I rushed through dinner, however, to make it to Gracie Abrams’s set on time. When she remarked, “This is a pretty big birthday party,” at the sight of someone else’s birthday sign, it occurred to me that maybe I came to this music festival to avoid the reality of not having enough friends to throw a birthday party. But you can still feel lonely in a crowd of thousands. Suddenly, I looked around and saw the kind of person I should be by 33. There was the young mom next to me with her girls singing in unison to Abrams’s “That’s So True.” In front of me, a group of 30-something women in matching cowboy boots danced in a circle holding hands. There it was—the familiar “I’m a loser” narrative. But then I thought back to all the fellow solo festival-goers I spotted last night. I didn’t think they were losers for being alone, so why would I think the same of myself?

Just as my own clouds of loneliness began to lift, a real thunderstorm loomed. It felt like mother nature, and Gracie Abrams had rehearsed an especially emotional performance as the lightning and thunder was indistinguishable from the flashing lights and boom of the drums on stage. When they stopped the show for the hour-long thunderstorm, I waited it out sardined under a tent with a group of loud drunk men. As they made fun of me for wearing a mask, all I could think was how I regretted not spending my birthday evening savoring my dinner instead. So I returned to my hotel and made the very adult decision to order two desserts—a pistachio Paris-Brest and cherry olive oil meringue. As I ate them in bed, I relished that attending the festival alone meant I had the freedom to leave when I wanted.

If I needed inspiration to care less what people think, I got it the following day from the lead singer of Cage The Elephant, Matt Shultz, who danced without abandon, wildly flailing his arms on stage. “Can we be friends?” He asked the audience. “We’re all just broken pieces at the party.” Maybe I’m not the only one feeling alone, I thought. During “Cigarette Daydreams,” everyone held up their lit phones, creating a sea of waving lights. The very device that can make us feel lonely was now a symbol of our desire to be connected. Perhaps the music festival can be a source of connection—even if we don’t make friends, we feel part of something bigger than ourselves. And as Shultz thanked the audience for being “part of the Cage The Elephant family,” I thought of how a fandom is its own kind of chosen family. I might not have a family or friends to go to a music festival with, but singing in unison with a bunch of strangers united in our love for how the music makes us feel, is worth something.