Every year, I say this will be my last. “No more,” I tell myself. The guilt settles in, “You missed Father’s Day weekend again for Christ sake!” Begrudgingly I admit, “You’re getting too old. Your body just doesn’t bounce back like it once did.” Yet, even as I internalize these words, I can still feel the former 20-something-year-old inside me fighting to stay alive.

I start to realize the conversation in my head might sound like a bout with some sort of addiction. Perhaps, it is. Music is my drug and this year I have just experienced the ultimate high. You see, I am returning from a four-day weekend music bender better known as The Firefly Music Festival.

Founded and produced by Red Frog Events, Firefly Music Festival made its Delaware debut in July of 2012 at The Woodlands of Dover International Speedway. The 105-acre, tree-laden grounds were the perfect venue for the festival to live up to the potential of its self-proclaimed nickname as “the East Coast’s Premier Music Experience.” Since its arrival, the Festival has grown in popularity from 30,000+ people at inception to more than 90,000+ people in attendance post Firefly 2016. Similar to Bonnaroo and Coachella fashion, Firefly is no stranger to the hipster crowd adorned in boho-chic attire (think flower crowns, crop-tops, high-wasted shorts and lots of body art).

Aside from music and entertainment, the Festival also touts many featured attractions such as an outdoor flea market of merchandise vendors, an arcade, a hammock hangout, a silent disco and a variety of food and beverage options for all taste-buds, including both healthy and vegan friendly options. Local Delaware Brewery,Dogfish Head, also serves up tasty craft beer specialties like a Firefly Ale, brewed specifically for the Festival. And, if you’re feeling generous, you can donate to the St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, the official charity of Firefly Music Festival.

Firefly festivals prior, I had a few drinks, made new friends, and I even got to see some of my favorite artists up close and personal. Nothing could top the last four years music binge combined with days/nights of adolescent fun, or so I thought.

Here’s what went down:

Day 3 of the festival, I am already in good spirits. I’m in the Festival grounds early. I’ve found my group of friends at the Backyard Stage and I’m still jazzed up about the view I was able to score during Fitz and the Tantrums performance the day prior. My friends and I are about to set up a blanket-spot to watch Coin play, when I was informed we were waiting for Paul, my friend’s co-worker to show up. He would be camping with them later on.

Cue Paul: “Hey guys, I have a few extra VIP passes, anyone want to go in?”

Me: “Uh, duh…I would,” I try to say with calmness, but I’m silently freaking out from excitement.

Paul: “Cool. Let’s go. I’m meeting my friend Sofia inside.”

Me (outwardly): “Cool.”Me (inwardly): OH MY GOD! OH MY FREAKING GOD! I’ve never been in VIP.

Off we go to VIP to meet Sofia. My friend Lindsay joins us.

Cue Sofia (in a very British accent): “Ello. I’m Sofia. Very nice to meet you.”

Sofia is tall, thin, dark hair and intimidatingly pretty. She’s dressed upscale, head-to-toe in black, with designer shades and looks like she stepped straight off a New York runway. She DOES NOT look like your typical free-spirit Firefly spectator.Something tells me Sofia has clout and I have clearly stepped into a world beyond my rank.

What happens next, I still to this day can’t believe. A little while after being upgraded to VIP, where water, bathrooms, drinks and great stage views are at your leisure, Paul realizes he needs to go outside festival grounds to his campsite to drop off his belongings.

Paul to Lindsay and I: “You guys ready to go?”

Me: Crap, I don’t want to leave.

Lindsay HAS to leave because her husband is back with the rest of our friends in general admission, which now suddenly feels second-rate compared to where we’ve just gone. She also has to show Paul where their campsite is located.

Sofia, with the voice of a British angel (but not dressed in white) chimes in: “Alright then, well you guys go ahead okay then. Kendall can hang here for a bit?”

Me: Yesssssssssss.

Paul: “Yea, that’s cool. We’ll catch up with you guys a little later.”

I am now alone with Sofia, probably one of the coolest chicks at the Festival. Keep in mind I still have Paul’s extra VIP wristband. What in the hell, AM I doing here?

Sofia, I soon discovered, is a multimedia journalist and part of the perks is interviewing artists at events such as this. She then turns to tell me we are going to meet up with her friends in the artists’ lounge. She naturally has a few paid for extra “stage” and “all access” wristbands (more perks of the job), which significantly trumps VIP access. She then hands over these wristbands to me.

OMMMGEEEEEE!

And just like that, as if it were a magical place from some whimsical storybook once read as a child, and like Alice, I went down the rabbit-hole, there I was…thrusted into this “new world” where Firefly artists, their friends, media and the A-listers hang out.

There’s a private bar serving specialty cocktails, ping-pong tables for bands to have some friendly competition in between sets, and private lounge tents equipped with A.C. for each artist/band.

I’m following Sofia around like a lost puppy dog, while trying to maintain a poise that says, “Yea, I belong here.” Pretty sure at one point the Hawaii boys from the band Pepper walked by me.

This day cannot seriously get any better, I think to myself.

“We’re going on stage for Coleman Hell,” says Sofia.

Me:“Okay, sounds awesome.”

We climb on board a golf cart and are chauffeured to The Backyard Stage. Sofia’s wristbands work like a charm. The band Coin has just finished up and the stage crew is changing out sets. Sofia chats it up with one of the members from Coin while I just stand there and stare in awe. I’m too nervous to introduce myself. After all, what exactly is the social protocol in this situation?

Finally, Coleman Hell appears and takes his place center stage. He’s wearing an outfit fitting for Woodstock that consists of light blue jeans, a white t-shirt, a woven headband with “Alaska” interlaced, a rosary necklace, and what appears to be a tan-hide fringed jacket complete with patchwork. He’s still sporting a beard, but his hair is a little longer and shaggier.

There are thousands in the crowd below, but I manage to spot my friends and give them a wave. They wave back smiling with both support and envy. Coleman Hell performs about six songs, mostly from his self-titled EP album, and then closes with his radio hit, “2 Heads.” The crowd responds positively to the performance as Coleman Hell makes his way stage right and heads toward my direction. I play it cool and politely ask for a photo to which he openly obliges.

Someone please pinch me; I must be dreaming.

Still beaming from the photo op, I start to realize it’s been a few hours since I last saw my friends. Feeling guilty for leaving them behind and for hijacking Paul’s wristband, I walk over to Sofia and tell her I should probably go now. “But you can’t go now,” she says. “We are going to stay for Fetty Wap. You can leave after that if you want.”

IF I WANT?

I do not want to leave at all due to FOMO. Sofia also seems to have radiated some sort of power over me. She has this enticing allure where free will exists, but you don’t necessarily feel like you have the option. Plus, what music lover in their right mind wouldn’t want to take advantage of this opportunity, especially when it’s dangling in front of you like a golden carrot.

I seal my fate and decide to stay, knowing I might be friendless after the festival weekend. After what seemed like an eternity, Fetty Wap finally emerges. Considering he showed up a full 30 minutes late to his own gig, there is sort of an awkward introduction from his hype man who basically had to save Fetty’s face by keeping the crowd entertained in the interim. In fact, I think the hype man may have been more of the star of the show than Fetty. I learned from friends later that Fetty’s late arrival and performance was received with mixed reviews. For a witty commentary, see: 14 Things That Happened at Fetty Wap’s Firefly Set That Weren’t Fetty Wap.

Sadly, there was no photo op with Fetty. He exited as quickly as he arrived. Apparently, he’s on a different time schedule. However, my time with Sofia is running out. I left my friends when it was daylight and it’s now well past 8 p.m. I tell Sofia I have really do have to go this time. We swap out wristbands and I make sure to retrieve Paul’s VIP wristband (my golden ticket) before exiting. When I find my friends amongst the 90K crowd, they are a tad annoyed, but happy for me and keen on questions. However, I remain under the influence, so to speak, from the surreal Firefly experience I just encountered, and still too inebriated from it all to divulge the details.

Traveling northbound on Delaware Route 1 to make my 20-minute trek home, I am poor (tickets, hotel, food & beverages have cost well over $1,000), I’m physically exhausted (my FitBit clocking over 50,000 steps a day), and I’m still buzzed. That is, I’m flying high from Firefly’s aftereffects. This chance encounter with Sofia did nothing but help feed my music addiction. I’ve been transformed.

As The Woodlands slowly disappear behind me, my previous words come echoing back to haunt me.I start to think to myself, “Early 30s is still young. My body is equipped to handle it.” And as for the guilt, well, it’s not entirely burdensome.“It’s what Dad would’ve wanted,” I rationalize. I mean people are always telling me, “You are your father’s daughter with that music of yours,” so it’s to be expected right?

Is this Firefly my last? I’d like to give myself the benefit of the doubt, but as with most addictions the likelihood of a relapse is highly probable. To be determined…