Am I Too Broke For Joy?: Live Music, Dead Wallet
Song Of The Week
If your playlist needs a little bittersweet soul with a side of honest confession, WILLOW’s “<maybe> it’s my fault” is your new go-to. This track serves up raw vulnerability wrapped in dreamy melodies, making it impossible to hit pause.
Catchy yet contemplative, the song dances between regret and self-awareness with a quirky blend of indie-pop vibes and Emo electrifying sounds. WILLOW’s voice floats effortlessly, pulling you into a personal story where blame isn’t about pointing fingers but about embracing flaws. Perfect for that late-night, staring-at-the-ceiling moment.
So, hit play and let “<maybe> it’s my fault” remind you that sometimes it’s really no ones.
Music is the Key to My Soul
Since the moment I was born, music has been a core part of my identity—thanks entirely to my parents’ love for early 2000s hits. My sister and I grew up blasting Britney Spears, Jordin Sparks, and Akon every chance we got in the car. Our parents never minded us singing at the top of our lungs. But that was just the beginning. We’d rally our cousins to choreograph elaborate dance and cheer routines, proudly performing them in front of all the adults. And before you ask—yes, there are recordings, and no, they will never see the light of day (or the internet) if I can help it.
Fast forward six years, and I began developing my own taste—one that veered away from the rest of my family. I fell hard for alt-pop. When Florence + the Machine and Paramore entered my life, they rewired my brain chemistry. That whole era shaped my music identity, and in many ways, it still does.
Five years later, I was on a bus heading home from an AVID field trip in the mountains, and that same night, I had plans to see Florence live. It was the first time I ever went to a concert by myself but I knew if I missed it I would be severely depressed. So as cheaply as I could at 17, I went! I mean it was amazing, breath-taking, everything I dreamed of. I also saw Paramore once with a friend, though I’ve somehow lost all proof of that night, however my memory still sticks strong, and I can report back that I was about to live out my 12-year-old angst.
No Role Models
Looking back, my parents weren’t concertgoers. They had two kids to raise during the 2008 recession—one of whom was an immigrant. I can barely remember them going out at all, let alone to shows. They were always working or taking care of themselves and their families. But I know they would have loved to attend events of their generation and still made the consciousness to not. Now, as I take their spot with no kids, I’m left wondering: should I really be spending hundreds of dollars on concert tickets or events?
Speaking from the heart without my pockets, the answer is one hundred percent! Live music just hits differently when the bass shakes your chest, the blinding lights strobe, and the collective energy of a crowd screaming the same lyrics. It awakens a part of the brain that releases all the dopamine you have and for a few hours, everything else melts away—no responsibilities, no future plans. Pure bliss. I wish I could go to every artist's concert but sadly in reality, concert tickets/pricing have… well I wouldn’t even say tripled, they have skyrocketed out of this world. I would be one broke joke.
Really for any specialized event that requires tickets like the World Cup or Olympics the prices reflect the experience. Or at least that was what ticketers think so they can sleep at night. I see their point, everyone and their momma would love to have these tickets so let's see who is really about it, basically betting on your happy trigger finger. When everyone wants to be there capitalism has just the way to ruin it all for consumers. As a consumer we have to either accept it or just no go.
So when I speak with my pockets in mind, the tune changes...rather quickly. I’d say, “Be a responsible adult! You need savings. A future down payment. Wedding expenses. Unexpected car trouble. Broken electronics. Vet bills! Put that concert money into a high-yield savings account instead.” And honestly? I sound like a fantastic adult. So composed. So logical. I’m practically preaching to the choir, convincing myself that I gotta get all my ducks in a neat, color-coded row.
But on the inside? It’s nothing but pain and anxiety. Because while saving is smart, it doesn’t always feel satisfying. There’s no instant dopamine hit from clicking “transfer to savings.” No shared joy, no screaming chorus. No story to tell my potential children about the time their mother just went absolutely ham in the crowd. Just the quiet hum of adult responsibility—and the nagging thought that I should be enjoying my fruit of labor. And while that will, in the future, create joyous redemption, it doesn’t stop the regrets from quietly piling up.
Too Much or Never Enough?
So then comes the real question: will the experience outweigh the price?
We’re constantly forced to run the numbers in our heads—measuring memories against money, joy against practicality. It’s a weird kind of emotional math and one I am really bad at. Where the variables include how long you’ve waited to see this artist, how close you’ll be to the stage, how much your soul needs to scream lyrics in unison with strangers who just get it. Calculated against the other side: Rent. Groceries. That savings account I keep pretending I contribute to regularly.
It becomes a game of value—not just financial, but emotional, spiritual, even nostalgic. You start asking yourself: how much is this moment worth to me? And more often than not, it’s never just about the ticket price. It’s about how badly you need the escape, the memory, the reminder that you’re alive and still capable of wonder and life.
Luckily, I got to experience that joy this past month—and honestly, it was pure luck on my part. I didn’t work for those tickets, I didn’t earn them, and I definitely didn’t think I’d be able to go. How it happened is a wild and convoluted story, but I’ll leave you with this: make meaningful connections. You never know what someone might pull through for you.
I ended up at the Grand National Tour in Los Angeles, front row, with an amazing girlfriend. It was the definition of “right place, right time.” Was Kendrick’s GNX album incredible? Of course. But SZA? She was the main reason I had to be there. No question. It was the best concert I’ve ever been to—and the thought that I nearly didn’t go simply because I couldn’t afford it? Wild. I was so close to sitting it out and convincing myself it was fine. But now, having lived it, I can say with full confidence: it would’ve been worth every penny for me.
That night reminded me that sometimes the moments we almost miss become the ones we never forget. It’s easy to get caught up in being “responsible,” in doing everything right, in saving for the future—but life isn’t just about preparing for tomorrow. It’s also about choosing to live today.
Not every experience is worth the price tag, but some are absolutely priceless. And maybe that’s the point: learning how to tell the difference. Trusting yourself to know when to save and when to say yes—when to let go of the anxiety and let yourself enjoy the fruit of your labor in real time. Because when the lights go down, the bass drops, and you're singing your heart out next to someone who matters—you’re not thinking about savings accounts. You’re thinking, this is what it means to be alive.
This week’s post is all about weighing joy against responsibility—deciding when to save and when to live. WILLOW’s “<maybe> it’s my fault” captures that emotional friction perfectly. It’s raw, loud, and spiraling, just like the internal tug-of-war between making the “right” decision and chasing what makes you feel alive. It reminds me that sometimes the messiest choices still lead to the most unforgettable moments.
Enjoy This Journey With Me
° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °
Enjoy This Journey With Me ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °
This isn’t the end—just a bookmark in the conversation. Stories don’t really close; they unfold, shift, and find new voices. If this one stirred something in you, let it breathe. Leave a thought, challenge an idea, or carry it forward in your own way. And if you ever feel like wandering through more unfinished thoughts, you know where to find me. Let’s keep the conversation alive. ~XOXO
