Last Wednesday, I had the privilege of attending a Bastille concert in Indy with my best friend. Anyone who knows me well (or maybe even not so well) knows that Bastille is hands down my favorite band and musical artist overall. I have loved them for almost three years and have been waiting about that long to see them live. I wanted to write about the concert because it is the best one I've ever attended, but my words don't seem to do it justice. So here is my final, valiant attempt.

Let me start by saying I'm not exactly a happy person. I'm no Ebeneezer Scrooge or a doom and gloom type, but I'm also not a sunshine and rainbows type either. I lie somewhere in the middle of those two extremes but lean toward the gloomy side. It's something that I've been working on over the last couple of months and will continue to do so.

If you were to ask me why I'm a sad person, I wouldn't be able to tell you the answer. A lot of sad and difficult things have happened over the last six years or so, and that can change a person. That is enough to make them seem or feel permanently sad, at least for a little while.

That is why I love music and concerts. When I'm not feeling so hot or feeling wonderful, I turn to music. It gives me something to get lost in or connect to. Concerts are even more freeing; you get to just sing, dance or sway, and be present, surrounded by the music of someone you love. There are no worries, no fears, just some good tunes, an upbeat environment, and a lot of other people.

I've been to several concerts in the past, especially over the last couple of years. I saw Ed Sheeran in July of 2015 and that was wonderful. Ellie Goulding came to Indy last May and that was a good time, too. I've seen Taylor Swift and a handful of Christian artists as well and those have good memories attached too. But none of them can even compare to Bastille, and here's why.

I felt so free, so ridiculously happy, so genuinely and truly happy, in ways that I have never felt before. Even when I was swaying on the lawn at Klipsch listening to Ed, his guitar, and his loop pedal there were still worries and fears floating around the back of my brain. Sure I was relaxed, I was excited, I was having fun, but the minute he stepped off the stage and my friend and I went searching the grassy lots for my car, they came back. We were chattering excitedly, clutching t-shirts and blankets, but the worries were still there. By the next day, I had lost any remnants of the post-concert high I had clung to the night before. I love Ed, he is a wonderful performer, writer, musician, and human being and I definitely have plans to see him again whenever the time comes, but he wasn't able to completely free me from the things that plague me most.

Bastille performed in a completely different environment, one that doesn't seem conducive to relaxation. I love lawn concerts. They are calm and laid back; people are spread around a stage on blankets, jumping around and singing when they want to, lying back and listening when they don't. The noise is not trapped by walls but free to float wherever it wants. It's almost peaceful. Bastille, however, played in a standing room only venue in downtown Indy. There were people crowded into the room, standing shoulder to shoulder, fighting for spots to see, jumping around and into each other as they let loose. It was dark, foggy at times, and loud. How could such a place relax anyone, let alone someone who doesn't do well with people?

Honestly, it was the music. I didn't care about the people once the opening act, Judah and the Lion, got on stage. I didn't care the noise or the fog or the bright lights. None of it bothered me, not even the fact that I couldn't see half of their set because I'm too short to see over most people. What mattered is that I was there, with my best friend, about to see Bastille.

I was able to see most of Bastille's set thanks to the constant shifting of the crowd. Even before they took the stage, my best friend and I decided that it didn't matter if we couldn't see the band. All we needed to do was hear them and know that they were there, less than 50 feet away, breathing the same air we were. That was enough.

Sure, I would've loved to be able to see better. I wish I would've had a clear view of the entire stage so I could've watched Kyle, Charlie, Will, and Woody more closely because their instruments made them less mobile than Dan, who was dancing around, almost always in sight. In the moment, however, none of that mattered. The minute "Send Them Off!" began to echo out through the speakers and Dan sang the first lyrics letting us know they were onstage, nothing else mattered. I belted out the lyrics to every song probably off key, danced like no one was watching, sang to my best friend, lifted my hands into the air, and just let the music surround me. I thought about nothing else except what was going on in that moment and the fact that I was there, in that room, experiencing it all.

When the final notes of "Pompeii" rang out and the band left the stage, I didn't feel deflated or sad. I didn't feel the first inkling of reality settling in. I felt excited, I felt happy, I felt free. Those feelings lasted as my best friend and I linked arms and pushed our way to the doors, chattering about the concert, waited in line to buy (far too expensive but definitely worth it) merchandise, waited in line to pick up our coats, talked to the new friend we made, and waited outside for a few minutes just to see if maybe Bastille would come through the doors. It lasted through the drive back to campus, the McDonald's drive thru to get drinks, the saying goodbye for now, the sitting up for a bit with my roommate while she did homework. It lasted through affixing my new poster to my bedroom wall, tidying up a bit, taking a shower, and crawling into bed. It lasted through the night, getting up in the morning, packing, cleaning, turning in my books, and driving home. It lasted through watching Netflix on my couch, dinner and a meeting with Mom and her friends at church, and well into Friday.

Of course, reality couldn't stay away forever, but even now, the freeing feelings remain. I can now remember what it is like to be truly happy and truly carefree, something I haven't experienced in years. It's a feeling that I will probably spend my whole life working to recreate, even for just a few hours from time to time. It's a memory that I will forever hold on to and looking fondly upon. It's a concert experience and a band that I will definitely be seeing again whenever I am able.

Bastille has impacted my life in more ways than one. They've given me my favorite albums, t-shirt, live versions of songs, and the best concert experience I've had to date. They've reminded me what no string attached happiness feels like. Never underestimate the power of music.