I have never participated in a proper music festival. Sure, I’ve attended a single day of live concerts outdoors, but nothing that approaches them like Glastonbury or Shambhala. According to friends, the “real experience” of the festival is a completely different matter from what I have attended. Their tales depict a weekend of debauchery, live music and (most likely) rain – as well as some dirty bath options.

But, thanks to my anxiety, the prospect of committing to it for a weekend – in a field of thousands – is a nightmare. What would I do if I had an anxiety attack? How can I get home? What if I lose? These compelling and always annoying questions take me away whenever I optimistically hover over the “buy now” button for festival tickets, ultimately winning and leaving me with the determination to one day I will shut them up and go. And I finally found that courage, only for the ongoing pandemic to close my search once again.