showing up

i am *not* too old for this shit

Five years ago, I wrote an essay about going to shows as an older person.

But sometimes as I sing along to songs filled with youthful angst, I feel it. I feel every bit of it. I feel like I don’t belong, that I shouldn’t be listening to this music, that it’s 10pm on a Thursday night and I should be home getting ready for bed. I feel, more or less, like an imposter. A 56 year old feigning youthfulness, a sham of an adult.

I was in a weird place, approaching 60 and feeling every bit my age. I was tired, stressed, life weary. Emo was my music of choice then - mostly the twinkly midwest variety - a reaction to being bored with all my other music, and of being sad most of the time. I had self esteem issues and was very self conscious about my advanced age as well as my inability to carry on as if I was still a teenager. I still at that point had great social anxiety and crowd avoidance issues so going to shows was always fraught with thoughts like will I or won’t I have a panic attack in front of 1,000 people?

The day after the essay published, I went to see Joyce Manor at Revolution in Amityville (RIP). Very small club, with just two bar stools stuck in a far corner for seating. I grabbed one right away. I didn’t have it in me to stand for the whole show. I was old. I was washed. I had taken off work the next day just so my old ass body could recover.

It was really hard going into all these shows with the attitude that I was too old, too done, too out of the loop to be there. I would think about my graying hair, the lines etched in my forehead, the way I was dressed, and shrink back into a corner. It took away from my enjoyment because the only thing I was doing was looking around at everyone else having a great time. No one was looking at me. No one cared what I looked like or what I was wearing. But my brain didn’t want to hear any of that. Oh, I still went to the shows, but I was not enjoying them enough.

Five years to the month later, I got tickets to see Joyce Manor this December at Brooklyn Steel (wonderful venue and they’re playing Never Hungover Again). That made me think of all the above and take stock of what’s been going in those five years since I last saw the band and the truth is, I have changed. I don’t know what happened (or do I, divorce can have a way of freeing you), but when I go those tickets yesterday there was none of the trepidation that used to come with buying tickets. There was no worry about making it through the night or surviving into the next day, physically. I just thought, this is going to be a good time, let’s do it.

It occured to me at the PUP/Jeff Rosenstock show that things had fundamentally changed for me. As Jeff was winding down, I had been standing for almost four hours, and my knees and legs didn’t hurt. I can thank my daily walks and weight loss for that. I wasn’t worried about being out too late. I can thank retirement for that. I didn’t once look around the room for another older person, nor did I care if there were any other old people there. I didn’t feel aged out or washed up. I can thank the last three years for that. The freedom I’ve felt, the release from so many bad things, it all added up to me feeling better about myself than I have in my entire life and that really carries over into going out in public. There I was in a crowd of strangers, sweating and singing and forgetting that I just turned 62. I also have the music to thank for that.

My ability to enjoy the moment, to live in the here and now and be present and all those other clichés, that aspect of life surely has changed for me. Where once I would be spending the night at a show looking at my watch wondering what time I’d be able to get into bed, or glancing at the crowd around me feeling like I don’t belong, I now revel in the presence of great music, exuberant crowds, and the overall feeling that I should grab this moment and fully immerse myself in it, regardless of where I am or who I am with or how old I am or how my knees feel.

I have a bunch of shows coming up, and I’m looking forward to all of them instead of having underlying dread. I can’t wait to let loose, to sing and sweat and wreck my knees and back in the name of enjoying the hell out of my golden years.

I also bought one (1) ticket to a local show in November. I’ll be going by myself. I don’t know who I’ve become these last three years, but I like being her.

See you at the show.