The lights dim, a big smile moves across my face, the band takes their places and the room is filled with the drumbeat and strumming guitars, my body bounces to the rhythm. I’m in the second row, stage right, with a perfect view. I sing along to the opening lyrics, “I’m gonna die, oooh, I’m gonna die, but it won’t, be tonight.”
No, tonight is going to be a great night. It’s only been 48 hours since I saw Michael Franti and Spearhead in a dusty campground at the Arise Music Festival, but this intimate venue at the Belly Up in Aspen feels like a private concert, and a lot has happened since then. I need this.
There is an unexpected repetitive bumping into my left hip, I look over my left shoulder and see an unknown woman be-bopping beside me, her back to me, talking to the man sitting in the chair against wall next to his son. He’s the husband of the woman to my right. We bonded when I held her spot on the floor, and in kind, she gave up her chair so my husband, Greg, could enjoy the show without his lower back protesting.
I slightly readjust my stance; continue dancing and reach up to touch Michael’s hand as he towers over us. The space invader blows kisses and tries to grab him; she mashes her face around in a circular fashion. Oh, great, she’s on something. This is going to be long night.
The wife next to me shakes her head and tells me the intruder did the same thing at Friday night’s show. I came here to peacefully enjoy this show, but I’m not going to be a doormat. My dancing becomes more exaggerated as my left elbow makes contact with the unwelcome guest. This pisses her off, “You’d better stop elbowing me,” she states. “I’m just dancing in my spot and you’re bumping into me, you can always move back if you don’t like it,” I calmly reply and continue dancing.
“Don’t be a bitch and not follow through,” she threatens. There’s no doubt in my mind I could take her, but I resist my primal urge to punch her in her clueless face. It’s been twenty years since I hit someone and those days are behind me. I definitely don’t want to be known as the person who gets into a fight at a concert of a man who sings about peace, love and acceptance. It is the All People tour after all. “You don’t know who you’re messing with,” she informs me.
No, you have no idea who you’re messing with. These past four days have been a whirlwind of emotions circulating around my two adult children and the choices they have made. I have been vacillating between despair and unconditional love, attempting to find my balance. The motorcycle ride here helped tremendously, giving me an opportunity to bask in the healing power of nature, but I know I could lose it at any time. Especially when I’m being pushed.
I put my vast unseen support team on this situation, determined no one, especially this rude chick, will ruin our overnight date. “Listen, I’ve been in this spot,” I begin to rationalize. She interrupts, “Well, I got here.”
“I don’t know what you’re on.”
“You don’t get to tell me what I deserve,” she states.
These words sit with me, there’s information here. Is this about my worthiness? What is she reflecting to me? She’s right, I don’t get to tell her what she deserves, but I do know, without a doubt, I deserve to be here, in this spot, and have a good time. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I continue to dance, sing along and let the energy of the lyrics replenish me. My unresponsiveness causes her to bend over and bump into me repeatedly with her ass. One quick hip thrust and she’ll be face planted on the floor.
This is not what I want to focus on. I jump up and down to the steady beat of 11:59 singing the words “One love, one blood, one heart, one soul and one drum, with only one rhythm, one tribe and all of us singing.” This is the philosophy I want to live and breathe at all times, but this bitch is making that difficult.
She puts her hand on the side of my head and puts her mouth to my ear. “I’m leaving this spot now, but if I see you later, I’m going to kick your ass.” She pulls away and I look her into her eyes and smile. She places her hands around my throat, and I notice Greg is now standing by me. He pushes her arm up to release her grip, she turns to see a very tall, intimidating bald man staring down at her and she rushes off the floor.
The rest of the show was amazing! Perhaps my scattered vibration of mixed emotions brought this woman right to me. A test, of sorts, to see which path I would choose. Perhaps she learned a valuable lesson, or maybe she will continue her pattern of crashing the stage with disregard for others, either way, I have knowingness that life is a constant balancing act of finding my alignment. Sometimes it’s effortless and sometimes it’s a challenge, but it’s always worth it.
There are days I sing life’s praises from my mountaintop, and days I dwell in life’s sorrows, but isn’t that what it truly means to be living? To experience all of it—the good, the bad, and everything in between—and through it all, to remember to be grateful I’m Alive!