Last week, I stepped into the world of live music for the first time in… well, probably ever — and let’s just say, it was a full-sensory adventure.
My daughter is deeply in love with Chappel Roan (and honestly, I get it — the vibes are electric). So when the concert tickets landed, we were in. She’d been on repeat: “Good Luck, Babe,” “Super Graphic Ultra Modern,” and “HOT TO GO — non-stop. I half-joked, “If I hear it once more, I’ll start hating it.”
Spoiler: I didn’t hate it. I loved it.
Turns out, singing along — really singing along — is the secret ingredient. The energy, the crowd, the shared joy… it’s magic. Lesson learned: listen to the songs in advance. Not just to prepare, but to feel the moment.
We arrived early — smart move, right? Well, not so much. I’d been battling a migraine all day. By the time we hit the venue, my head was doing the cha-cha. I bent over, hands on temples, trying to look like I wasn’t about to faint. My husband vanished in search of water (a hero), my daughter stood like a sentinel near the front row, guarding our spot like a tiny concert warrior.
Then — two kind strangers, latecomers like us — stopped. Not just glanced. Stopped.
“Are you okay?” one asked. “Can we get you water?”
I was stunned. Not just by the offer, but by the genuine concern. I explained it was a migraine, and thanked them for their kindness.
In that moment, I felt seen. Not just as a mom, not just as a migraine sufferer — but as a person. And in a sea of strangers, that meant something.
So yes, I might survive another concert. Maybe. But not anytime soon.
For now, I’ll be sipping tea, listening to softer music or even Chappel Roan, and mentally preparing for the next one — with a better migraine plan and a stronger playlist.
P.S. If you’re thinking of going to a concert solo — don’t worry. There are kind people out there. And sometimes, a little kindness is the best encore.
