Today is the day I admit the extent of my loserdom: I once went to a concert by myself.
It was a small-ish concert at the Black Cat in D.C., headlined by a band that I still love. (Magic Man haters not welcome.) The problem was that I didn’t know very many people in D.C. at the time, and of the people I knew, I was pretty sure none of them had heard of this band that I listened to all the time.
I’m just too hipster and obscure, obviously.
So I worried about it, and felt like a loser, and considered asking a roommate to go with me, and then I bought the damn ticket.
Because when I thought about it, why wouldn’t I want to go to a concert with the only person I knew who loved this band like I did – myself?
That’s super cheesy, but I enjoyed not having to worry about what other people thought of the music, or whether we could stay after to meet the band (which I did), or if the person I would have dragged along was having fun. I was there. I was having fun.