On July 4th 2015, I went to Indianapolis Motor Speedway to see The Rolling Stones.
It was a wonderful concert, and a memorable day for many reasons. That day was the beginning of my current personal favorite tradition: roadtrips, especially for concerts or vacations, and at the time it was my longest drive to and from a single destination. Traffic close to the Speedway was ridiculous; I saw numerous people bail out of cars (that were admittedly not moving), run into buildings to either use the restroom or emerge with drinks and/or sandwiches, and run halfway down the block to catch their car. I’ll never forget getting lost when leaving the concert, getting lost in the Speedway, belatedly realizing I’d been driving progressively farther and farther from the lights for several minutes, that I was driving around in the infield, that I was likely on some security radar somewhere, and that I’d better turn around right now or they’d send someone to collect me.
I think of that concert more than any other concert than I’ve ever been to, but not for the reasons I ever expected to.
When I think about that day, I think of a woman in the crowd next to me. She and her husband arrived early, and they spread out a blanket on the ground to sit on. The issue with that was that we were located very close to the stage, and except for disabled folks, everyone stood. There was no seating.
It’s the Rolling Stones. We were at Indianapolis Motor Speedway. On July 4th. Once the concert started, no one sat.
This woman spent the entire concert trying to keep the other people around us from stepping on this blanket, a blanket that she told me she’d bought at Goodwill a few days beforehand.
We were so close to the stage that for once I didn’t have to watch it on a screen, close enough to Mick Jagger that I could probably have hit him with a piece of ice if I had better aim, and this woman spent the entire night locking horns with strangers in the dark over a Goodwill blanket.
This summer, I drove to North Myrtle Beach on a whim, with barely any of my customary pre-planning. I bought ice, gas, and chicken nuggets in Rocky Top, Tennessee, chewed my way through most of a box of chocolate Rice Krispie Treats as I chewed through my podcast backlog, and marveled at nature until I (finally!) arrived at the ocean.
I promised my mother I wouldn’t go to the beach alone, but that night I couldn’t help it. I went down to the beach and stood in the water as the tide came in. A storm was blowing in, and you could see the thunder and lightning off in the distance over the tops of the buildings. I stood in the water and felt the pull of the waves and wind and watched the thunder and lightning, and I’d never felt so enveloped in elemental immediacy. The air was so charged. I felt like I could’ve called some of that lightning down from the sky and zapped someone with it.
Then I went back up to my room, sat on the balcony, watched the storm roll in, and honked down a pizza.
Tonight, I’m watching 2018’s first supermoon. I’m thinking back to that night on the beach, but I’m also thinking back to that night in the Speedway.
Except for a very few pictures and snips of video, I didn’t use my phone once the concert began. I basked in the soundwaves bathing us, the artistry of a band 5 decades deep into their career, and the moment.
I wonder whether that woman still uses that blanket.