MY FIRST SOBER SHOW

There’s a moment that sticks with me from 2022.

I was standing in a crowd at a Goose show at First Bank, people dancing, the lights bouncing off faces that looked just as alive as the sound coming from the stage. Normally, that scene would have included a drink in my hand. For years, that’s how concerts worked for me.

But this time was different.

It was my first show sober.

I had stopped drinking on March 13, 2022. At that point, sobriety was still new territory. Everything felt a little uncertain. I knew I needed the change, but I also wondered what it meant for the things I loved most.

Music was one of them.

Live music had always been a place where I felt at home. The kind of place where strangers become friends for a few hours and everyone seems to understand something that’s hard to explain. But alcohol had always been part of that ritual.

So walking into that show sober felt like stepping into the unknown.

I remember the moment the band started playing. The room filled with sound and the crowd surged forward. People were cheering, dancing, raising their drinks. And I stood there for a second thinking…

Is this going to feel different?

And it did.

But not in the way I expected.

Instead of feeling disconnected, I felt more present than I had in years. I heard every note more clearly. I noticed the small moments—the guitar player locking into a groove, the crowd singing back a chorus, the feeling of being surrounded by people who were all there for the same reason.

The music.

For the first time in a long time, I realized that the thing I loved about concerts had never actually been the drinking.

It was the connection.

It was the shared experience.

It was the feeling of being alive in the middle of a song that seemed to stop time for a few minutes.

That night changed something for me.

It showed me that sobriety didn’t mean giving up the parts of life that made me feel most like myself. If anything, it meant getting closer to them.

The music didn’t go away.

The magic didn’t disappear.

If anything, it got stronger.

That experience planted the seed for what would eventually become Friend of the Devil Sober Co.—a community for people who still love music, adventure, and connection, but who are choosing to experience those moments with a clear mind.

Because the truth is, the music still plays.

And it might just sound better this way.