As the sun set on another lacrosse practice during my first year as head coach, a day that had seemingly stolen the deep joy I had been experiencing this past month, I found myself noticeably down: short, agitated, and pessimistic. So far removed from where I was just the night before at White Oak Music Hall.
Looking down on the browning grass to pick up one of the many errant balls, I thought it was all over: do I have meningitis, arthritis, some sort of spine damage? My neck: can I lift my head back up? What the heck is going on?
In the time it took to see a ball at my feet, bend to pick it up, and put my hand out, I really wondered if my world was coming to an abrupt close.
A quick google search earlier in the day told me I was, anecdotally, suffering from PCD: Post Concert Depression. With that in mind, I quickly talked myself down. No, I was not dying: I spent two hours the night before head-banging to one of my favorite artists Blondshell.
Concerts are dangerous.
If you have kept up with me the last month, you know I saw Laufey in Houston in early November: The $423.77 Night I Will Never Regret.
For those who do not know, I drove through almost an hours worth of traffic, sat in my car for 45 minutes, stood in the ran for an hour with no jacket, and listened to an opener whose lyrics and songs were uncomfortably specific, all to see one of the best artists out right now: Laufey. The post goes into more detail as to why, despite spending nearly $500, and leaving the concert early, I will never regret that night.
My return to White Oak Music Hall on December 4 to see Blondshell proved me even more right.
Retracing my steps to White Oak, I felt different. I am going to dwell on the symbolism of the rain and a seeming rebirth that night for the rest of my night. What was a 45-minute drive in the rain, became a 15-minute drive in perfect weather. Parking in the same spot, what was a Lyft ride, was a simple walk through an alley, over a bridge, and down the hill as I admired the Christmas decorations of a neighborhood I will never be able to afford. What was a 6-minute line around the block, was a stroll into the venue, giving an awkward stare to the box office as I was not sure how they would scan my ticket through the glass: she pointed me to the man standing behind the main door, the blue tint of the light obscuring my vision. The once overly lit, cold, merch room, was a warm, purple hued, cozy venue. The opener with oddly specific lyrics, was a fun, indie artist, Julia Madrid, who commanded the stage with no band as her computer became her band, adding her vocals and guitar.
What was Laufey, an artist I had only recently discovered, not allowing me to sing along, was Blondshell: an artist whose album I could sing word for word, including her new releases.
Retracing my steps December 4 was a sort of vindication.
Standing in the back of the venue, right next to the sound board, there was no bad place to be. No matter where you stood, you could see perfectly. The crowd was surprisingly… old. At 27, there were moments I looked around and felt my trendy music taste was a far-cry from what I thought: I later found out most of the younger folks were up in the front, as a girl younger than me snatched a set-list from the stage as I had only looked at it, granted I was about to take it.
Lately, there have been many moments that have given me pause. Moments that I cannot explain why things have just decided to work.
This blog for instance: I created JBJWrites 5 years ago under the name LifeItLikeThat with no idea what I was doing. Unable to pinpoint the reason for my relaunching, having had the experience before, I feel ready to commit for the long haul as I am no longer seeking validation so much as a space to create.
How about my desk that was defective. An adjustable height desk with a white board surface, I bought it while finishing my master's degree in hopes the white board functionality would increase my productivity. Note the defective moniker, for two years, every time I wrote on the desk, the ink would disperse and bead up into an unrecognizable marking. However, now, as I sit here in need of a space to scribble ideas in a panic, it works: coincidently when I returned to my blog.
What about a concert that got canceled the weekend I had a date planned: sending me into a scramble to put something together for a girl who ultimately decided long distance wasn't worth it, despite reaching out to me from miles away? Supposed to happen in the summer, this concert got rescheduled to December: after my solo Laufey experience.
As I sang along to Blondshell, throwing my body around as you would at a grungy indie-rock concert, I was able to do so happily by myself: the social stigma surrounding going to a concert alone was long gone.
I can't say I have prayed for times like this: I have prayed, but not for these moments.
These moments have been a deep grace, however. As I reflect on the month of November, I have tailed numerous occasions that just don't make sense. Moments that have come together beyond me, without me, organically, yet I am deeply happy to have had.
I would love to say I have the secret formula, but I am not sure that I do. I think, truly, I have just thrown myself into the moments my intuition has told me to.
Shoutout Macbeth on this one, as the “firstlings of my heart” have become the “firstlings of my hand” (4.1.163-164).
Without excess time to overthink or overanalyze, I am just acting on what 27 years of life has taught me: it is a great feeling to feel like you can trust yourself, to rely on yourself, to love yourself.
It goes without saying these moments have not happened without years of struggle and hard lessons learned. That these moments have not come without hours of adoration or daily prayer. That I did not try to force my life to this stage for 27 years, only to find deep fear and anguish in not being able to make the world bend to my desires.
All of those things happened, and some.
Yet as I stand on the final 3 months of Chapter 27, I only chuckle to think I felt I needed to have it together at 25. If I am hitting this stride at 27, I could have only been a newborn baby at 25.
I am at a spot where life, my work, my hobbies, are coming together to make me feel whole: that each of them complements the other. Neither is trying to fight for attention: In part, I think this has to do with what I will discuss in my soon-to-be released “Letter to a College Student”, yet it's still more.
I have embraced where I am: not my physical location, but my life circumstances.
I live alone, in a city with no family, where most my friends are married with kids or whose interests do not align fully with my own: in many ways, once I leave work, I am alone, but, over Thanksgiving Break, I really leaned into that.
I took the first morning hours to sit, with a book, on my patio, in silence.
I took the afternoon, to take myself to a coffee shop and write.
I took the evening to return to another book.
I took multiple days to cultivate the relationships I do have here: even finally having a true Thanksgiving after five years in town.
Instead of looking at my circumstances as a negative, I looked at them as the exact thing I have wanted: peace and friendship.
Now, I can enjoy the moments with friends as I have fed myself, and what I enjoy: I am more complete. I am the whole Jason, not various parts frantically trying to stay above water.
Concerts are Dangerous.
See as Blondshell sung in the Upstairs of White Oak Music Hall, I almost cried. As she sang a lyric I had heard many of times, a lyric placed on the tote I purchased from the merch table, like everything else recently, the timing was just right.
“I'm trying new things out… is it obvious… seeing it in my head… And it's so dangerous / Forming an attachment to something / Know that every time I love / It might pull the rug out / I know / When I leave the house / Anything can take me down.”
I am trying new things out. I think it is pretty obvious. I think my family, friends, students, and even strangers can note that something shifted after I stood in the rain before Laufey.
Yet it is dangerous.
Because as I step into the final chapters of year 27, looking at 28, the golden year, I am opening myself up to the world. Opening myself to the people around me. Opening myself to experiences, memories, and circumstances that could easily leave my heart feeling unwanted or mistreated.
Like musicians who share their emotions, unsure how they will be received, as I look to share these thoughts, to create my art, to share the grace I have received the past few weeks, I know that this love may not be received by everyone. In being so open, when I step into the world, exposed, freely giving, anything can take me down.
Yet, this danger is what it means to live: what it means to love.
A free self-giving with no expectation in return. To pour forth your best to others. To use your God given gifts and talents to be present to those around you: regardless of their ability to meet you where you are.
Concerts are Dangerous.
Unless you have a never ending line-up to sustain your concert high, the PCD will come. Your body will be a wreck, and your sleep cycle destroyed. And, like my high school girlfriend told me, at some point, you will have a concert experience that will bring you to tears: it will strike your core in its beauty, and you will never be the same.
It's dangerous to stand in a room full of strangers.
It's dangerous to open yourself up to the emotions of another person as they pour themselves out in front of you.
It's dangerous to allow yourself to connect in such a visceral way.
Concerts are Dangerous, yet, somehow, after my night with Blondshell, I have won tickets to two shows, was recommended the music of a local artist who is performing this month, and found a band's album who is playing Houston in February.
HI! I am not sure if you are here from an email, my Instagram, Medium, LinkedIn, or something else entirely, but I am appreciative of the fact you made it to the end! If you found something worthwhile, don't be stingy, share the wealth! If you are not getting emailed each time I publish a new post, be sure to click the Mailing List Button: I do not post everything to other outlets.
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