Tent? Check.
Food? Check.
Tickets? Check.
That was that. My mom's beat up van was packed to the brim with junk food, cots, clothes, flashlights, and all other kinds of survival gear to keep us alive for the next few days. With the GPS set and our seat belts secured, my best friend, Carter and I were officially ready to embark on our first real road trip. The destination? Dover, Delaware for the 2016 Firefly Music Festival.
A few GPS mishaps, confusing signage, and one terrifying drive across the Bay Bridge later, we'd made it -- to the check-in line -- behind what seemed like thousands upon thousands of cars. This was rather unfortunate given that we'd both had about five cups of coffee and were now majorly suffering the consequences. And after about a half an hour of debating whether of not one or both of us could make it to a port-a-potty or bush, we were finally checked in and led to a place that can only be described as a congregation of the strangest people I have ever met.
Simply put, we'd made it to the campgrounds. And it was there where I met a guy with a huge tattoo of a lion of his back, a girl who dressed like a cheerleader from the 80's, and (my personal favorite) a fellow named Gas Station and his best friend "Jaws." As an introvert, it was intimidating. But as a people watcher, it was fantastic.
After we'd gotten everything set up (well, after I got everything set up), Carter and I packed up our back packs and wallets and headed out and officially began our time at Firefly. Immediately, we were bombarded with an explosion of the senses. Through the swarms of people, there were food trucks and shops and hundreds of massive and brightly lit totems* everywhere we looked. It was entirely overwhelming in the best way possible.
As we ventured into the festival, the crowds only got thicker, the food smelled better, and the totems bigger... and much dorkier. And as chaotic as it was, I couldn't help but feel alive. This was something entirely new and different for me and my companion, and we loved it. Instantly, we were hooked. And, of course, our love only grew with each band that we saw and every person that we'd met along the way.
I could write pages upon pages talking about the "magic" of the music we saw or how touched we felt by each of the bands. And trust me, there were plenty of moments where the music literally moved me to tears *cough Florence and the Machine cough*. And while that was wonderful, I think what I really fell in love with was the ever-present sense of community all around.
As a society, we're so used to keeping to ourselves and falling into patterns of keeping our heads down that we sometimes forget the importance of looking up. Here, it was like all of those stupid little rules were non-existent. You could talk to anyone about anything and you were greeted with a smile and a high-five. It was surreal and so refreshing. And the weirder part is that I know that in all likelihood, I will never see any of these people again. And at the same time, we all have a bond now. I'll remember them and they'll remember me.
I know how cliche this all sounds, but it's the truth. Keep looking up, you don't know what you might be missing if you don't.
On the other hand, sometimes it's good to look down, too. Otherwise, you might be so busy looking up that you end up walking right into a hole and end up having to go to the Emergency Room on the last day because of a freshly sprained ankle.
P.S.
I'd like to dedicate this article to my partner in crime, Carter Beck von Peccoz, who just moved to Seattle, Washington a few days ago. Love ya, Carts!
