2018 Manhattan • Confetti was still seeping down from the ceiling once the house lights went up while I continued to slide around in a giddy haze. I found my way into a circle of familiar faces: a Long Islander, a Connecticuter, and a New Yorker. Then, out of the corner of my eye, was the Canadian as we slip into a giant bear hug. The Chicagoan was on the other side. We’re greatly missing the Floridian and the Floridian-turned-Coloradan. We curl up together, arms extended in selfie fashion. “Great fucking show” is basically our only vocabulary as we’re shuffled out from the floor and onto the frigid streets of New York City. “Great fucking show, what a great fucking show” as we pass around our phones to show off all of our respective photos. It’s when we start to lose feeling in our toes that we have to break apart the circle and go home. The bitter wind hits my face as we make our way to the 34th street subway station, but my smile doesn’t break, as I know that this feeling of belonging wasn’t always there.
***
2010 Rosemont, IL • It was 1am and I was nestled in the passenger seat of a hot dog. Yeah, the hot dog: the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile. Joe, through his string of obscenely interesting jobs, was driving it for the year, making a pit stop in Chicago. I had lived there for maybe three days at this point, so I had to carefully look up directions on my computer before I left for the train so I knew how to get to Joe’s hotel in Rosemont. I shook with excitement as I had never seen the Wienermobile before, let alone ride around in it. We took ‘er out for a spin after midnight, as to not attract too much attention as we flew down the streets of Chicago, repeatedly honking the horn (it plays the song!!!) and blasting Lady Gaga on a constant repeat.
“Do you wanna hear a song I really like?” Joe asked. I wasn’t ready for a break from “Bad Romance”, but he had already pulled out a new CD. Out through the speakers and resonating within the walls painted like mustard and ketchup, was Mumford and Sons, “Roll Away Your Stone”.
***
2011 Chicago • It’s February, and Chicago is in the beginning of the blizzard of the decade. I’m texting the boy, my first actual relationship, and realizing that relationships are difficult. Especially when you don’t like the other person. I sent my final text, the last communication we would ever have, and turn the lights off. I lay in my bed, my pillow damp with tears, watching the snow pour down outside my window; Sigh No More gently playing on my headphones, my only source of lonely comfort.
***
2012 London • I found my way to the only other American at this record shop, sitting at table sipping coffee. The show doesn’t start until 4pm, but I showed up at 10am, just in case. We’re inside Rough Trade East, the other American ferociously typing away on her computer. “Did you see those ridiculous people outside? Like, they’re already in line. Why would you do that? They already have a wristband to get in”. “Yeah, weird” I reply. Shit. There’s already a line? Gotta get outside with the rest of those losers, I guess. “Ok, bye” I say as I hastily get up and run to the queue. There they were, the eager misfits: a Brit, an Italian, and a Norwegian. The Brit doesn’t say much and the Italian sings to herself in a constant loop, but the Norwegian and I become quick companions. Within hours, we’re already making plans for future shows. Finally. I’ll have at least one other, ridiculous person with me on this journey.
***
2013 Paris • There’s a marvelous picture of us from the rail taken by a photographer. Reflected in a wide-angle lens is the trio of us: me with half-open eyes and my mouth captured in a giant mid-woo ‘O’, the Norwegian, looking off to her right for some reason or another with a furrowed brow, and the Minnesotan, hands gripping the rail with wild eyes. It really is a horrid picture of us, but it’s one of my favorite images of all time. The three of us, meeting in various parts of the world, connected by one band, in an ancient venue in Paris, screaming into the air under soft, twinkling lights.
***
2015 Waverly, IA • Although the mass communication we received in the morning from the festival was to seek immediate shelter, the Minnesotan and I sit on the curb in the middle of a tornado warning. We’re not the only crazed rule-breakers: a middle-aged mother of 4 insists she’s not going anywhere. “My husband is bringing the van around. Do you need a place to stay out of the rain?” 20 minutes later, we’re doubled over in laughter, finding various child-sized snacks carefully hidden within the mini-van. Once the tornado subsides, more weirdos come out to the queue. “Hey!” screams the Iowan as she beckons the newcomers over, “Come sit with us in the van!” Over the course of a few hours, the van is full with damp festival kids, wildly singing all together in a stranger’s van.
***
2016 Salt Lake City, UT • “No, you just need a Big Gulp cup from 7-11, fill it half-way with Coke, then pour the whiskey in. No one would ever know the difference”. I feel like I need to be teaching a master’s course on how to sit outside on the ground for several hours, but maybe it’s just borderline alcoholism with some kind of underlying mental illness. The Minnesotan and I are sitting in the arid desert with two best friends from Florida. They have never queued before for a Mumford show, and I’m feeling a superfluous sense of self-worth to show them how it’s done. I was hesitant to meet them at first, but upon seeing their binder full of Pinterest ideas for their road trip, I know they’re good people. Little did I know how close we would eventually become.
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2017 Orlando, FL • I’m working on very little sleep. It’s 4am and I’m waiting to fly home to Nashville. While we have only met a few times in real life, the New Yorker, the Floridians, the Connecticuter, and the Chicagoan and I have really gotten to know each other over the past 72 hours; driving frantically around the state of Florida and collapsing for 45 minute naps on hotel floors. The Long Islander made her first of many appearances in my story, and I had just cemented my friendship with the Canadian over a mutual bond for a yellow trucker hat. I’m alone for the first time in days, sitting at the gate with headphones in. I know I’m tired, but I ache to go back for just one more day, sitting on sidewalks in the hot sun, running from squirrels and finding those people, my people, who I am so glad they made their way into my life.
***
2018 New Orleans • By 8am there’s now an Arizonan, Alabamian, and a new Floridian. We’ve been sitting on the soggy and muddy grounds of New Orleans since before the sun came up, which mean’s we’re all best friends by now.
***
2018 Brooklyn, NY • Back in Brooklyn by 2am, I’m munching on an egg and bacon sandwich, slowly sipping beer and using every last ounce of my energy to keep my head up. It’s been a whirlwind; the memories of the past five days flash through my mind. Getting into Philadelphia for a last minute free show. Arriving to New York from PA at 1:30am in 20 degree weather to sit on a cold sidewalk for SNL tickets (at arrival, I definitely didn’t want to do it, but a solid “Hannah, we’re doing this so get the fuck out of the car” from my sweet Nutmegger and we’re out on the frozen street for the next 5 hours), driving up to Boston and a return to New York for two shows at Madison Square Garden.
I think the whole point of this post was about this improbable community of people I’ve been able to build through a remarkable band that has been so prominent in my life for the past 9 years. As I read through the experiences and the faces that have come and gone, I’m finding it difficult to put into words what this group of individuals have meant in my adventure through it all.
Back in the room, I look around to the group that we have left, with mutterings of “great fucking show” still resonating in the apartment. I know once I go to sleep, we’ll be one step closer to leaving one another yet again. But we’ll be back. Since we’re scattered across the country, it’s just hard to know when that will be. But I know, even in my darkest hour, they’ll be there, fiercely dancing and singing to the music that brought us all together.
