’m puzzling.” I put my headphones back on, restart my book, and command my eyes to only look at the pieces in front of me. Still, I can sense when Dom stands and moves away. He stays in the main area for a stretch, moving around the kitchen. Probably correcting the microwave and oven clocks. Eventually, he disappears down the short hallway to the bedrooms.

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And often, we didn’t talk at all. There was such a peace to sharing space with him with the burden of speech removed. I’d never had that. The sense that just by existing as myself, I was participating positively in someone else’s life. When I’d lived with Kaspar, I had stayed away from him if I didn’t want to interact. If I didn’t have the energy to talk, then I didn’t walk into the kitchen when he was getting coffee; if I didn’t want to have sex, then I didn’t touch him. I learned not to make any promises with my presence that I wouldn’t be able to deliver on. It was easier that way. But Faron and I seemed to move around each other with awareness but no obligation. I’d tried testing the waters—kissing Faron on the cheek as I walked by the couch when he was reading. He’d smiled and run a hand through my hair, but when I continued on to the kitchen, he made no comment. I’d sat on the couch next to him another time, and put on headphones to listen to music, and he didn’t try to talk to me, just rearranged himself on the couch so I could put my legs over his if I chose. It was like learning a new language of proximity. A language that finally felt like my native tongue. Sex with

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The Brain Song Review — Neuroscience Breakthrough or Marketing Buzz? (Full 2025 Report) (vlqh) ## The Brain Song Review: Does This Audio Track Really Rewire Your Brain? (2025) Can a 12-minute audio track really unlock your brain's hidden potential, boosting memory and focus? The Brain Song claims to do just that using cutting-edge neuroscience. But in a market saturated with cognitive enhancement products, is it a legitimate breakthrough or just clever marketing? CLICK HERE TO Visit The Official Website CLICK HERE TO Visit The Official Website CLICK HERE TO Visit The Official Website This in-depth review examines The Brain Song, a digital audio program generating both excitement and skepticism. Designed as a non-invasive "digital therapy," it promises to enhance memory, focus, and overall cognitive function through the power of sound frequencies. It's targeted towards students, busy professionals, and anyone struggling with age-related mental fog. But can sound truly rewire your brain? I put The Brain Song to the test for 30 days to find out. **In this review, you'll discover:** * What The Brain Song is and how it claims to work. * The science behind gamma brainwave therapy and its validity. * My honest, week-by-week experience with the program. * A balanced look at the pros, cons, pricing, and the security of the 90-day guarantee. This isn't a sales pitch. It's an unbiased evaluation to help you decide if The Brain Song deserves a place in your daily routine. ### What is The Brain Song? The Brain Song is a digital audio program designed to enhance cognitive function. Unlike physical products or supplements, it's a downloadable MP3 file that leverages the principles of acoustic physics and neuroscience to influence brainwave activity. #### How it Works: Brainwave Entrainment The core principle behind The Brain Song is brainwave entrainment. By listening to the carefully crafted audio through headphones, the program aims to guide your brain activity into the gamma brainwave frequency. This state is naturally associated with: * **Intense Focus and Concentration:** Ideal for demanding tasks and learning. * **High-Level Problem-Solving:** Enhancing analytical and critical thinking. * **Improved Memory:** Facilitating the integration of new information. The creators suggest that many individuals struggle to maintain optimal brainwave frequencies when focus is most crucial. The Brain Song provides an acoustic "push" to achieve this state. #### Program Details * **Format:** Instant digital download (MP3). Requires high-quality stereo headphones. * **Duration:** 12 minutes per day. * **Created By:** Marketed as developed by "neuroacoustic experts." * **Platform:** Sold exclusively via ClickBank, a secure platform with a reliable refund policy. ### Who is The Brain Song For? The Brain Song is designed to appeal to individuals seeking cognitive enhancement through a convenient and non-invasive method: * **Students and Executives:** Those who need to efficiently process and retain large amounts of information. * **Adults 40+:** Individuals experiencing age-related cognitive decline or "brain fog." * **Biohackers:** Individuals seeking cutting-edge, non-chemical tools to optimize their mental performance. The program's short daily commitment makes it an attractive alternative to lengthy meditation practices or daily supplement regimens. ### The Brain Song: Quick Snapshot Here's a quick overview of The Brain Song's key features: | Feature

The Brain Song Review 2025 — My Honest Results After 30 Days of Daily Listening (zzkb) ## The Brain Song Review 2025: Does This Brainwave Soundtrack Really Work? I tested The Brain Song, a 12-minute gamma brainwave soundtrack, daily for 30 days. This is my honest 2025 review, covering the science, pros, cons, and refund details. CLICK HERE TO Visit The Official Website CLICK HERE TO Visit The Official Website CLICK HERE TO Visit The Official Website Like many, I'm constantly searching for a mental edge in our distraction-filled world. I've experimented with everything from supplements to focus apps. So, when I discovered The Brain Song, a neuroscience-based audio program promising to boost memory and focus with specific sound frequencies, I was skeptical but intrigued. Why the buzz around sound-based brain training tools in 2025? They offer a convenient, non-invasive alternative to pills and demanding routines. The Brain Song claims to enhance memory and focus by activating optimal gamma brainwaves in just 12 minutes. To determine if The Brain Song lives up to the hype, I committed to listening every morning for 30 days, carefully tracking any cognitive changes. I also examined the scientific basis, user reviews, and refund policy. Here's my complete report – the science, my personal results, and whether this focus soundtrack is worth the investment.

The Brain Song reviews and complaints: Does it work? My 30-day honest {Oi6txB2] #The Brain Song reviews and complaints: Does it work? My 30-day honest {Oi6txB2] 29 November ✅CLICK HERE TO Visit The Official Website! ✅CLICK HERE TO Visit The Official Website! ✅CLICK HERE TO Visit The Official Website! I run a logistics team down here in Dallas. Between the constant phone calls, the missed shipments, and the endless spreadsheets, by the time 3:00 PM rolls around, my brain usually feels like it’s been put in a blender. I used to cope by downing a third cup of coffee, which just left me wired but tired—staring at my screen but getting nothing done. I kept seeing ads for The Brain Song, promising to "switch on your brain." I’m a practical guy—I don't meditate, and I don't do yoga. I thought this was just New Age fluff. But I was desperate for something to help me focus without the caffeine crash, so I figured, "What the hell, it’s cheaper than a week of Starbucks." I bought the digital package and downloaded the tracks to my phone. Here is the honest truth about how it went: Day 1-3: I felt ridiculous sitting in my office with headphones on, listening to these "binaural beats." I didn't feel smarter. I just felt like I was listening to weird humming. The "Click" Moment: About a week in, I tried their "Deep Focus" session during my afternoon admin block. usually, I check my email every 5 minutes. I put the track on, and the next thing I knew, an hour had passed. I had cleared my entire backlog. It was like putting blinders on a racehorse. The biggest win for me hasn't been "becoming a genius." It’s the stress regulation. There is a specific track in the folder called "Stress Relief" (or something similar). When I get home, instead of bringing the work stress to the dinner table with my wife, I listen to that for 10 minutes in the driveway. It’s like a reset button. It flushes the cortisol out. I walk inside actually feeling like a human being again. Does it work? If you are looking for a magic pill, no. But if you need a tool to force your brain into "work mode" or "relax mode," it’s surprisingly effective. Since I mentioned this to my team, a couple of my guys tried to buy it. One of them tried to save a few bucks and bought a "download link" from some random forum. It turned out to be a broken file that was just looped rain sounds. Don't be cheap with your brain. You need the high-quality audio files from the official site for the frequency layering to actually work. The compression on the bootleg versions kills the effect.