In 2019, when I was going through my divorce, I had some tickets to see Jose Gonzales in concert in Chicago. It was one of the last gifts that my ex had given me before we broke up and I had been toying with whether to go because it was such a magical gift and that made it quite painful to go by myself.
But Jose is one of those artists that has been with me through all the things.
He legit sang to me while I was going through my breakdown when I was 18. I had this version of Cycling Trivialities that I had repeating on infinitelooper.com for months while I was doing practice A Level papers at home (I actually listened to this version so much that it sounded weird to me if it didn’t have the sound of the tape at the beginning).
He was present when I locked myself in my room after my panic attack during Freshers week, literally drawing Crosses as I listened to his song by the same name. I still have that drawing on my wall. Well, when I had walls. Now it’s frameless and stuck to the RV like wallpaper.
He was also when I was really struggling with my health anxiety during COVID and wasn’t sure how I was going to step out into the world again. I remember him releasing his song “Head On” gave me the strength I needed to book my first flights home.
His music has been the soundtrack to some of the toughest times of my life. So much comfort and compassion were written into his lyrics. I knew every word.
I mean, I couldn’t not go.
So on my way back from England, I stayed at my favorite hotel in Chicago and walked to the event. It was just a few blocks down the road and I (of course) arrived far too early.
The seats were in a box. It was just me, and it felt really fitting actually. To have those barriers between me and the audience. His music and I were on one-to-one terms already, and it felt like true permission to feel. So before the lights even went down, I already had tears streaming down my cheeks and honestly, it turned out to be one of my absolute favorite experiences of all time.
Every other concert I’d been to had been with someone else. This was the first time I was able to be fully present in my body for live music. Music that had healed me time and time again. So I put my phone away (only breaking it out to secretly record my favorite verse of Cycling Trivialities of course) and listened.
As I reflected on my decision, I realized that I wasn’t really asking myself whether I wanted to go to a concert alone. Instead, my decision was about whether tor not I wanted to feel or not to feel in that moment. The relief of hearing his music. The pain from my divorce. The fear of what the next chapter held for me. Saying hey to te younger versions of myself who were all comforted by his music. There was a lot there to process.
As a culture, we are one of the most numbed out generations of our time. Whether that’s video games, drugs, alcohol etc. We choose not to feel because feeling feels too hard. But I guess ultimately, it’s about
Don't you know that
I'll be around to guide you?
Through your weakest moments
To leave them behind you
Returning nightmares
Only shadows
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright.