Dear Ten Years Coming,
You represent an entire decade: 10 years, 120 months, 520 weeks, 3650 days. The difference between me being 29 and 39. The time before children and now. In other words--a very long time.
Brace yourselves for my announcement:
You guys, I went to a concert. (*Wide-eyed and nodding head for emphasis*)
A real, pop rock, live concert.
No, I wouldn't believe it if I were you, either.
You see, the last time Dear Husband and I went to a concert was ten years ago. I was pregnant with my Dear Daughter. I remember vividly wondering if the loud music was going to freak the baby out. But being the freakish pregnant mom-to-be that I was, I was pretty sure that my baby hadn't grown ears or developed auditory nerves, yet, at the time. So I went, because we got tickets!
That's what having kids did to us. The kids took over, and we became satellites that revolved around them.
Well, truthfully, that isn't quite true either, since the time before that concert was almost another decade prior as well. But my
I guess my special occasion was due. For my birthday this year, DH bought us tickets to a live concert of one of my favorite artists, with babysitting service already booked and planned. I was ecstatic. It meant a very rare date night at an even rarer event into the rarest of hours to return home. It also meant that I had four months to prepare Dear Son for this. You see, I had never missed a night of putting him to sleep.
The four months flew by. I had planned on studying song lyrics so I could sing along, but Life forgot to set aside Time for me to do that. On one of the busiest weekends of the month, the concert date came and we all got ready for it. DS was finally okay with us leaving for the night; DD was very cooperative about helping to care for her little brother with his nightly routines. They could not have been in better hands than with my SIL and MIL, so I really had nothing to worry about.
Except if you know anything about me, you'd know I'd find something to worry about.
As we parked and walked into the venue, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the fear that we were going to be the oldest people at the concert. Do people as old as we still go to concerts? Remember, I hadn't been to one in ten years! When I asked DH, his response was, "Don't worry, cuz we won't look like we're the oldest people there." Hmmm. Good answer.
We then got settled down in our seats at the largest open-air amphitheater in the state, and much to my relief, we weren't the oldest people there. With that worry out of the way, soon, the magic started right before my eyes.
The music blasted into the crisp, fall air and hugged every inch of space around me. The bass pounded on my chest and my heart was beating right along with each boom. I was being swallowed by the sheer volume exiting the speakers, and it shook me into a carefree oblivion. DH shouted into my ear, "Doesn't loud music bother you?" I smiled. I tried to say, "It does, but not when it exceeds a certain level, like this," but I'm pretty sure he couldn't hear what I said. He didn't have to, because he could tell I was having a great time bopping to the music and
It was a beautiful night for an outdoor concert. The weather could not have been more perfect. People danced, sang, clapped, and woo-hooed--including the gray-haired couple a few seats down in the row in front of us. I couldn't help but feel so cool that they liked the same artist as I did!
I marveled at the night air as it did its job--albeit between not-very-subtle and obligatory whiffs of weed and beer--as it delivered the vibrations of each instrument into space and into our hearts. Horns, drums, guitars, keyboard, violin, accordion, and harmonica all took their turns making music and interpreting the expression of moods and feelings. The stage and backdrop gifted our eyes with videos, slide shows, light shows, and syncopated lighting while the talented musicians bestowed our ears with melodies, voices, rhythm, and soul.
His music was something special. His songs made my feet bounce the rest of me to the beats. His words brought forth my laughter and tears. His voice was uh-mazing. The colors of his voice varied from the depth of a mahogany to the clarity of crystal blue, from the warmth of fall leaves to the ease of nature's greens. His stories were heartfelt and compelling, his motto was simply Love, and his messages reflected the need for people be kind to earth and be responsible citizens of the world. I marveled at how some people have the gift of music and can pack an amphitheater of 12,000 people. I guess there was a good reason why I was there, too.
It was a night to remember. Not only did DS go to sleep without a fuss, DD took care of him like the wonderful big sister that she always has been. Even though we got back home well past midnight and had to get up early the next morning, we still muddled through the busy day fairly well. Which means--really--I can get used to this. It could be our new norm: we'll gladly sacrifice our old age routines to experience a music high, even if it costs us a few more gray hairs or age spots for one night of fun.
As long as it happens again before another decade passes by.
So, Dear Ten Years Coming, I certainly hope that we'll go to another concert soon and not repeat your last record. Because if music speaks to our souls, then live music most certainly enables meaningful conversations between the the two, resonating the art and passion of music and soul.
I am still high from the music of that night.