"No One Cares What You Look Like."

That's the phrase I seem to be repeating to myself most often these days. I've heard the speech a couple times now — each time I've gone to see Therefore I Am, they tell us about it between songs. If I remember correctly, it's something along the lines of, "You guys standing there with your arms crossed looking cool? Come on up here and dance. You don't go to a concert to stand around and look cool. No one cares what you look like." When I go to concerts, I wear some jeans and my Minor Threat t-shirt (it's a tradition) and then when I get there I rock out like a crazy person. The risks: someone standing in the back will look at me through their sunglasses, tuck their flat-ironed hair behind their ear, and feel secure in the knowledge that no one could possibly think that they are lamer than I am.

Well, no one is looking at this kid standing in the back. No one's really looking at me either. And I would rather feel all the energy and frantic passion I get from moving around than be the coolest kid in the crowd. What does "cool" even mean? That you make all the right plays so that you're automatically better than everyone else? That you wear the right clothes, drink the right beer, and take instant gratification wherever you can get it? I'm not gonna follow someone else's set of rules. I am not better than everyone else. I'm gonna do whatever I want. I don't want to be cool. I want to be angry. I want to be angry that our everyday lives have stopped meaning something. And I want to mosh.

Listening to music works too, like when you're listening to a song driving home from work, and there's this one part that makes you grit your teeth and press the back of your head into the headrest, and you're pretty sure you're not the only one who's ever done that. But at a concert, that other kid isn't two hundred miles away. That other kid is right next to you and even if you didn't bring a friend to the concert, you're not alone anymore.

I mean that. We're all angry about something. Maybe you're stuck working a dead-end job because you can't pay for college, or maybe your big brother just lost a limb to an IED, or maybe you've got a stable life but you seem to be the only person you know who still cares about the Haiti earthquake. And you can't do a whole lot to change it. So where do you put your anger? Well, you put it in your hands and you go to a show, and the music moves you like it always has, except a lot more because the band is right there and there's no barriers between you now. Then you shove the guy next to you and he shoves you back, and pretty soon there's a pit going. And when you leave, you're sore and probably bruised, but you feel better than you've ever felt in your life.

Why? Because you can really, physically feel it now. The anger, or the pain, or whatever you've got. But it's not just yours. This is not just about you. This is about the kid who shoved you back, and the other kids you ran into, and the singer, and the band, and me and you too. It takes all of us to make that happen — to make each other move and shove and run into whomever is nearby. You wanted to express your anger? We heard you. That's why we've got black-and-blue marks on our forearms.

This is what I want. This is what means something to me. For some reason, it's against the rules to put all your emotions out there. It's weird. It's not cool. I don't care. I'm gonna go dance.