I recently attended a Florence + The Machine concert, and it was one of the best experiences of my life. The adrenaline, the screaming, the dancing, and the off-key singing (on my part, not Florence of course) made the night everything I could have wanted and more.

Sometime between 8:45 p.m. and 10:30 p.m. (the duration of the concert) I realized that everyone who was really engaged in the concert was having some form of a spiritual experience. I'm not at all suggesting that Florence Welch can be comparable to whatever divine creator you believe (or don't believe) in, because regardless of your religious beliefs, I think we can all agree that while she's an incredibly magical human being, she isn't divine or otherworldly. What I do think, though, is that concerts like hers can invoke spiritual moments or feelings that you don't really experience anywhere else. Attending a concert, whether you're an avid fan or just a quiet observer, opens up a door to connectivity and magic comparable to attending a worship service.

When the band came out on stage, everyone started losing their mind (myself included), screaming and shouting, sending an electricity through the arena that hadn't been there a moment ago. And then, of course, there was the dramatic wait for Her. Just when I thought the crowd couldn't get any louder, Florence came out from backstage. Not only did she come out, she came out barefoot (and performed barefoot, I might add) with a bundle of flowers in her hand. She gave flowers to fans on the edge of the General Admissions area and stopped to let people touch her and say hello. I couldn't believe it. It wasn't really the fan's reactions that caught me by surprise, it was the way in which they interacted with her. It was reverence over being starstruck, and instead of wanting selfies with her, they really just wanted to reach out and touch her. Everyone was unabashedly worshiping her.

During an especially moving song ("What The Water Gave Me"), it felt like the entire crowd had lifted their hands in unison and sang the chorus. Even with the pounding bass, Florence singing, the entire stadium singing, there was an eerie stillness that washed over me that was accompanied with a storm of goosebumps. I can say without a shadow of a doubt, that other people felt it too. We were all joined in a moment of deafening silence. The spotlight shone directly on her, almost too bright for the darkness of the stadium and she spread her arms out wide, casting a cross-like shadow across the stage. I’ve always been a fan of fog machines, but that night they brought a whole new element to the mix. Everything around us was dark, illuminated only by the spotlight on Florence as she sang, and the fog floated through creating a haziness that you had no choice but to fall into. It created an other-worldly experience, a world where all you could do was stare and sing and lift your hands and love every moment of it. Later, when I went home and was scrolling through Tumblr, I saw a picture of Florence with a quote that said, “I like it when music is overwhelming and all-consuming, but at the same time you feel like everything is rushing away from you,” and it shocked me because that is exactly what she did.

At one point, I stared in shock as Florence hopped off the stage and immediately began sprinting around the General Admissions area. The crowds parted as she cut through the back, completely fearless. Hands reached out again, dying just to touch her, as she stood above everyone and sang. Upon her arrival back to the front (after another thrilling sprint through the crowd), she hoisted herself up onto the railing. I thought for a moment that she was going to jump, but instead, using support from security, she just reached her hands out and connected with as many people as she could. I've never seen people so overcome with an urge just to touch someone. There was a connection there between her and her fans, and although the faces may have been unfamiliar and many of the people crammed into that space may have been strangers, there was no doubt a warmth spreading through everyone at the connection.

I watched awestruck as fans threw articles of clothing and flower crowns at her feet. She picked them up, smelled some of them, and placed them each atop her head. Each time the arena exploded in an uproar of excitement as if there were nothing more exhilarating than watching someone wear a variety of flower crowns. Flowers and various other items littered her feet as she graciously waded through all of them, twirling in mid-air as she danced across stage.

I must admit, I found myself captivated by Florence on more than one occasion. There were several moments when she seemed to let go and just dance and be free, and that feeling caught on to the rest of us as well. Upon her encouragement, we were all on our feet, letting loose, screaming until our voices cracked. As Florence lost herself in the music, a guy behind me screamed, "She's a rockstar!" and my answering holler of agreement electrified everyone around us. We were all lost in the moment, lost in ourselves, and joined together in our love and excitement of being in the same room as this band.

Being a fan of someone isn't just a label, it's an experience. Being a fan requires being willing to let go with an artist that maybe inspired you, whose music might have saved you or made you smile for the first time in a while, and to let go with the people around you who are maybe feeling the same way. Being a fan means being a part of something bigger than yourself, a piece in a whole group of people throwing flower crowns and singing as if their life depended on it, and being connected to perfect strangers even if it's just for one night.