I wasn’t even positive I wanted to be in a large crowd for a concert just yet. I had also been hoping to share the night with “someone special”, only my recent dates hadn’t progressed anywhere. The alternative was skipping out on my first concert in years and not seeing one of my absolute favorite artists perform. Granted, I’ve seen him play about ten times, including on a different continent. That doesn’t make a new concert less special, especially considering the recent periods of isolation and virtual shows. And if I did go alone, it wouldn’t be my first time going solo to see this artist play. Still, the prospect wasn’t exactly thrilling to me. I couldn’t make up my mind.
When Dan Mangan performed in an outdoor show during an Olympics-related celebration in Vancouver in 2010, I went to a park in Surrey hours early to get a spot by the stage. I sort of made friends with a couple of people around me as the night wore on. Well, we were friendly. Things got rough later in the evening as there was pushing up against the barricade and crowd surfing (during a very tame show, headlined by Sam Roberts, might I add). I enjoyed my night for the most part, but I didn’t love that I had gone alone. It wouldn’t be the last time I’d be surrounded by people, feeling like the only person in the world without friends or a partner. At least not the right partner.
A couple of years after that show, I met my now soon-to-be-ex-husband (that still feels strange to say or type). He would end up being my date for most shows. He didn’t love the same music as me. I still appreciated that he’d come along. I didn’t feel alone. That’s not to say I wasn’t often jealous of other couples who seemed to love the same artists, singing and dancing along. But we shared beautiful moments at these shows, and I am forever grateful.
The full weight of the “Then” vs. the “Now” of it all didn’t hit me until I was standing solo in the crowd on Wednesday night. I used to live a block from this venue. I used to have a built-in concert date. I didn’t have to post my best photos for men on dating apps to judge, in hopes that they would deem them adequate (I gave up thinking anyone read the bio a long time ago).
The sound of Dan covering “In An Aeroplane Over the Sea” filled the room, and tears filled my eyes. I let myself cry. No one was paying attention to me. That was okay. I know that some of my emotions were just from experiencing live music for the first time in so long. Being in a big group of people. Collective joy. But the sadness in my heart listening to this love song that means so much to me, it felt like too much. That evening was a bit too much.
I had actually made a very last-minute plan to meet up with a guy from Tinder to be my date. We had matched the very morning of the show, and when I brought up my hesitation around the concert, he suggested that he join me. I was unsure at first, but we added each other on Instagram so that I could do some light stalking. I started to get excited. I never learn. Maybe it’s not something I genuinely want to learn, so the lesson doesn’t stick.
We messaged all day. He said he was often spontaneous like this, and he was looking forward to it. As I was getting ready to leave to meet him for a pre-show coffee, he messaged again to make sure I was still up for it and to ask me for my number. I confirmed I was and sent my digits, letting him know I was leaving for the Skytrain downtown momentarily. It wasn’t until I was on the train that I looked at our messages again and saw that he had deleted me on Tinder, blocked me on Instagram, and really just poltergeisted the hell out of me (I’ve decided this is what I’m calling the more dramatic form of ghosting. I’m sure it’s not an original thought but I’m smiling at my cleverness anyways).
My heart sank. I was sad and angry but mostly just shocked. I know people get “ghosted”. I know it was probably best I didn’t meet this guy. But none of that makes me feel better. I felt worthless. Ugly and undesirable. My tolerance for experiences like this is pretty low right now. I don’t bounce back so quickly. But what I did do was continue my journey downtown, get in line for the venue, and buy myself a vodka coke.
And as I sang and danced that night, I wished a cute guy would introduce himself. I also deeply missed having my person there with me. I know I’m supposed to think that I’m my own person or something. But I don’t make out with myself during the slow songs. That’d be weird.
There’s been a lot of rejection in my life lately. A job I interviewed for. Dates that don't reach out again. A man I shared a decade with acts like I don’t exist anymore. Another who I shared a couple of tumultuous months with left the country, only to come back this week to live on the other side of it (and expects me to be happy about it. That’s maybe a different post).
I’m trying to say “yes” to myself even when the world is screaming “NOPE”. But it’s not an Eat, Pray, Love situation. It’s more of an Eat, Sleep, Take a Long Bath, Book Some Therapy, and Try Not To Be So Hard On Yourself kind of deal. Maybe dating doesn’t fit into my world right now. My desire to find love and have my own family one day is very real. But I need to build my resilience back up because apparently, ghosts are real too.
P.S Fuck That Guy
“And one day we will die
And our ashes will fly
From the aeroplane over the sea
But for now we are young
Let us lay in the sun
And count every beautiful thing we can see
Love to be
In the arms of all I’m keeping here with me” — Neutral Milk Hotel
