The 7 Stages Of Post-Concert Withdrawal

My name’s Cathy and I’m a concert junkie.

It all started off innocently, going to a couple of big-name stadium shows around the time I turned 21. Then in 2014 I bought my first Country Megaticket. One show overlapped another and between stadium tours, flying to Vegas to see George Strait, and local shows at the local country bar, I’ve literally had outstanding tickets to an upcoming show, continuously, for the last three years.

The anticipation of the next show has always gotten me through the post-concert blues. Then, last Sunday, I used up the last ticket to my name. It wasn’t just any show either; it was Kip. Fucking. Moore. Guys, its been a hell of a week coming down from the concert high not knowing where I’ll get my next fix.

Here’s my 7 stages of concert withdrawal.

1. Elation

Right after the encore wrapped up, and the crowd started to disperse, I sort of just stood there for a minute. In fact, if I remember correctly, my friend even had to tell me it was time to go. The alcohol had worn off by this point, but I was still riding the life-high of getting to hear “Guitar Man” from 30 feet away. This was the part were I somehow left the venue, but all I remember was screaming about how great the show was. Some people around were laughing at me, but really if they weren’t as psyched as me it’s their loss—this moment was perfection.

2. Reminiscence

The next morning was spent listening to the entire body of work released by Kip Moore and reflecting: Remember how great “Hey Pretty Girl” sounded live? Yes, it sounded different, but that’s what made it so great. Yeah I wish he played “Faith,” but I wish he played every song. The only think that could have made it better was if he had played literally every song…

3. Reality

This was the part where I woke up at 6am and drug myself back to work. I honestly love my 9-to-5, but I don’t know how I did it this day. It was dull. So dull. My coworkers asked how the concert was, but all I could really say was “great,” before we moved on to some other workplace small talk. They’re not country fans, so they wouldn’t understand anyway…

4. Uncertainty

Okay, we’re all friends here. I might have turned Wild Ones up to 12 in my car and drove around alone in the rain, screaming along, wondering if I would ever, ever again see such a great show.

5. Depression

Why did I even go to the show? My life has now peaked. That was the best thing that was ever going to happen, and it’s over now. All the good is over, and all that’s left is cold, concert-less, winter nights. What do people even do for fun when they’re not at concerts? Is there even anything fun to do that’s not a country concert? No. No there’s not. My best nights are behind me.

6. Affirmation

I finally hit this step today, almost a full week after the show. I listened to a whole bunch of Kip Moore today, and man did I enjoy it. These albums are damn good. Yes, a concert is great, but the real beauty of a work of art like Slowheart is that it’s good any day of the damn year. I love country music. I love that I’ve had the chance to see so many amazing live shows, and I love the country songs that get me through every single day.

7. Optimism

Concert season for this year has ended. For the first time in three years, I don’t know who my next concert will be. And that’s okay, because I know it’ll be a damn good time when it happens. I love being a country fan. There’s a ton of great up-and-coming artists out there that I don’t even know how much I love yet. And besides, next year’s line ups are starting to be announced, and for the first time in three years, I actually have a concert budget that’s burning a hole in my pocket.

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