Last weekend, like I have for the past 12 years (except for the year that they canceled because of Covid), I went to Country Concert. We pay for it well in advance and well, because of that, I had already planned and paid for it this year before I had made the decision to stop drinking.
So, I had two options – not go and forfeit all that money or go sober. Listen, I love country music. But even I will admit that a good portion of people do not go there for the music, but rather for a three-day drinking festival.
To say I was a little nervous would be an understatement. Oddly enough, though, I wasn’t nervous that I would want to drink. I was more nervous that it wouldn’t be fun, that I would be bored and not enjoy it at all. I was nervous that all the people drinking would get on my nerves and I would hate it. I was more nervous that I would lose something that I had loved to do in the past.
The first night there is only for those who are camping, featuring the Camper Party in the Saloon. While we stood around listening to some up-and-coming artists (they save the known ones for the big stage during the main shows), drinking my water, I looked around and thought to myself that this could be a long couple of days.
At that point, someone in our group looked back at me and said, with a beer in her hand, that she felt bad. I asked her why and she said, “Because you aren’t drinking.”
Half-smiling, I said, “It’s fine!” in my put-together, I-got-this-Sarah-attitude. I stood there and soaked in that short conversation for a few minutes.
How “Sarah” like to put on a front. Over the years, I had become really good at that. In fact, my own infamous statement was always, “I’m fine, it’s fine, everything is fine.” Always – but especially during the times when nothing was fine.
But something clicked in my head during my reflection of that conversation, for the first time in – well, a long time – I wasn’t putting on a front. Legitimately, I was fine. In fact, I was more than fine. I was GOOD, so much so that I wished I could have redone the conversation again:
“I feel bad. You aren’t drinking.”
“Do NOT feel bad! Because I feel GOOD!”
Not one morning did I wake up dehydrated and feeling like crap. I didn’t have to miss any songs because I needed to wait in line for the bathroom and we saved money from not buying drinks in the saloon (you can bring your own everywhere else in the venue). Clearly, I remember every act and had complete control over every single one of my actions and words.
I was afraid of what Country Concert might look like to me through sober eyes. It looked like singing along to all of the many songs I knew, drinking delicious and hydrating flavored sparkling waters (and a few energy drinks that they handed out for free). It looked like slow dancing with Lee (also sober) to the love songs both in the middle of the day and once the sun had set. And fast dancing to all the upbeat songs, sometimes all by myself and sometimes with my crew.
It felt like tears streaming down my cheeks all at once and with no warning as one of the artists sang about a girl who was once the life of the party but no one knew what was going on inside of her and how she didn’t get out in time.
It felt freeing knowing my story when he went on to praise anyone celebrating recovery there in the middle of a field with about 30,000 people, almost all with beers in their hands, while I raised up my hand toward heaven holding my water. It felt like my people, the friends I came with and the friends I have made there over the years, handing me a tissue, embracing me with hugs and celebrating my sobriety with me.
It felt like a moment I will remember forever. It felt like God knew I had the strength for the weekend — for this entire journey of mine — and placed me, and every obstacle along the way in my life, exactly where He saw fit, especially, that moment.
It felt good.
Country music has always had a way of making me feel my own story through the lyrics, and while none of the stories exactly match mine, it certainly feels good to relate.
So, I am thankful that I went and experienced my first Country Concert without any alcohol, and I already cannot wait to experience my second one next year.
Sarah (Pitson) Shrader was born and raised in Lima. She is a Lima Central Catholic and Tiffin University graduate. Sarah is a full-time working mama who enjoys writing about her somewhat crazy, always adventurous life as a mother. She lives in Bath Township with her daughters and writing inspirations, Maylie and Reagan.
