In the middle of TED Talk week, two weeks before AP exams and with two tests the next day, I went to a concert.

Stupid, I know. I could have spent the six hours I was out of the house studying for my AP exam or studying for my tests, at the very least. I could have relentlessly rehearsed my TED Talk, pacing across my room as I desperately tried to recall what I wanted to say for my second slide. I could have done my homework, eaten dinner, showered, and then went to bed—my cyclical after-school routine.

But, I didn’t.

I went to a concert instead because as disgustingly cliche as it sounds, life is way too short to spend every single day doing the same exact thing. To spend every single day doing homework for hours and hours on end, suffocated by the smog of stress, waiting for the moment my head can finally hit the pillow, only to repeat the process the next day

School. Homework. Dinner. Shower. Repeat.

I interrupted this devious cycle by going to the concert. Not thinking of the repercussions, not thinking of everything else I could have been doing, not thinking of TED Talks or tests or exams or school, I went to this concert and had the best night of the week.

And that wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t break free from the chains of cyclicality.

It seems that, too often, school gets in the way of having fun, of living life, of doing something spontaneous on a Wednesday evening in the middle of the school week. Working for hours every single night is arduous, relentlessly tiring, and honestly getting old. I won’t allow school to act as a wall between practicality and spontaneity.

As I inched closer to the stage, further away from the responsibilities I had left behind at home, further away from the side of practicality, I let myself stop thinking and just be.

There was not a single moment during the concert where I regretted being there. Feeling the bass in my chest, screaming until I couldn’t hear myself anymore, smiling so hard my cheeks ached, I was truly free of any stress on this Wednesday night.

There’s absolutely no feeling in the world that can replicate seeing one of your favorite artists inches away from your face while surrounded by a crowd bonded by love and smiles. This feeling can’t be replicated, and this feeling can’t be felt when you’re on the practicality side of the wall.

After hours of jumping up and down, my calves ached. After hours of screaming, my voice was hoarse. After hours of smiling, it seemed unnatural not to smile.

I got back home at midnight. I didn’t do my homework (sorry mom, dad, and all my teachers), and I went to bed happy. I had broken the cycle, for one simple day.

And breaking the cycle made me feel the way I did at the concert: free, happy, and aching from smiling and jumping up and down.