The Magic of Music

"Come with me," he said. I was walking home from a Tuesday night waitressing shift, sweaty and exhausted. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I had moved to Charlottesville two years before, and I was supposed to love my job, thrive, find someone, and pave a very clear path to my illustrious future. Instead, I had left my job because I wasn't challenged, and I had started working at a local restaurant. The hours were long, my feet were tired, and I wondered what I was doing with this love I had for working hard and creating.

The bartender was eccentric. He was magnetic, sarcastic, and had all the wisdom and charm that came with years of bartending across states, cities, and locales. He had stories for days, and a dangerous ability to mix one drink that would make you question your tolerance. He was the man who saw me breaking down in the alley behind the restaurant and told me that no one and nothing deserved my tears. More importantly, though, he had the key to get to the front row. He was having a smoke as I walked by. Though I was hesitant at first, it's not hard to convince me to sneak into a show, even if I've never heard a song from the band.

"Follow me," he said, as he grabbed three beers. One for me, one for him, and one for the bouncer keeping hooligans from creeping to the front. It was surprisingly easy, though. He gave the beer to the bouncer, wiggled his way through a person or two, and there we were. Front row. Watching artists play with all their heart, immersed in the moment. A weight was lifted. I wasn't worried about the future, where I would be in ten years, or what I would do. For two hours, we jumped, we danced, we shouted, we were transported to another world.

I've been to countless shows over the years, and after that concert, I never listened to Mute Math again. But it was magical. Music has this mysterious power to melt away every little thought on the back of your mind and make you ecstatic about both the present and the prospects of the future.

I haven't written in awhile, and I want you to know I think about you all the time. Every day, really. A silly thought comes to mind, and I know you'd laugh. But every time I sit down to write, I just can't do it. I used to write about things like the number of burger combinations you could create at Boylan Heights or which fruit each month would be. Then I took a job at a startup. I studied for the GMAT, applied to grad school, travelled, got an internship, got a job. What fantastic material to include in a blog. What now?

It's real life. I don't have a momentous update. I go to work every day. I may go to a happy hour, and then I come home. I'm still single. I haven't gotten a dog. What next?

For starters, I'm learning patience.

With myself. There are so many aspects I know I can improve, but I'm continually learning to appreciate that one fault I've tempered, that one area I've grown.

With others. People have different priorities at different stages in life, and just because you aren't at the top of their priority list now doesn't mean they wouldn't drop everything if they knew you really needed them.

With dating. I went on a really great couple dates with a guy who checked the proverbial boxes. Then, he faded, and for probably the first time, it didn't affect me. After years, I have reached the point that if a guy isn't itching to see me at the beginning, he's not worth my mental space. That's a bigger step than I'd like to admit.

With God. This is always the hardest, but all I have to do is look at my life between that concert and now to know that He has this really neat plan for my life that I couldn't paint if I tried.

Real life definitely has its perks. A consistent paycheck is one of them. Weekends are another, and I've been using every chance I can to explore the beauty of this part of the country and spending time with the wonderful people I'm blessed to call friends.

I went to a weekday concert the other night for the first time in Seattle. Passion Pit at the Sodo Showbox. I'm at a very different stage. I have an MBA, a job in which I can make an impact, however small, adult furniture. But I'd be lying if I said those thoughts from years ago don't still creep from time to time. What's next? What is the most valuable thing I could be doing? How do I grow the most? How do I make the biggest impact? Will I ever be near family? Will I find someone?*

We weren't in the front row, but the energy was vibrant. Somewhere in the middle of 'Take a Walk', as I jumped around, in what I'm sure was rhythmless dance, and bumped into the children making out next to me, all those questions melted away, and I remembered the pure magic of music.

The only difference was, I woke up real tired the next morning.


*I hate saying that's a thought, but it is, so screw it, I gotta say it.