Live Your Reality

What is the true definition of reality? 

Is reality pinned as the physical aspects of our everyday lives, or is it the information that’s been shared and passed down throughout our cultures?

I say it’s neither.

There is no absolute definition of reality.

How do we logically explain exactly what reality is?

We can’t.

Perception is reality.

Mentality is everything.

Each individual has a different outlook on life, a different pErCePtIoN of each thing imaginable.

With opposing opinions about what reality means, we stray               further 

                                                                                                                                        and further 

away from a solid clarification.

At least once a week I hear the dreaded phrase, “and now it’s back to reality.”

People continue to utter these words after they’ve done something fun.

After they’ve lived a little.

People continue to utter these words when they have unwanted responsibilities to tend to.

These three days submerged by the music were the most exciting three days of my life, and they are arguably the best three days I’ve ever had.

Full of passion, full of FUN, and full of feeling like a ~*dream*~.

To me, music makes the world go ‘round.

I was able to share my love of the music with the ones I hold dear to my heart, and the ones who waved flags from all over the world. Together, these people made my experience overwhelmingly sensational.

The weekend had me f l o a t i n g on a cloud.

But what I realized was that, letting the music take over my body wasn’t a dream at all, it was my reality. And what a damned good reality it was.

The struggles of life are associated with the word reality.

But why?

Perception is reality, and reality is what you make it.

Reality is laughing.

Reality is loving.

Reality is living.

The Woodstock of Our Time

How far would you go to feel accepted and noticed?

Peer pressure is never a thing of the past. 

It haunts your e n t i r e life, remaining even in adulthood.

We often think that peer pressure stops in high school, but I'd like to argue that it becomes terribly worse in your college days.

When you’re in a city surrounded by nightlife, it’s almost hard to say no.

F O M O (Fear of Missing Out) might actually be a legitimate disease, 

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its way through the minds of many in Tallahassee.

I’ve seen things in this town that are undeniably foul.

But just when you think you’re too good for what the person next to you is doing, you’re joining them.

But just when you think, “that’s not going to happen to me,” it’s happening to you.

Remember learning about Woodstock? 

It was always associated with ***PsYcHeDeLiC dRuGs*** and a hippie movement.

Here we are today, a place that resembles such a movement, a large audience engulfed by the music.

Drugs today are far more dangerous than they were in the 70’s.

In Walter Benjamin's "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction," he provides a quote that I believe links back to the art of music, advancing with age.

I see people around me, next-to-me, hyped up to the music; almost as if they are in a completely different world than the one I am.

Have you seen Molly? I’ve been looking everywhere and I can’t seem to find Molly.

Everyone around me lives through the music, has the same passion for it, and would do anything to come to this magnificent place like I would.

But this drug enhances their love of the music.

We live in a decade where people would rather enjoy the sensation of the music for hours on end, than a healthy lifestyle.

But who can blame them?

Tomorrow is not promised, but today is.

Today is still here.

Our Faith

The hustle and bustle of our daily lives varies among the crowd. 

We could be back home, living our o r d i n a r y lives with responsibilities overtaking and ruining our day. But we are here, without a care in the world. 

Without a single 

                                               worry 

 in sight.

On our day of rest we choose to be at this place we deem ~*magical*~. 

The City of Magnificent Intentions believes that “at the very least, [our day of rest] should be intentional.”

Intentional. That’s exactly what it was.

We are here to give ourselves completely to the music. 

We see this as our holy land.

This music is a movement. It is the Mumbo Jumbo Jes Grew of the 21^st century.

Many people outside this spectrum look elsewhere for spiritual guidance. Maybe a Bible. Maybe a temple. Maybe even yoga.

But despite all of the differences that envelop the people around me to make us unique, we are noticeably strung together by the spiritual sound of the music.

I’ve never been one to express my religious beliefs. I’ve also never been the type to accept when a person shoves their beliefs in my face.

But why does anyone really need to know what your preference is, if it may cause an issue?

Isn’t your faith supposed to make you feel good without anyone else’s outside opinions trying to stumble into your parade?

Music. 

That was what set the thousands of this crowd a-p-a-r-t 

                                                                                               from the rest of the world.

Music.

My faith lies within the hands of it.

Music.

The only spirit to make me feel like there is hope in this sickening world we live in.

And this is why I am here.

It’s all about the music.

Front-of-the-line Memory

"Yet, it’s the memories that you wish to remember forever that seem to always have a place in the front of the line." - Wanderlust

It was St. Patrick’s Day in 2013.

The strangers still waved their own country’s flags, yet they were all sporting random color pops of green. Dozens of Irish flags rose proudly among the crowd. 

Kelly green *gems* were glued to my face. 

           A four-leaf clover here, 

                                                                                                                    a four-leaf clover there. 

It was day three and the excitement hadn’t died for even one second. 

If anything, the excitement was growing. We were in a line of –s-e-v-e-n-- ,

running frantically and holding hands, the energy buzzing on our fingertips. 

It was starting. 

A ridiculous grin spread over my face. As we glanced at one another, we knew we didn’t need to say anything. Our smiles spoke for us all. In a sea of many unknown faces, I was surrounded by the people who I love more than anything.

I think about this day when I need a break from reality;

 a visit back into a happier place.

Our then-favorite song blared through the speakers louder than anything I’ve ever heard, fulfilling my insides with good spirits. This was my paradise. This was my seventh heaven. I took a second to close my eyes and embrace the memory of it all: the smell, the sound, the sight, the feel, the taste of this incredible euphoria. 

This is my front-of-the-line memory, and I don't ever want it to fade.

Where words fail, music speaks.

We all have our differences, there’s no denying that. We are all unique individuals, not one person is the same as another. The pigments of our skin form in many shades, and our accents tell one another about the origin of our homelands. We are not one gender. We do not all dress alike; we do not enjoy the same hobbies. Flags from hundreds of countries flood the sea of people with bursts of exciting color. We are millions of people so unalike, so out of our element, but so in at the same time.

  

Heads nodding and smiles brightening, eyes lighting up with such happiness at the atmosphere we’ve come to know as our escape from the hardships of reality. A place so diverse, but so welcoming. There is true magic in the air. This is our safe haven.

We are complete strangers brought together by the shared love of the music.

The music is our utopia, the reason for our mutual joy. Everyone so different, yet enjoying the same bliss. We wish we could be frozen in these moments forever; these moments that make us feel like everything is going to be okay. The worries of the world and our everyday struggles, all disappearing with the eruption of a melody.