The months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds of excitement build up to a capstone when I walk into the venue. Passing through those doors and getting as close to the stage as possible is a mission; push, shove, but be polite. The opening act walks on, maybe they’ll hold my attention, but I’m too preoccupied by what is to come.
The lights dim, I hold my breath. The first note rings out; the crowd responds with overwhelming enthusiasm. We all hold our breath. The first song comes to an end, everybody cheers, shouts, claps. We are thanked for being there.
Song after song is played, one after the other, the set rolling along continuously like a wave. There are moments when I look around and realize the kinship I have with these strangers around me. We are all here looking for something. Hoping that the music has the answers to our questions and uncertainties.
The music is forming bonds that cannot be deterred by the fact that we don’t know each other, we come from all walks of life and perhaps have nothing else in common; we connect with the music and in doing so, one another. We embody the belief that music is universal.
  The first time I felt this belonging was when I was 14, and after that I never wanted to let it go. I went to concert after concert searching for this awareness of myself and others, and no matter who was around me— my parents’ friends at The Eagles concert or edgy college kids at Ellie Goulding— we shared an idea about what we hoped for; it was all in the music.
The emotion music causes one to feel is universal, crossing all race, age, and economic barriers and bringing people, who may otherwise never cross paths, together. Friendships are formed and continued, and this feeling of content and togetherness is searched for and found by those who understand its comfort.