Missed Opportunities

I'm going to come out of the Frankie Ballard closet as a big fan. I'll deny I ever danced around a Manhattan hotel room yelling the lyrics to "Drinky Drink" at my country-cringing comrade Carrie, but there have been one or thirty occasions where "Young & Crazy" has found its way to repeat on my Spotify dishwashing playlist. It's hard to find a way around calling myself a hypocrite as I'm quite well-known for my vocal and vehement condemnation of country music, but I'm quick to clarify that my hatred mainly stems from the modern muck that mires the radio airwaves.

I pause to apologize for my overuse of alliterations. They're crazy catchy and absurdly addicting.

The day after the concert was the day that I found out it had happened. One thing led to another until I found myself on Ballard's Instagram where I saw a screenshot featuring a map of the U.S. with a big star where my city should be. Immediately, I decided attending my first country concert would turn me into the well-rounded individual I always desire to be. Research began immediately, and a minute later, there it was. Frankie Ballard, Varsity Theater, October 16.

I glanced at the calendar. October 17. Jaw dropped to the desk.

I'm an occasional believer in signs and fate. It was too much of a coincidence for me to discover this only twelve hours late, so the first question I asked myself was, "What is the universe trying to tell me?" Was this a sign to stop liking Frankie Ballard and his music and go back to hating any and everything to do with country music? Obviously not, but this was the conclusion I jumped to. After all, Frankie Ballard had not crossed my mind for over a month; more accurately, probably two or three. I had just felt so strongly and so immediately in that heart of mine that this show would have been a great event for me to experience, and now my chance was gone. Maybe I won't love Frankie Ballard forever, and I had one chance to see him for less than twenty dollars; one chance I didn't even know about until it was over. In the same breath, I had been blessed with and blown my chance to be surrounded by the new and exciting for a night.

I recently heard the term "FOMO" for the first time. Fear Of Missing Out. I have never been afflicted by this, and now, on the first day I've heard its meaning, I'm wondering if it's something I should have. I've been abnormally content for the past two weeks; maybe my mind was waiting for something like this to shake up my emotions and stir up the fire in my soul to go back to wanting more than I have. I hate taking things for granted, but...our society.

I ended up realizing that going to see Loudon Wainwright III at the Dakota would probably fix everything since I've never seen live classic folk performed by such a legend. I walked by the venue after work to get tickets, only to find he had come and gone the night before.

It's times like these you just want to give up on whatever.