Dinner with a Friend

I had dinner with a friend tonight, someone I haven't seen in too long. So many times over the last several months, I've thought of her, and reminded myself to send her an email, get back in touch. And then I'd forget. Serendipitously, we ran into each other a couple weeks ago at an event. Both of us lamented how long it had been since we saw each other, and promised to catch up. Tonight we did.

She is a great conversationalist, and someone whose opinion I value. She is smart, and funny, and interesting . . . and normal. Over the course of the two hours we were together, we both shared the things that have transpired in our lives since we last spoke. Not all of it was easy, or happy, or light. 

One of the things she shared with me was the loss of a friendship. It may or may not be temporary, but I felt her pain as she talked about it. Better put, I felt my own pain. How many of us have lost friends who we once cared so much about? Sometimes it is simply that we drift apart, and making the time to reconnect becomes harder to do. Other times, it's more abrupt. It's a falling out, or a disagreement, or an argument neither of you can overcome. Sometimes you know what happened, sometimes you have no idea. 

Regardless of the circumstance, regardless of whether you left angry, or disappointed, or resolved, the pain of the loss is like that of any other loss. 

As we journey through life, it isn't just friends we lose touch with, sometimes it's family. And by the time you realize how important that person is, they're gone, and there isn't any way to tell them how sorry you are that you never spoke again. 

I've had the good fortune to reconnect with so many people I care about, but lost touch with. Most of it I credit to Facebook. It has put me in touch with people I never thought I'd talk to again. I am so thankful to have those people back in my life. At the same time, I mourn those who are gone. My heart hurts when I think of them. Tears spill down my cheeks. I feel the loss profoundly. 

Each day we have people who move in and out of our lives. One of the things you see frequently on Facebook is to tell the people you care about that you do, before it's too late. It's good advice. You never know when may be the last time you talk to someone important to you. Tell them you care about them while you have the chance. It's advice I intend to follow more often myself.

Twenty One Pilots. Red Rocks.

Eight days ago, Frank and I saw Twenty One Pilots (TOP) at Red Rocks. I waited to write a post about the concert to see if I still felt the same way about it as I did that night, and the next morning, and the day after that, etc. And I do.

I got the tickets for Frank, for his birthday. We had front row seats, just off the center. It was a big deal, this concert, to everyone who was there.

I’ve been to Red Rocks a lot. So often that I’ve lost count. I’ve never seen as many people as were there that night. There were lines in places I never knew about. Once we were inside the venue, I was thankful we had tickets in front of the ropes and not in general admission. The general admission sections were packed. People were three-deep in a space normally allotted for one person. The metal brackets that held the ropes in place were strained to the point that they came off the benches. Security was as effective as any other concert in terms of keeping people from breaking through the barricade, but I still felt for the people in the second row who had people leaning into them, spilling beverages on them, falling on them. 

There were two openers. I can’t remember who the first one was, they were pretty good. Echosmith was the second opener, also good. But an interesting choice to open for TOP.

I love TOP’s music. Really love it. Every once in a while I’ll think a song is light for them, and then Frank will explain the lyrics to me, and once again, they fall into a dark place. I wondered prior to the show, and I wonder still, if the angst is real, or part of the performance, or part of the theatrics of the band. I have a hard time reconciling the artist being as psychologically-challenged as Tyler Joseph is, with the man who puts on the performances he does. Or leads the life he does. It is hard to fathom. BUT, I am not in a position to know, or to judge. 

The two band members, Tyler and Josh Dun, put on one of the best shows I’ve ever seen live. Why? I can’t put words to it. What was different about it? Even now, over a week later, I can’t really say. It just was. 

I recorded more of this concert than I have at any other show. Their opener and last encore were both incredible. I can’t say much negative about their performance except they played my favorite song, and also Frank’s favorite, as part of a medley. Screen, my favorite, has got to be one of their best known songs. Ode to Sleep, Frank’s favorite, should have been on the setlist. 

Heavydirtysoul, the song they opened with, was amazing. I looked back at the crowd, and remained incredulous at the number of people. Did Red Rocks oversell this event? It seemed as though every seat was taken by at least one person, sometimes two and three; the areas to the left and right were packed with people too. 

The Run and Go, Car Radio, Holding on to You, Tear in My Heart, Stressed Out, Trees—all phenomenal. I wish I could come up with better adjectives. I’ve read reviews where the writer said the night changed the lives of both the performers and the audience. I could go along with that.

Seeing anyone at Red Rocks is different. Every single person or band we’ve seen there comments on the venue, how performing there was a dream. Damien Rice said he thought perhaps he’d died and gone to venue-heaven. 

Tyler told the story about planning the tour a year ago, and someone suggesting they play Red Rocks. Neither Tyler nor Josh believed they could sell out the venue. They did. In less than fifteen minutes. His voice heavy in awe, he thanked the fans for making it happen, how they’d never ever forget it. 

Neither will we.