"It'll be just like you were never gone."

Seeing The Matches again after 5 years was one of the greatest weeks of my life! They first played a "secret" show, which they were wont to do back in the day. The venue they picked was in the building across the parking lot from iMusicast, where all of this started. (iMusicast folded.) I immediately started running into friends, including some I hadn't seen in 7 or more years. And I mean that literally: seeing people and running into their arms. Everyone felt weird but really happy.

I cannot describe the level of euphoria I (and I think everyone) felt as soon as The Matches started playing. Besides that the fans were reunited, and besides that it's our favorite music, and besides that it'd been a long time, The Matches' joy was infectious. They were obviously just as happy to be back as we were, which made us even happier. This is what people mean when they talk about "the energy" of a band.

I didn't know if I'd be able to mosh in a long skirt, I didn't know if I'd be able to mosh now that I'm in my late 20's, I didn't know if I'd have that feeling of absolutely losing your shit to some music. I could! I did! We all did! We sang, we danced, we hugged, we smiled until our faces hurt.

For that whole week, the L3ers were tagging each other in pictures, videos, and emotional facebook posts. So even when were weren't physically at the venues, we got washed in a bath of constant love online. Did that sound sexual? Sorry. Seeing them two more times was amazing; I didn't feel tired of my friends, of the music, or of moshing. The Matches mosh pit is my happy place.

The Matches mean a lot to their fans, and many of them have personal stories about how their music got them through hard times. Indeed, The Matches' music got me to face one of my greatest fears. While everyone was looking forward to the reunion with eager anticipation, I was growing increasingly anxious. Standing stage right at the first show was my own, personal rapist.

And I. Did. Not. Care.

Nothing could stop me from being happy in those moments. I saw my own rapist and laughed. I saw him again when I left the venue on Thursday: he was sitting alone on his motorcycle outside the club, looking at his phone. I was with my sister, soaking in a sweat cocktail. On Saturday, my friends called me over to join their picture, and he was right there talking to someone (though not invited to the picture.) It gives me comfort knowing that my friends and others know what he is. I'm glad I haven't been carrying this around inside me for the past six years. These L3ers who moshed with me and posted photos with sappy captions with me-- these are the people who believed me and supported me the most. Music carrying one through dark times: live in action!

I don't think it's possible to understand The Matches fans' ardor unless you were there. For those who already bleed audio, here's a memento:
Video courtesy of BxB. (See if you can spot You-Know-Who!)

Time is hella relative

In middle school, my math teacher explained that time seems to move faster as you get older, because each year that passes is a smaller portion of your life. For example, a four year old who turns five just lived a quarter of her life over again. A ten year old who turns eleven just lived a tenth of her life over again. And a twenty year old who turns twenty-one lived just 5% of her life over again. And it’s so true: years move faster and faster. An hour seemed a wildly long time to wait when I was nine, but now I practically jump for joy when there’s only an hour left of work.

That math teacher changed the way I thought about time, but there was something else that really altered the way I experienced it. For two years, I dated a fellow named John. He was from Berkeley, like me, but he went to school in New York, and I went to school in Santa Cruz. He would come home during summer and winter breaks. I went to visit him during spring breaks (expensive!) In between those times, I would wait.

Each day I would wait until John would call me. I would wait until he had bought his plane tickets and I could draw hearts all over one date in my calendar. I would wait through three months of school. I would wait through finals week. I would wait for his plane to land. I would wait until he would rip me open again.

All time was divided into measurable amounts leading up to when I would see him again, graduation, and then into more nebulous regions of commitment. If a class was miserable, I just had to remind myself that after 45 minutes of class, I had just one more class to go, then I’d be home and could pass the evening how I pleased, and then I just had to do that two more times and it would be the weekend, and then I just had to do 4 more of those and he would be home. When I was far from seeing him, I would make just a few markers to seeing him, like counting weeks. When I was getting closer, I would keep many markers so that my excitement would be increased each time I passed one. Most of the time, even sitting around waiting was pleasant, because I had the ultimate reward waiting for me.

After a year of this, waiting became a science. I had just 11 weeks in a quarter, which was basically the maximum I would go between seeing him. I looked forward to midterms and finals, because those were just markers on my dash to spooning the shit outta him. Each Saturday night that I spent not doing anything because I was waiting for him to call-- and I didn’t want to do things without him anyway-- was just the end of one more week.

Time went by so fast. I made few friends sophomore and junior years. I didn’t talk to guys at all. I wouldn’t shave my legs between seeing him. I was just waiting. I didn’t do fun things or go out much. I didn’t care about anything but John. John John John. I just passed time.

Once our relationship ended, I was able to experience time as something which I could use, not merely something to finish. Having set myself free, I no longer waited. Instead, I enjoyed myself. I got control of my life and did the things that I felt like doing. Each day was no longer a barrier to some time in the future, but rather a chance to make myself happy in that moment. I stopped counting weeks and began to look at what each day had to offer.

Now I have a choice about how I feel towards time. When I’m at work, I just keep my eyes on the prize: winter break, then January, then I’m quitting. I savor the moments when I’m at a show or with my sister. I hold onto them, squeeze them, and let the feeling tumble around inside of me as long as I can. Time is hella relative, and is completely subjected to the way you view it. Time is a treadmill, but it’s up to you how fast you want to go.