I typically don't post personal stuff, because I am a huge fan of keeping the majority of my life off the internet. Sure, you'll get snips and snaps of what I'm interested in, what I care about and where I stand. But you won't really know the whole of me right off the bat.
For the past few months, I've had waves of questioning my emotions. Today is no exception. I am sitting here, half ready to go to a show tonight and reflecting back on the past couple of years. I've got to a lot of shows. In fact, tonight's show will be number 38 since I started back in May of 2023. Before tonight, I have seen 108 bands in 2 years. Some multiple times within this time.
I started going back to shows a month after breaking up with my last relationship. I wanted to start going back to see live music, but was kept away for a variety of reasons. Some were good reasons, some where not. I won't go into intimate detail about the wrong ones, but trust me when I say that being in a toxic, selfish relationship isn't good for someone who raised to be fiercely independent.
I rarely ever have anyone to go with. Sometimes, I'll run into people I know. Sometimes, I'll make an acquaintance. Hell, I even managed to convince my brother to go to one recently and he really enjoyed it, but then immediately roasted my sanity for asking how I did it so much.
Is it lonely? Absolutely. But feeling lonely with an elegant eruption in my ears is worth every solo dance and every lost hour of sleep. It's worth every sore foot after a night of dancing, it's worth every economy sized bottle of ibuprofen in the cabinet, it's worth every disposable earplug in the trash, it's worth every drip of black eyeliner down the drain at the end of the night.
Live music, and especially the music I love drawing into my mind and soul is incredibly therapeutic. It's electric, it's powerful, it's intoxicating, it's a reverb echoing in my chest to press out all the stress and heartache I feel on a daily basis. It's the one and only way I know how to feel hopelessly romantic, chaotic and extraordinary all at the same time, without feeling the judgement of every person I know wanting to understand why.
Tonight will be no different. I'll go. I'll stand and appear a little too intimidating, but not on purpose. I'll stand quietly near the front until someone strikes up a conversation. I'll wait. I'll remain calm, scanning the lights and sound cords through flecks of blue and magenta lights. Then the music will play and I'll forget everything. I'll dance, I'll shout, I'll sway, I'll poorly dance. I'll feel alive, despite my dead like exterior.
Then it will end, and I'll go home quietly, just the way I came in.
And I wouldn't trade it for the world.
