It was the night for which I had
been waiting months. Nothing was stopping me from seeing my favorite band of
all time that had finally decided to venture to Oklahoma. I was even prepared
to attend this concert all by myself. I didn’t have many friends who loved
Switchfoot as much as I did; this most likely attests to the reason they rarely
played in concert in this state. Sure, going to a concert with your dad might
not be ideal, but at least I was going.
This concert was going to be
different. Switchfoot’s newest album Fading
West was actually the soundtrack to their documentary of the same name. As
part of their tour, they were screening the Fading
West documentary directly before each concert. I was less interested in
seeing the movie, but I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to see my favorite band
play. So, on November 22, 2013, my dad and I arrived in Tulsa to see the
concert. The wait was excruciating. We stood in line outside the Brady Theater
in the cold for over an hour. We waited for the employees to scan each ticket
as guests entered the building. We waded through the crowd in a desperate
attempt for a good seat. We waited for the movie to begin. When the documentary
was over, we waited for the band to come out. At one point, I thought the real
concert was about to start, but it was only one of the band members announcing
that they would be taking questions via Twitter. That distracted me for a
while; I tweeted them a couple of questions that had intrigued me since I
became a fan. But that distraction lasted only a moment. I still had to wait…
and wait… and wait… until finally the lights dimmed, and I saw the outline of five
male figures walk on to stage. I screamed and cheered with the rest of the
crowd as the lights beamed up and the first notes of my favorite song of all
time, “Stars,” began to play. The wait was over.
The band played mostly new songs,
but one stood out in particular. From the very first note, “When We Come Alive”
effused hope and inspiration. The beat filled the room with energy, and the
lead singer Jon Foreman sang with passion. Even though it was the first time I
had heard the song, I couldn’t help but smile and sway to the music, singing
along as I learned the words. Jon Foreman engaged the crowd as he waved his arms, signaling for us to follow along with him. I followed his every movement.
Suddenly, he jumped
down off the stage and into the crowd, which stepped back as if parting the waters, so that
Jon Foreman could walk through on dry ground. Or, at least, on empty chairs. Every
person he walked by clamored for his attention, raising their hands, jumping up
and down, and snapping photos. But no one in that moment was more excited than
me. In my anticipation, I bounced up and down on my toes, hoping against hope
that he would make his way towards us. Could I really have the chance to see my
idol, my celebrity crush, my favorite singer and songwriter, up close? It was
too good to even consider. I knew that he would most likely stop in a part of
the crowd that I wasn’t, and then head back to the stage to keep singing. So
convinced was I of this that I could hardly believe it when I realized that Jon
Foreman was walking in a path straight down the middle of the crowd, directly
towards me. I turned to my dad with the biggest grin on my face. I had no
words, so I just kept jumping up and down and pointing in the direction of Jon
Foreman. Then I got smart, and pulled out my phone. I wanted to live in the
moment and enjoy this concert in person as much as possible, but I just had to catch
this moment on video so I could relive it over and over. I took my phone out,
but I was more intently focusing on Jon Foreman wading through the crowd while
he sang. My heart raced faster and faster with each step that he took. And
suddenly, there he was, standing in the same row as me. He stopped right there,
right next to me, to finish the song. Had I been a little bit taller and my arms
just a few inches longer, I could have touched him. There was only one body
standing in between Jon Foreman and me, and I was so excited I could hardly
breathe. He raised his microphone and finished the song with a resounding, “Yeaah!”
I clapped and cheered and jumped up
and down along with the rest of the crowd around me. We were in awe of what was
unfolding.
“In this moment,” Jon Foreman said
through gasping breaths, “I want us to have a campfire.”
My thoughts drifted as I listened
to him speak. Wouldn’t it be nice to sit around an actual campfire with Jon
Foreman, I thought. Up close and personal. Just sitting there, having a real
conversation with a real, incredible, larger-than-life human being.
“This is a small venue, and I feel
as if we are all a close group of friends relaxing and rewinding around a
campfire. So let’s have a conversation,” he continued in his slow, silky voice.
“Earlier we asked you to send us some questions. Your questions travelled all
the way above the atmosphere,” he pointed upwards, “to a satellite. That satellite
translated your questions and transcribed them onto paper, and then they travelled
back down to earth in this very building, where I have them now.”
The crowd laughed at his
surprisingly successful attempt to romanticize the process of copying down
tweets to paper.
“It’s magical!” he said as he
pulled out several pieces of paper from his jacket pocket. “So now, I’d like to
answer your questions. My first question comes from Gatlyn A.”
My mouth dropped open. Nothing like
this had ever happened to me before. I was never the one to win something in a
drawing. I was never the one who caught a t-shirt or other prize among a crowd.
I had never seen a celebrity up close. And I definitely had never stood within
three feet of my favorite artist as he said my name.
“Gatlyn A?” he repeated. I realized
I hadn’t made myself known. The entire theater was silent, waiting for me to
respond to Jon Foreman. But I couldn’t speak. I was so shocked and excited, and
my heart was beating so hard, that if I had said anything it probably would
have come out with a crack. Or worse, I might have cried. So instead, I opted
to awkwardly raise my hand and bounce on my toes.
Finally, Jon Foreman turned around
and saw me.
“You’re Gatlyn?” he asked.
I nodded vigorously and grinned
enormously.
He reached down his hand to shake
mine. I hoped he didn’t notice how much my whole body was already shaking from
excitement and nerves. “I’m so glad you’re here tonight, Gatlyn! This is
magical,” he said, and repeated his earlier metaphor.
It certainly is magical, I thought
to myself, barely maintaining my composure.
I know he answered my question, and
I tried to listen, but I only vaguely remember what he said. The moment was so
surreal, and I needed to process everything. There were so many times that I
tried to share my excitement with my dad, but every time I turned around I
could only smile like a maniac, grab his arms, and shake him over and over. There
was a feeling deep in my gut, stemming from nervousness, which travelled all
the way up to my throat and prevented me from speaking. I knew if I even tried
to speak, the tears would immediately come.
It was not until days later that I
realized what was most magical about the night. It was not that Jon Foreman
came out into the crowd and stood right next to me. It was not that Jon Foreman
chose my question to answer out of hundreds, and chose to answer it first no
less. It was not even that Jon Foreman shook my hand and spoke directly to me. It
was that Jon Foreman said my name, my confusing, hard-to-pronounce name, out loud,
and he said it correctly. And that night, because of that moment, was truly the
best night of my life.
Next time, I’ll tell you about the
time Jon Foreman complimented my t-shirt.
