When the band crashed with me...

. 1 min read

One night while I was still living in Paris an old high school friend sent me a message.

"Hey!" he said. "I'm coming to Paris tomorrow night — I'm managing a band (Walrus) that's playing at Supersonic."

"Hey, oh no way!"

"Yeah, any chance you have a spare couch/ floor space a few of us could crash on? No worries if you can't, but figured I'd ask."

"Sure," I texted back. "You guys can stay here."

"There's 5 guys and me...are you sure that's okay?"

"Well, I only have a bachelor pad, but yeah why not?"

This was a super weird response for me to give. Normally, the thought of people staying with me — let alone 6 guys, 5 of which were unknown — is an entirely unattractive thought to me.

But the afternoon I got this text, I felt differently. Why? I'd just begun to go after writing and was beginning to feel what it really felt like to step into myself, to chase my dream, and so because of this, I was craving the company of other like-minded people to chat about this with. And I suppose I had a feeling that these musicians who were chasing their musical aspirations would get me, to some degree anyway.

We spent the evening after their show wandering around the city until past sunrise (6 or 7AM?), all the while talking about all that I hoped we would: travel, music, meeting new people, and the annoying reality anyone who does anything remotely different must deal with: people telling you that you're a nut.

I don't think I'll ever forget this night with these guys. We didn't need to know each others' histories/backgrounds to bond, just as we didn't need to go to a fancy dinner to appreciate the time spent. It was just about connecting over a lifestyle we all advocated for: throwing a little caution to the wind when need be, and going for it.