The first time we traveled to Hawaii, I had two goals in mind. One, swim with turtles. Two, swim under a waterfall. I did both, and they were awesome in the truest sense of the word. The turtle encounter was humbling, like being in the presence of an ancient mage. The waterfall was different. Something happened the moment I descended into the pool near Hana. When the power of water met the power of gravity, I was flooded with joy. I didn’t summon it, I didn’t will it, I didn’t have to work for it. And I’ve thought about it ever since. Why did that make me so happy?
I’d never felt that way before, exalted with joy. I’ve got too much sorrow in me, it’s always in the mix even in my best moments. But this simple act of nature made me feel plugged into something—an energy that connects us, calls us. Water in motion.
Swimming at the base of that waterfall was the first and only time I’d ever felt pure, unqualified, euphoric joy . . . until last night.
Maybe it’s because I had a couple of drinks.
Maybe it’s because I love to sing and love to dance.
Maybe it’s because my parents raised me on rock and roll.
Maybe it’s because we’ve been isolated for two years, starved for tangible shared experiences.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been unbearably stressed. The tighter the wind up, the greater the snap.
Maybe it’s because I’ve never been to a stadium rock concert.
Maybe it’s because the universe vibrates, longing for music to give it shape.
Or maybe it’s just because they are my Favorite band, and when you see your favorite band live, joy explodes in your chest, and it doesn’t stop until long after the encore is done.
Maybe it’s all these things. All these things that I’ve done. I don’t know. I do know that seeing The Killers perform live last night was the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.
I know what you’re thinking. But you have a child. You have a great marriage. Didn’t the inceptions of those things make you happier than seeing a concert?
Yes, but not exactly. Let me explain.
Giving birth to my child was indeed a day of spiritual bliss and happiness. Unparalleled cosmic beauty. I was permanently changed for the better. It also followed several hours of unimaginable suffering that pushed me to the brink of human resilience. The moment they placed my daughter on my chest, I saw the face of God, but I paid a high price of admission. So yes, I was euphoric, but I was also exhausted, torn open, and bleeding.
The day my husband and I got married, I felt everything. It was a day of profound meaning—perhaps the most important checkpoint in my life, but the happiness came with other emotions, trickier ones. I was happy, yes. I was also introspective, trepidatious, feisty, nervous, and deeply self-aware. Self-conscious. Straight up shy. Freedom is a component of euphoria, and I had too many people staring at me on my wedding day to be truly free. I wasn’t unbridled; I was a bride.
So, if we can deprioritize happiness as the most valuable emotion, if we can agree that happiness is not the end goal even though it is incredibly pleasant, I can then state with confidence that seeing The Killers play live for the first time and in their hometown of Las Vegas after being a superfan for fifteen years—it was the happiest I’ve ever been.
The power of music.
When the lights dimmed and the artwork for Imploding the Mirage blasted onto the back screen as the first chord of “My Own Soul’s Warning” resounded through the stadium, I freaked. I was unfettered. Unleashed. Shaking the lightning from the locks of my unbound hair. I felt pure joy, Joy, JOY!
And it didn’t cost me anything.
It cost me the price of a ticket but that’s not what I’m talking about. When it comes to the gift of clarity and shameless human emotion, money doesn’t play, but sometimes joy requires other kinds of payment like tenacity, grit, or faith. In this case, no transaction required. No suffering, no toiling, no effort needed. All I had to do was show up, and joy rained upon me like the pyro sparks that showered the stage during “Caution.”
Like the waterfall.
Last night was a holy experience for me. That’s not hyperbole, and it’s not fandom (well, not just fandom anyway). My tendency to pull spiritual meaning from something like a rock concert is the exact reason I love this band. Nail, meet hammer. It’s what Brandon Flowers does with music. He explores spirituality, the conflict between the body and spirit, heaven and earth, his soul’s yearning, good choices and bad, salvation, the What-The-Hell-Are-We-Doing-Here of it all. These are my favorite subjects, and the way Flowers sings about them makes me feel particularly seen. He is shameless, grandiose, sentimental, unapologetic, anthemic. Heart pouring off jewel-encrusted sleeves. I get him—this good boy from Sin City.
Oh, and Las Vegas. Seeing them in Las Vegas, surrounded by all the sparkle and sleaze that forged this beautiful band. To experience that contrast, rejoicing among Sin. What a gift.
It’s so weird to be human, so messy and gorgeous it makes me want me to scream. But we can’t scream all the time. We must be cool. We must be normal and functional and transactional, and we must get to work on time. We must do these things, except when we are dancing. Except when we are singing. Except when we’re rocking. Through The Killers music, I am reminded that this ride of being human is quite brief, and we shouldn’t waste our time trying to be too cool about it.
I’m about the same age as The Killers. They hit it big when I was in college and grew as artists over the next decade. They were kind of the soundtrack of my twenties. I’ve discovered other great music since then, but The Killers were, and always will be, my band. They’ve got my heart. They are the magic soaking my spine.
I feel like you go from a casual fan to a deep one when you know and appreciate each member of a band for their particular contribution. So let me take a moment to say:
Thank you, Mark, for the grounding of your bass. Songs couldn’t reach the heights that they do without it.
Thank you, Dave, for your killer riffs and for putting that ad in the paper all those years ago.
Thank you, Ronnie, for your beat, the heartbeat and the turbo engine of every song. So many times I’m like, what is it that is making this song rock so hard, and the answer is always the drums. It’s Ronnie’s drums.
And thank you, Brandon Flowers, for your soul, your mind, and especially for your bleeding heart. Thank you for giving these parts of yourself to rock and roll.
Sometimes it’s a waterfall, sometimes it’s a rock concert. And yes, sometimes it’s my daughter’s smile, my husband’s laugh. A sunset. There are droplets everywhere in various shapes and sizes, but occasionally, it rains. Heaven opens a floodgate, joy pours down, and we are free. I hope you have found something that makes you feel that way for just a moment. Moments are all we get. Water in motion.
Additional Thoughts That I Couldn’t Fit Above
Driving down the mountain into the valley that leads to Las Vegas, I put on Imploding The Mirage for my brother—he’d never listened to it. This is the cover:
As we turned the bend that opened down into the valley, we discovered a rainstorm just ahead, in the desert. It looked like this:
As we discovered this, these are the lyrics that played:
“I tried diving even though the sky was storming / Thunderheads were forming / But man I thought I could fly”
It was the album, down to the composition of the landscape. There were mountains on our right, valley to the left. The rainstorm was isolated on the mountain. Welcome to this long-awaited thing, it said. You won’t regret it.
Even More Thoughts
Lest I leave out something very important—the most important—I do see unfettered joy every day on the face of my daughter. When she finds out that she gets to go to her friend’s house for a birthday party, for example, she is standing at the waterfall. Unbridled glee. It’s my honor to behold her joy, and a constant reminder of how much we lose in growing up.
And most important of all, it was Brad that convinced me to get in the water that day in Hawaii. He is always the voice reminding me that I’m allowed to feel joy. I deserve joy. He’s holding my hand whenever I feel it.
I’ll end with this picture, because I just love it so much. I took this during “Runaways,” the single off their under appreciated (even by Flowers) album, Battle Born.
“We used to look at the stars / and confess our dreams / Hold each other to the morning light . . And we’re all just Runaways.”
