It was a Tuesday. At around 6:00pm, I received a text. An invitation. A friend proposed that we go to a concert that night, and that he would pick me up in a few minutes if I said yes. The concert featured a band I had only heard a little about and certainly not listened to more than a handful of times.

Acting on a whim, I immediately took up the offer. So on a school night, without even starting my homework, I left to see a show by a band that I was largely unfamiliar with. And so ensued the best concert-going experience of my life.

The band featured was called Lettuce. It was a funk band named after a vegetable consisting of eight guys jammin’ out with eight different instruments. The amiability of the atmosphere seemed to come from the fact that the hall was stuffed to the brim with countless individuals who seemed to blend into a bouncy blob of Rastafarian energy. And that was before Lettuce even took the stage.

The most persistent memory of the show remains to be my particular progression of dance. It all started with the first song. With a first note and a blare of instrumental breakdown, my head began to bob. As the music broke into more intense, funky tangents, the swinging of my neck became more apparent. Small gyrations signaled that the energy of the music was pushing me up and down.

As time passed, I grew accustomed to an urge. An urge to let loose. So I steadily eased myself into a fury of funk in the way one would ease their body into a hot tub. My feet shuffled first, and then bounced. My shoulders dipped up and down, following waves of funky instrumental beckoning. The performers conducted my body like an orchestra, dictating my every movement. My arms eventually joined in, and swung around with loose vigorousity.

Eventually, I gave it all up and became the music. My companions and I all joined together in collective collaboration with the music that seemed to move the air around us. All was lost in a swirling haze of pulsation. Even my friend who was entirely new to the concert scene and at first observably hesitant about the groovy crowd around us forgot his previously stated precautions and fell into the dance.

The chaos that night taught me something important and essential for enjoying life: chaos is good. Freed from the uniformity of a schedule and behavioral restrictions, I fully encompassed myself in the chaos of dance. As a result, I had one of the most enjoyable experiences of my past few months. In a way, I left my standards for everyday human behavior at the door of the Intersection, and that somehow made me more human. There’s something to be said about joining a mass of people and experiencing them more than yourself. There’s something to be learned from not caring about a thing other than staying on your feet and mimicking with movements the noise around you. There’s something to be remembered about the power of jammin’ out.