The Day I Saw Your White Mustang

I was surprised with tickets to Lana Del Rey last week.

I’ve been listening to Lana since high school. At least 6 years of daydreaming to her records. Her music has stayed the haunting and dreamy lyrics I watched boys to as a high school romantic. Music that sopped tears from heartbreak, and allowed smiles in small celebration of life’s journey.

My dream has been to see her L I V E. And I finally did on Tuesday.

My friend and I were situated close enough to not watch Lana as a speck of sand from the nosebleeds, but not so close that my best friend bled his wallet for the event.

The stage was a beach. Tall palms, red-striped beach chairs, and strings of pearls on jagged rocks hidden by tall crackly grasses. Waves washing sand and the disembodied gaze of a lighthouse, completed the setting. Lana and the two dancers beside her laid in the black and white crash of the waves, combining soft lyrics with the rage of the ocean to start the show.

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Through the course of the night, I have come to know more of her songs.

White Mustang. 13 Beaches. Change. Cruel World.

No matter the song, I found a bit of myself in her lyrics. I found myself understanding the emotions surfacing: The need for finding my own courage to right the wrongs I cannot accept. The undercover desire of a lost love lingering. My dreams soaring.

I imagined myself in a white dress with baby blue flowers, a denim jacket, and a crown of white roses. I was perching on the jagged rocks of the beach. Sitting on the hood of a white Mustang whose owner’s face I could not form in my mind. I was on a swing in the desert, kissing a stranger in blue jeans in the pouring rain, feeling the sadness of dreaming of summer outside of summer, and playing video games.

Her songs are those that make me dream, cry and wonder where I am going.

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“Life is an adventure.”

That’s what it all means to me. In listening, I think of where Lana’s life has brought her. What are the stories that have brought her to sing these words with such emotion? With the ethereal trill of her voice and the sparkle of starry boots, she is an artist whose songs I can dream to. I can imagine myself adventuring in soft filters, wearing red dresses with my straight hair in waves, taking the weave of water from the ocean itself.

I am a dreamer. This concert lent more feathers to the wings of my fancy.

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