I went to Taylor Swift this weekend. I was one of those lucky enough to procure tickets, or rather, lucky enough to know someone with a pre-sale code willing to wait hours in the Great Ticketmaster Debacle of 2023.
So luckily, I went this weekend. It was fun. It was shiny. It made the whole stadium shimmer. Taylor Swift has released four new albums (and three re-records) since her last stadium tour so it’s no wonder the anticipation stacked high. People I knew (and millions I didn’t) spent months prepping plans. Every other video on social media was about which bags I should bring, which songs she’d sing, new outfits to buy, and what to expect while anticipating that big, big day.
I took it all in. I did my best research. I sparkled my hair, like the kids do these days. I even tried my hand at making friendship bracelets, used for trading throughout the night.
The night was great, too. All things went according to plan. The openers opened. Taylor toured. She sang. We screamed. It was everything I imagined it would be, honesty.
The thing about concerts, though, is that they end. They’re temporary, as they should be. As much fun as we have investing weeks or months prior, I saw that same energy soon deflate as my friends and I took turns posting photos, placing bets on upcoming releases, and showering (so) many sequins out of our hair. It’s like something came around we weren’t quite ready to let go, and I’m making sense of that aftermath now.
The wide spread appeal of Taylor Swift has obviously taken the world by storm. It takes mere minutes for any of her music to shoot up on the charts, and if you weren’t aware of this yet, world leaders keep requesting her presence in their respective touring countries. She’s a legend in the making; an economic driver, a powerful songwriter, and a talented, yet somehow relatable powerhouse. It’s no wonder target audiences like me gravitate to her work. I quickly took to “Fifteen” at age fifteen, celebrated corresponding birthdays with “22,” and snuck into my more mature years with her more adult-minded albums, folklore and evermore.
I’m exactly who should be seated in that stadium. And yet, as I walked away, I caught myself thinking: Was it worth it?
Now, this isn’t a commentary on her show. Taylor’s tour was spectacular, an athletic feat to behold with three hours of nonstop performing. I’m also not a hater, mind you. I actively seek out things to love, almost to my detriment (or the irking of others).
I just caught a moment’s glance at my own heart after the show. After the craze died down and my feet freaking hurt and I tried to not get trampled on my way out the stadium (Taylor really said it best, didn’t she?), I had a few hundred dollars less in my pocket and a few questions to ask myself. What do I do now?
What do we do with anticipation that ends? We try our best, I think, to prolong the experience. We wear our sweatshirts. We post our videos. We hope that someone asks about our beaded bracelets, or cares for details from the evening.
But even so, does that last? Unfortunately for us, our minds fail. Memories fade. Time passes, and we (rightly) move on to other things. I guess my question, for myself, is what am I moving toward?
Do I put a new date on my calendar, in hopes of that new thing? Is it another artist, or another trip, or another tour that will map out my mind for the upcoming days?
Or is all this time, money, and attention part of the idolatry I’ve been told about? I’m not one to draw lines between pop culture and devil worship; that feels finessed to me, and I’m not interested in fueling fear for the sake of clickbait. Culture is important. Art is, too. And idolatry is actually about neither of those things, as it’s something I can only assess within myself. At the end of the day, it’s not about Taylor. Or Ticketmaster. Or any friends who stood in that long, digital line.
It’s about me. What my heart loves. What it asks for, what it beats for, what it awaits more than anything. It’s a question around how I spend my money. And my time. And the things my eyes pour over willingly, post after post.
Look, I love Taylor. I’m glad I got to dress up and scream sing some pent up energy with a good friend who matter to me. Her music will always have a piece of my heart, and it’s okay (good, even!) that her art has guided me through many stages of growth, grief, and giving words to shared life. But at the end of the week I have to ask:
Is this lasting or fleeting?
How much of my heart does this love take up?
Is it how I want to spend my days?
All things matters, I think. Big and small. We can love our Creator as well as his Created. We can love the things he gives us, while taking inventory on what grips us too tightly. I don’t think we have to hate everything to love just one thing; however, it may take some arranging on our end to make sense of right loves.
So with that, I thought I’d leave you with a Taylor-inspired stanza (or benediction, if you prefer to call it what you want):
I hope your heart grows big for the things that matter.
I hope it leaves areas (and arenas) for the fun things that take flight.
I hope in all things, you breathe in beauty, let go of ‘later’
And take heart the things that most matter, while grinning at what’s given today.