Concerts are hectic, expensive, sweaty, and simultaneously the greatest nights of your life. Every time you go, you're paying too much for a ticket, battling the crowd to get to a decent spot, and wondering why you didn't wear comfier shoes, but somehow, it doesn't matter. The second the music hits, all of that disappears. You're jumping, screaming the lyrics off-key, and for three straight hours, your body forgets fatigue and your brain forgets everything else.
I'm heading to a concert this weekend at our town's college football stadium. I don't even like the band particularly, but I know I'm about to fall in love with every second of it. That's the magic of live music, it's not about the band as much as the atmosphere, the crowd energy, the collective obsession with feeling alive for a few hours. Even the worst seats, the longest lines, the sticky floors, all of it becomes part of the story you'll tell your friends for years.
This is why concerts exist. They're a temporary escape, a communal high, and the only place where belting off-key is not only acceptable, but celebrated.
