Day #025

London, England

Two concerts over Twenty Years – and the friends who made the music richer

Our first date was a Coldplay concert in Kansas City. I wore a blue D.A.R.E. t-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees.

Desperately trying to be cool and impress her – “Did you know I just got back from Africa?”

Failing spectacularly.

She was luminous. Magnetic.

Even before the songs began, she had already undone me.

Her chestnut eyes. Her beautiful smile. Her incredibly kind energy.

I knew I was in trouble.

When the lights fell, the stage exploded with color. The first notes of Yellow poured into the night, and suddenly the crowd became one body. One voice.

Strobe lights grew brighter as beach balls made their rounds through the crowd. The bass shook the ground below us.

And there was Jess’s hand – how tragically eager I wanted to hold it.

How fiercely I wanted to keep it.

It briefly grazed mine – warm, electric, alive.

She leaned close to me, singing gloriously off-key. Her hair brushed my cheek.

I can still remember the smell of spilled beer on the floor, the sting of cigarette smoke in my eyes, and the sound of laughter ringing louder than the music.

I remember thinking: If this is love, I never want this song to end.

Twenty years later, we stood together again at another Coldplay concert – this time in London. No longer twenty-somethings, it’s been a few decades.

Different countries. Different lives for both of us.

And yet – when the lights dimmed – it was as if no time had passed at all.

The same songs that defined our beginning now carried the weight and memory of everything we’ve lived through together.

Degrees earned and fellowships completed. Cross-global moves and building a community in SF.

Long nights of study, business travel, and new careers.

Quiet victories. Loud failures.

The heartbreaks of burying family and friends.

The joy of welcoming new family and friends into the fold.

And through it all, the music never stopped.

Here’s the truth: I’m still trying to be cool for her. Different clothes now, maybe a better credit score.

But – in my mind – I’m still a twenty-something boy still desperate to win her attention.

After two decades, Jess still takes my breath away.

The way she smiles, dances, and sings.

The way her eyes light up – Jess speaks happiness.

It’s the most beautiful sight in the world to me.

People say marriage is hard work. I’ve never believed that.

Yes, moments are hard – the grief, the compromises, the losses. But marriage itself?

It’s not hard.

It’s the simplest, most miraculous thing: Loving your best friend.

It’s sharing your mind, your body, and your soul with the one person that makes every moment feel like music.

Love is simply a choice – it’s waking up beside the person next to you and realizing you’d still choose them...every single time.

The little wisdom I’ve accumulated over the years is simply knowing the answer is Yes.

And my life – my universe – is better because of it.

One of the best parts of love is that it has a way of expanding – the love you put out is the love you receive in return.

It doesn’t just bind two people – it creates an ecosystem.

It brings with it the kind of friendships that feel eternal.

Karina and Chris are two of those rare people to us.

It’s a friendship that started with beach days in Venice, burying our feet into the sand.

We conquered the summits of Joshua Tree and navigated the sweaty masses of Coachella.

They have benefited from my knowledge of American Football – I have benefited from their knowledge of Guy Fawkes Day events.

And like every amazing friendship – it’s multidimensional.

Ours transcends continental boundaries, new generations of welcomed participants (two of them!), and a front-row seat to life’s amazing events.

Before our Coldplay concert in London, we had the great fortune and privilege to celebrate the marriage of these two. It was a true joy to watch two puzzle pieces connect – two people that mean the world to us.

And after all this time of friendship – even if we are worlds apart - the things I appreciate the most now:

The hugs are tighter. The stories are funnier. The smiles are warmer.

They’re the type of friends who fill the spaces between verses.

The ones that show up for the encore – even when the years have stretched long.

Because life is a kind of album.

Every love, every friendship, every family carries its own tracklist.

Some songs are joyful, some mournful, some fleeting, some eternal.

But when the right people are beside you – their hands in yours, their voices rising with yours – the music becomes more than sound.

It becomes meaning.

Looking back, I realize Jess and I have been singing the same song for twenty years now.

The verses keep changing – different cities, different stages, triumphs, heartbreaks – but the chorus always remains the same:

Love. Unwavering and true.

And so here I am – in the middle of the stadium.

This time I get to hold her hand.

Still desperate to impress her – I try my hand at karaoke-ing the songs. I fail spectacularly.

But when I see her – glowing under the neon lights – I am taken back to our first show together.

Breathless.

The crowd roars. The stars shine overhead.

Coldplay is on stage.

Somehow – after all this time – it still feels like they’re only singing to us.

Look at the stars…look how they shine for you.