The briefness of being alive

I stood there as the sun began to set, a sea of people floating around me. A group of foreigners excitedly exchanging words over snacks. A man selling beer moving through the crowd, like a tigre stalking it’s prey, in a jungle of chatting trees. Heads started to turn as the front row let out shrieks of joy. The band had come on stage. They began the show and the crowd went wild.

I had noticed a solitary old man, motionless, head bowed, clutching a paper with the bands of the day. His head slowly bobbed as the music played, looking around with the faintest smile on his face. I was mesmerised, something about him was entrancing, his deep sadness speckled with moments of happiness. I wondered what his story was, why he was here, he seemed misplaced to me, but at the same time right where he should be.

I imagined one day that might be me, grabbing the opportunity to see my favourite band from back in the day. Relive my youth for brief moments! Still, why was he alone? I’ve never gone alone to a concert, I’ve always enjoyed sharing my experiences, oh… Maybe he doesn’t have anyone, maybe what seems like sadness is actually loneliness. I looked to my left and stared for a moment at the person I most enjoy being with. My stomach plummeted at the thought of one day losing her and overwhelming empathy grew within me.

As the concert ended he turned and looked over the crowd, smiling at our happy faces, then took a deep breath, bowed his head once again and walked through the crowd, away from the stage. A tear gleamed in his eye as he moved past me and I felt the insecurity of life, the briefness of it all.

The feeling of loss is, to me, one of the hardest feelings to deal with. If I could I would hug that old man and thank him for reminding me to enjoy the now.