Cloud Nine
They say you should never meet your heroes, but I must disagree.
My brother and I packed ourselves into the tiny theatre and slowly sidled our way up to the front. We ended up about three rows back from the stage. I was a fluttering ball of anticipation that couldn't be consoled.
Adam Young has been my greatest inspiration for years. His music narrated my adolescent life and gave me a lighthouse to follow in constantly swirling darkness. His writing guided my own pursuits. As the world got bigger and scarier and thornier, he was a comforting source of solace, peace, and hope. It's not uncommon to relate to music, but Adam's always hit me right at home.
He brought order to chaos in a way no one will ever understand. Trying to explain it is pointless.
After saving and waiting for six years, I was finally able to get tickets to see him perform live in Denver. With my mother and brother in tow, we drove through a mountain snowstorm to a sketchy hotel downtown. I was terrified. My tensions were already high from the stress of travel and generally not liking Denver, but I also didn't know what to expect. Finally seeing the person I practically idolize perform right in front of me... what if it isn't everything I hope for it to be? What if it changes the way his music affects me? What if I get so excited that I pass out and miss the whole thing?
My brother and I packed ourselves into the tiny theatre and slowly sidled our way up to the front. We ended up about three rows back from the stage. I was a fluttering ball of anticipation that couldn't be consoled.
When Adam stepped out on the stage, silhouetted by blue spotlights and strumming away on an electric guitar, my immediate reaction was to burst into tears. Once the initial shock of OH MY GOODNESS THAT'S ADAM YOUNG STANDING TEN FEET AWAY FROM ME faded, I took a closer look and realized that he wasn't a deity. He wasn't a perfect, all-magnificent creature. He was just a guy. He was, in many ways, just like me.
And I admired him even more.
The night was so magical that I still have butterflies. It was a blur of strobing colors and ringing ears and the feeling of floating and the sight of my own wonderstruck eyes caught in the screen of my phone, so utterly twitterpated that I barely recognized myself.
And, like always, he seemed to know exactly what to say.