Start me up

Sometimes you just have to make a wish and send it out with zero expectations of it coming true.

And then it does. Amazing things happen. Stars align.

People you didn’t anticipate come forth with amazing things, like affordable tickets to the Rolling Stones, and someone else delivers you a Rolling Stones concert shirt from the show in Chicago, just because they know you would love it (and you do). You find the money. You book the time. You make your rock ‘n’ roll fantasy a reality, because you’ve got one shot to see the Rolling Stones perform. One shot.

This is my idea of a divine Rock God intervention. It was meant to be. Sure, we desperately need a new roof, but we always need something.

I needed to see Keith Richards. It was that simple. How could I not ask the Carpenter just one more time if we couldn’t find the money and live a little, just for one night? So, I did the thing I never do: I texted him at work. And he did the thing he never does: he replied immediately with the words, “Yes. Let’s go.” I just about blacked out. My rainy day bank account found its sunshine.

I was so shocked by my husband’s agreement to spend the money and take a day away in the middle of the long weekend that I didn’t tell a soul about the Rolling Stones tickets for weeks. I am that superstitious. Those Rock Gods are a fickle lot. So much could go wrong. It all seemed meant to be, which of course made me paranoid that everything was going too well. Surely locusts, tornadoes or a charming episode of irritable bowel syndrome was headed my way.

Yet, I woke up last Saturday morning to sunshine, a fresh concert shirt and a husband who was as excited as I was to rock out. It’s like we were 25 again, only wiser because we actually wore sunscreen, brought hats and wore sensible shoes. We’ve still got it though. Anonymous in a crowd of 70,000, we enjoyed some public displays of affection. Start me up.

Yep. PDA for a day. We sang. We danced. We rocked out together. I have footage of us singing together, so I never forget it. Us being us.

I am not ashamed to admit that tears rolled down my sun screened cheeks when I heard that first guitar riff, that legendary, distinctive Rolling Stones sound, and Keith Richards appeared on the big screen. It hit me that I was alive. This was real. It was happening. I was here. And for that time, nothing else mattered. Incredible. Awareness is powerful.

But the best moment was when the Carpenter turned to me in the middle of the Rolling Stones set and thanked me for asking him to go to this show, for making it happen, for reminding him to live in the moment. Sometimes you have to forget who you are to remember who you were before your life got tangled with responsibility.

When you shine, you remember that your glow comes from some place deeper. It’s never gone. But when he and I shine together, it’s a brilliant light.

The Rolling Stones have still got it. The Carpenter and I do, too. And Keith Richards, you make a grown woman cry (see what I did there?). Grateful. Rock on.

WriteOut of Her Mind