The Ripple Effect

...and my tunes were played on a harp unsung...

I’ll be the first to point out that I am a bit young to be going around calling myself a Dead Head. I was but a few months into the age three when Jerry died. I even went my whole life without an understanding of who he was or who they were—until I was seventeen. Such a pure age for these things.

Would you hear my voice come through the music? Would you hold it near as if it were your own?

Growing up, I was into pop music and divas and glitter and stuffed animals—which mostly served the purpose of being my friends when I felt I didn’t have any. I still like all that stuff today but I am also riddled with what must be depression because when puberty hit, so did my goth aesthetic. I was trading in stadium concerts of radio hits for smaller venues. I’m still a queer goth icon, but you know. Duality. I am happy to be a bit of everything. I just stopped going to Warped Tour (RIP) eventually.

It's a hand me down... The thoughts are broken. Perhaps they're better left unsung...

In high school, I toned down from the drastic shifts in style. I was new to public school and wanted to blend in a bit more. I was into the early aughts-era scene, emo, grunge, and every off-shoot of “I cannot afford the Hot Topic lifestyle”. I wore ripped up and scribbled on jeans with flannel and Chuck Taylors every day. I was into the environment so between that and the grunge obsession, I didn’t shower much. I dyed my hair unnatural reds and watched my face disappear as my glasses got bigger and bigger. I was so self-conscious back then. I still am, but you wouldn’t know based on my exterior personality (which is rather cocky!).

I don't know. Don't really care. Let there be songs to fill the air!

I never belonged to a specific group but I associated with a lot of them. Between that and my depression, I felt like an outsider no matter what I did. I wasn’t so into spirituality as I was atheism; more wanting to believe in aliens than experiencing them. I was different not only from others but to who I am now. I think I started to shift into a bit more open-mindedness, of course, when I started smoking weed. It helped to have been around a lot of bisexual girls and being accused of being a lesbian so many times over the years. As I got older and higher, I got a little louder. Not just in the sense of speaking up or making jokes, but also in my clothes. I mean, shit, I have ALWAYS been a punk kid.

Ripple in still water....

The summer of my junior year is when the weed and the music hit cross-sectionally and I went to Lollapalooza thanks to my best friend and Jane’s Addiction obsession that has withstood the sands of time, unlike our friendship. That weekend was iconic. We rocked on scoured up joints and Adderall for three days and laughed ourselves to hell but it was the coolest thing we’d ever done. We wanted more and more and more of this newly discovered life that we looked at with such innocent eyes: curious, but not tried.

Where there is no pebble tossed nor wind to blow.

The following summer, my cousin wanted to go to Rothbury. I was down for any music festival. I was seventeen and ready to party. There were some major differences between Lollapalooza and Rothbury, including the lac of chaperones we’d be having and the fact that we’d be camping. Our parents were a bit concerned in asking, “Who’s on the line-up?”

“The [Grateful] Dead, Bob Dylan, Willie Nelson, String Cheese Incident,” she went on.

“Oh great. You’re going to do drugs.”

“We’ll be fine!”

And my aunt’s boss for some reason was the hero of the hour to say, “look, let them go have the time of their lives. They’re good kids. They’ll be fine!”

Just like that, we had permission to buy tickets. You know, back before Electric Forest when a four-day wrist band was still under $200. Our older boyfriends already had all the camping gear we would need; and somewhat versed in other festival provisions, if you will. I was more or less a pothead at that point—though I took time off smoking when I was with that guy—and we’d been drinking for years. But I was not hip to all the other shit. I had a basic understanding of how epic it was going to be, but I had no idea I’d be experiencing something this life changing.

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty. If your cup is full, may it be again.

So yes, we may have dabbled in trouble that weekend. I mean, most of everything I’ve ever done… Well, there’s a first time for everything. That weekend was the first time for almost all of it. As if the trees aren’t beautiful enough. As if being seventeen isn’t already such freedom. As if I even knew what was happening to me. I could still tell you so many memories, right down to the visuals. Despite the great trips I had, nothing truly compared to the music.

Let it be known: there is a fountain that was not made by the hands of men.

I was so young and naïve that I had no idea what a huge deal it was to see the Dead play with its remaining original members and no add-ons. Not that John Mayer isn’t absolutely crushing it, but it was pretty cool. I had no idea that jam bands even existed, and String Cheese Incident played three nights. Do you have any idea what that is like?! I was just getting into Frank Zappa and I got to see Zappa Plays Zappa, Damien Marley, Bob freaking Dylan!?! I knew it was legendary, but damn! Willie Nelson cut his hair just weeks after we saw him with his braids. He grew it back out, but still. It was truly wild to be a part of the best festival since Woodstock itself. Yes, I went there because if you were there, you know it’s true!

There is a road; no simple highway between the dawn and the dark of night.

My heart grew so many sizes that weekend. My mind expanded. My beliefs changed and my personality altered. I thought this was for the best, to be honest. I became a much happier person. I became loving. I still had my trials and tribulations in my last year of high school, but for the first time in my life I felt like I had finally had some real fun. No, it wasn’t about the drugs. It was about that feeling of being somewhere everyone is happy to be. The absolute knowing you’re not missing out on anything because in that moment, this was everything. Transcending spacetime and earthly limits of what you think you can be. The comfort of finally feeling like I found where I belonged. It changed me for what I think is for the best.

And if you go, no one may follow. That path is for your steps alone.

I did get pretty obsessed with the entire culture, history, meaning, and purpose of psychedelics. But I tend to have obsessions regardless. I still live for the day to recreate something even a fraction as magical as this weekend was. We went to other remarkable festivals to see every possible outfit of the Dead, too. I got even more into shows. It’s like I chased that high by raving and going to freak outs, but nothing will ever compare. In fact, those days got so dark I wish I hadn’t gone there. Would have been much better off sticking with the Dead Heads. I do keep calling myself that. I figure if you get a Grateful Dead tattoo, it’s pretty cemented.

You who choose to lead must follow. But if you fall, you fall alone.

A couple years later, I’d experience something so shockingly tragic that I didn’t think I’d make it through. I still do think I wouldn’t have if not for American Beauty. It is sad to have to carry things like PTSD from a younger me, but it is amazing what music can do. I’m more into those long meditation sounds on YouTube now, but there is something that will always soothe my soul when I hear the voice of the late, great Garcia himself.

If you should stand, then who's to guide you?

The sound that always takes me home.