The Unexpected Joy of Going to a Concert On My Own

(Photo: HOWL/ Stocksy)

Last weekend, I found myself with an unplanned Saturday night alone. My son was heading on vacation with his dad earlier than I’d anticipated (we co-parent), which meant I had an evening with no commitments and no responsibilities. O.A.R., one of my favorite bands to see live, was in town, but no one was available to go with me at the last minute. I couldn’t go by myself.

Or could I?

I typically love meeting up with friends at concerts and sporting events. And after the seclusion of the pandemic, I deeply appreciate the energy and connection of a collective activity. As Adam Grant wrote in The New York Times, “peak happiness lies mostly in collective activity … we find our greatest bliss in moments of collective effervescence.”

For me, a concert is a reliable source of collective effervescence, but I’d never considered seeing a band by myself. To be honest, I thought it would be incredibly uncomfortable to be on my own, surrounded by groups of friends and couples.

On the other hand, I’m someone who values alone time. As a natural introvert, I need time by myself to re-energize. It took me too long to realize this, but now— as CEO of a growing communications agency, a single mom, and serving on multiple nonprofit boards —  I’m fiercely protective and intentional with my time.

I cherish time with my son, and I used to get frustrated that I was “missing out on” time with my son on the weekends he’s with his dad. But, I’ve learned to reframe the every-other-weekend element of our co-parenting arrangement. Now I see the weekends we are apart can be a silver lining of co-parenting. When my son is with his dad, I have an abundance of time to connect with friends, explore new cities, lose myself in books, and re-center myself on the yoga mat or bike trail.

So here I was, with the chance to see one of my favorite bands — and I was hesitating?

I needed some perspective and advice, so I turned to my favorite corner of the internet: A private Signal group, comprised of a few dozen women who originally came together in the earliest days of COVID. We needed a safe, connected space to counteract the unsafe, disconnected world we were facing. For more than three years, we’ve had a constant, ongoing dialogue about anything and everything — from the serious to the mundane.

These women know me surprisingly well. If anyone could offer a helpful perspective, it was them. But before hitting send, I was skeptical that anyone would actually share a positive experience about going to a concert alone. Imagine my surprise, then, when the responses flooded in with story after story about the sheer joy of seeing a concert by yourself. Amid their entertaining, enjoyable memories, these wise women asked thought-provoking questions for me to ponder:

When was the last time you had an experience that was wholly yours, without navigating anyone else's needs, feelings or emotions? Turns out, never! And full sensory experience of a live, outdoor concert, having that completely on my terms? I was becoming intrigued by the possibility.

Why would it be weird? Are you worried about what other people are thinking? Simply put, yes. Sometimes, I’m too worried about what other people think. (Working on it!) I’d created this ridiculous narrative in my head where the people around me would snicker at the girl by herself. But then I had two aha moments: First, they’re there to see the band. No one would pay enough attention to me, a total stranger, to even realize who I was (or wasn’t) with. Second, I can’t let fear of the unknown — or other people’s opinions — dictate how I live my life.

Who's forcing you to stay? Literally, no one. I committed to 30 minutes. If I felt uncomfortable after a half-hour, I could leave.

Decision made. Their encouragement filled me with the bravery to try this new experience. I bought the ticket, gave my son a huge hug when his dad picked him up and headed out on my adventure.

Skipping the opening band, I arrived shortly before the headlining act took the stage. I’ll admit, those initial 20 minutes were awkward for me. But it didn't take long for me to realize a major advantage of attending concerts solo: Since I’m just one person, I could squeeze into practically any available space. I snagged a prime seat, front and center in the lawn section, giving me a perfect view.

Once the band took the stage and began playing, any residual awkwardness disappeared. I sang and danced for hours, fully immersed in the sounds, in the sights and in the healing power of music. I had recently ended a relationship filled with emotional bullying, where my stated boundaries were ignored and my wants and needs didn’t matter. Imagine the catharsis I felt going to a concert, by myself, where my experience was the only thing that mattered.

One of O.A.R’s biggest songs is “Crazy Game of Poker,” a metaphor for the unpredictability of life and the need to take chances despite uncertainties. It was a fitting reflection for my evening. Their hit “Love and Memories” encourages us to treasure our memories, all of them, even the hard ones, while embracing the future with optimism. Also, very relatable.

O.A.R. stands for “of a revolution.” After a couple hours of music therapy on a perfect Saturday evening, I left with a part of my heart healed, a stronger sense of self, and the knowledge that community builds confidence. Revolutionary, indeed.