There is an art to getting to the stage at a concert. You must go it alone so as not to draw attention to the mission. You must weave your way in and out of the crowd finding small openings where you will create the least amount of disturbance. You mustn’t look around or engage with anyone as you head to your destination, particularly the surrounding security guards who are paid to look for you and send you back to the drawing board. It’s a head-down, high-courage, stealth operation. I’m not sure if this behavior is good or bad, sneaky or skilled, pushy or well-deserved, but it is something I am good at. I can get to the stage at a concert.
There I was, mid-50s, sandwiched tightly between people one- to two-thirds my age, elbows nearly resting on the stage, doing what Bonnie Rait, the coolest of the cool, would never allow to happen at her concerts: watching the concert through my iPhone while standing six feet from the band. A solid member of society’s most ridiculous.
There he was, traversing the stage back and forth, left and right when suddenly he stopped directly in front of my special section of stage huggers. He held ground, strumming his guitar, beaming at the crowd, flicking his golden sexy hair, chock-full of joy. Then it happened. Keith Urban looked at me and smiled. Well, he looked at my phone and smiled. He couldn’t see my eyes, but I sure as hell saw his. It wasn’t in a watch-out-Nicole kind of way. No, it was a millisecond, which is one thousandth of a second, in case you’re wondering. Like a hummingbird stays in the center of a flower sucking nectar way longer than the amount of time Keith Urban smiled at me. But, I captured that moment and it was on my phone.
I floated on cloud nine back to my more sensible and law-abiding friends, wondering if what happened really happened. After the concert, I scoured the plethora of videos like a detective searching for clues. All the obvious things you’d expect me to search for: facial twitches, lip muscle contractions, teeth exposures, eyelash movements, hair flickings. I studied the videos large, small, upright, sideways, light, dark and suddenly, as clear as a California sky, I found it. He looked at me and smiled. I was 98.5% sure. Next, I did what any of you would do if Keith Urban smiled at you. I posted it. Then I sat back and waited for confirmation. Did anyone else see it?
The next time you think your smiles don’t matter, think again. Put your Keith Urban on, even if it’s for the smallest fraction of time known to man, and smile. Because the recipient will feel special and electrified, honored and exhilarated. They may even have a blast writing a blog about it. You just never know.