2022 is shaping up to be the year where I’m making up for lost time. Many of you are also in the same boat. I can’t say for certain if I anticipated this year going in the direction that it has, but here we are.

If you had told me at the beginning of 2022 that I would be within inches of a bucket-list musician in another country by year’s end, I would’ve laughed in your face.

Again, here we are. Today’s blog isn’t necessarily about that moment, or the events preceding or proceeding it- though it was a pretty cool moment. We’ll touch on it again later.

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To start things off, it would probably behoove me to introduce you to the musician in question:

You’ve definitely heard this song in a fitting room, somewhere.

Florence + The Machine hooked me with their song “Cosmic Love” many years ago. I don’t know what hit me first: the start of the chorus, or Florence Welch’s unwavering vocals. I held onto those songs from Lungs for so long. Her name didn’t come up when people asked me for music recommendations. I wasn’t prepared to share this beautiful thing I found with people who wouldn’t truly appreciate her.

I also distinctly remember wanting to emulate her vocal style so badly when I first found her. Sometimes, I still do. Here’s a good example of this woman’s incredible range:

Whew. That one note gets me. Every. Time.

That was your brief introduction to one of the most powerful women to have ever come out of the UK. There will be a quiz at the end of this blog.

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I knew that when I booked the tickets to this show several months ago, heading back into Canada was going to be a surreal experience.

It’s been over 3 years since I crossed any border. It almost didn’t feel right pulling into the near-empty Peace Arch border crossing on a Tuesday afternoon. I purposefully picked the Vancouver date over the Seattle date because I was more familiar with the opening act. I had a feeling that border restrictions were going to ease up by the time October rolled in. And, maybe, I could catch the train into the city instead of driving?

Sure enough, Canada ended COVID-19 border restrictions/the ArriveCAN app three days before my trip. Amtrak’s Cascades are also back up and running, but they’re only doing one trip a day. I wasn’t able to hop on for this journey.

The funky premonitions didn’t end there. Florence + The Machine fans go all out for these shows. Think: lots of flowy gowns, flower crowns, and glittery makeup. Not wanting to stand out, I threw together a Ukrainian-inspired ensemble, complete with face paint and a sunflower crown. I hailed a Lyft to the venue. My driver had a single Ukrainian bumper sticker on the back of his car. The entire 25-minute ride was in Ukrainian.

If you’re bilingual, you know this feeling has a power like no other. For everyone else: the closest equivalent I can think of is reuniting with a long-lost family member. Someone who knows and celebrates all of your traditions, and speaks the same way your family does. It’s a validating feeling.

Not even 20 minutes later, a security guard stops me before I head inside. I took one look at the two Ukrainian pins this woman was wearing and I knew I was getting stopped for a good reason. In Ukrainian, once again, we had a cool moment- all to ourselves!- in front of a few dozen confused Florence fans.

From that point on, I knew I was in the best of hands.

(Yes, this was the best picture I was able to snag.)

In their inaugural arena concert, Japanese Breakfast leapt across the stage in 2-inch tall Doc Martens during her opening number. It’s not often you see a debut arena performance. Two suggestions:

  1. Someone please remind the audio person that a whole arena of people need to hear Michelle Zauner, not just the front standing row. It was very difficult to make out what she was singing.
  2. The saxophone guy needed a solo set. He was magnificent.

There was an intermission between the two sets. To my left, a group of Brazilian-Canadians taking selfies and having the time of their lives. I let them borrow my flower crown for pictures. We talked about Ukraine, and the elections in Brazil. One of them had fled her hometown in Brazil because she couldn’t fathom the thought of her daughter growing up on the constant brink of civil war. They were eager to talk politics in our respective homelands, but you would’ve never known that’s what we were talking about. They were laughing, and loud, and dancing to every song. Their energy was infectious.

So much so, that I got the courage to chat with the folks on my right. I’m not a casual concert-befriender, even when I go to shows by myself. And I wasn’t quite sure if the folks on my right were interested or repulsed by my presence. I mentioned that I had been up since 2 am, and the guy on my right perks up. “Why were you up so early?” Shoot. I don’t like telling people I just met what I do for a living. Too many weird reactions. I just avoid the subject, or lie, if I can.

But something about being in the space, the soon-to-be Haus of Florence, the sacred texts and chords that we’d all experience together imminent- I caved.

I pulled up Twitter. The guy gets his phone out. Somehow, we’re already Twitter friends.

Come to find out, he works in radio too. Hi Turner!

This was Turner’s fourth Florence + The Machine show. My first. He looks at me and goes: “You are not prepared for what you’re about to experience.”

“Are you sure?” I thought. After spending the past 3 years scrounging up what I can to support the artists that mean the most, I had a feeling of what was to come. My body was ready to embrace “the weird cult sacrifice that your loved ones have dragged you to” (Florence’s words, paraphrased).

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Hey! Remember that part from the beginning of the blog? You know, “I was within inches of Florence Welch at her Vancouver concert”?

I couldn’t tell you what song it was. My memory escapes me. Here’s the setlist, pick a song. It was one of them. It wasn’t “Dream Girl Evil,” though. Don’t pick that one. She came out and sang over the barricade for that song, but she went straight for the center of the crowd. I was off to the left. I had a feeling she’d go for the folks right in front of her. I watched from afar, glad for those who were able to have their experience elevated.

It must have been a few songs later. She climbs down from the stage again. Beeline right to the people in front of me. I’m two rows back from the barricade. The moment she stepped foot on the barricade, the rows we were in no longer mattered.

All of us got pushed forward. I’m pretty sure my feet came off the ground. I saw her red hair and the microphone just inches away. I held out my hand in some direction, maybe towards the sky, maybe towards her. It was a bit of a blur. I didn’t think this would be the concert where I’d end up in a crowd surge, but there we were. Mushed up. Together. Not quite holding onto one another, but we were a mass of people. Human interaction never felt so intimate.

I’m sure the surge wasn’t encouraged. The whole thing lasted about 3o seconds. Everyone just stared at each other in disbelief. At least one person burst into tears of joy. A girl in front of me went: “I can’t believe I was perceived by Florence Welch.”

I had no doubts about Florence, the performer, putting on a show that I hope I never forget. What my body hadn’t been prepared for was how much people cared for one another within her space. She commandeered respect without ever having to say the word aloud. She cultivated love and empathy, from the rafters to the barricade. Ahead of performing “June,” Florence asked us to join hands. “The song has more meaning now that we’ve all been through a pandemic.”

I leaned into the embrace that had begun to my right. To be in the Haus of Florence (or the Holy Room of The Machine), among people who I wanted to share myself, my emotions, and my soul with? Young Dianna would’ve never dreamt it. Early 2022 Dianna wouldn’t have believed you, either.

To have these moments, to wander aimlessly afterwards and bask in the energies set forth by performer and audience alike, is the only way to cope once it’s over. I hope all of my future concerts make me feel- not the same way, per se. But I want that same glow and rush of euphoria all over again.

Some would say it’s too much to ask. Florence Welch would tell you: “too much is never enough.”