I Went to a Summer Music Festival Solo—Here’s What I Learned

At 20, I plunged into the vibrant chaos of music festivals, starting with the iconic Osheaga in Montreal. The line-up included some of my favorite artists, but the experience was a rude awakening: the exhaustive queues, slippery mud, and sobering sight of festival-goers being carried away by paramedics were just the tip of the iceberg. As I found my way back to our Airbnb, feet sinking in mud, I vowed never to return.

Fast forward 13 years, and the festival scene has morphed into a popularity contest — a realm I’d been actively avoiding. As a sober, single woman with a small circle of friends, the prospect of attending alone terrified me. However, the allure of this year’s Osheaga lineup, featuring Doechii, The Killers, and Olivia Rodrigo all coinciding with my birthday weekend, convinced me to take the plunge back into that world again.

Returning to my old haunts in Montreal brought forth a flood of nostalgia; the wild, party-loving girl I once was seemed far removed from my current self, who values peace and quiet. Navigating the packed subway to the festival, I braced myself for the overwhelming crowds ahead. Surprisingly, I stepped into a relaxed ambiance, with attendees sprawled out on grassy patches, enjoying Dominic Fike’s performance. The muddy terrain of yesteryears had transformed into comfortable patches of artificial grass, setting a much-needed relaxed tone.

As I approached my 33^rd birthday, I expected to feel out of place, but the crowd was diverse, with many attendees my age or older. Starting my festival experience with the soothing sounds of Jorja Smith seemed to ease me in. The swaying audience resonated with the sultry R&B melodies as I gazed at the iconic illuminated Mount Royal cross from afar. Unlike my younger self, I found no desire for neon cocktails; instead, I embraced my clarity. The energy around me felt different, too; fewer people seemed intoxicated, which was a refreshing change as I worried how my sobriety would fit into this vibrant party atmosphere.

At a later point, however, I found myself in the front row for The Killers, singing along passionately to “Mr. Brightside.” My excitement fuelled by nostalgia, I joined a sea of fans sprinting towards an anthem that defined our youth. I noticed younger attendees, wide-eyed at the prospect of watching their hero, Brandon Flowers, who was now 44. I chuckled at the contrast; they found him inspiring, while I found solace in my age and the wisdom that came with it. Observing a woman next to me — unbothered and confident, reminded me that this quiet assurance was what I yearned for — not the fleeting energy of youth.

No performer embodied the carefree spirit of adulthood better than Doechii. Sporting an eye-catching ruffled skirt as she danced energetically, her contagious vibe drew me in. What surprised me most was seeing others like me, relishing the music even while alone. After enjoying a powerful return to the hotel, I sank into a plush bed, grateful to have traded shared floors of an Airbnb for luxury.

Embracing my age also came with newfound wisdom about self-care. Rather than diving headfirst into the festival chaos, I indulged in a luxurious deep tissue massage at the hotel spa, reviving me for an elegant dinner at Marcus Restaurant. The culinary contrasts to my younger festival fare were stark; ricotta and pesto anolini replaced greasy food from years gone by.

Hastening through dinner, my spirits soared as I made it to Gracie Abrams’s performance. She remarked on the birthdays within the audience, igniting a realization — perhaps I was at this festival to escape the reality of lacking friends to throw a party for me. Despite the crowd, moments of loneliness lingered. Observing a mother with her daughters singing in harmony reminded me of societal expectations at 33. Yet, I remembered the other solo attendees — I didn’t label them as losers; why should I label myself that way?

As the skies darkened and the thunder rolled in, the atmosphere felt electric and aptly aligned with Abrams’s heartfelt performance. The show paused due to the storm, forcing me under a tent, squished against noisy partygoers. Regretting my rush for dinner, I opted to retreat to my hotel, opting for the indulgent choice of desserts — a pistachio Paris-Brest and cherry olive oil meringue — cozily savored in bed. The freedom of solo attendance meant I could prioritize my needs over the festival’s expectations.

After a night full of introspection, the next day brought a poignant reminder courtesy of Matt Shultz from Cage The Elephant. His unrestrained dance moves and heartfelt invitation for friendship resonated deeply as he expressed our collective vulnerabilities. During “Cigarette Daydreams,” the audience lit up with phones, transforming a tool for disconnection into a symbol of unity. Music festivals might not guarantee friendships, but they often provide a sense of belonging — a reminder that a shared passion unites us all.

As my heart swelled with anticipation for Olivia Rodrigo, I may have missed the unspoken dress code of plaid skirts and fishnets, but singing along to “Vampire” brought back youthful exhilaration. Observing Rodrigo’s evolution on stage, from polished to casual, mirrored the audience’s journey from exuberance to fatigue on the final night of Osheaga. Listening to her sing, “I know my age and I act like it,” my physical discomfort caught my attention. Acknowledging my body’s signals led me to depart from the after-party, a sign of maturity I embraced.

This newfound self-awareness became more apparent with each passing moment at the festival. I bypassed the overwhelming exhaustion my younger self would have ignored and opted for an additional few days in a vintage-inspired museum hotel in Montreal’s historic Old Port. A leisurely stroll for Fairmount bagels and a gentle ascent on Mount Royal made me feel grounded. As the haunting echoes of nostalgia dissipated, I found empowerment rather than longing. My youthful insecurities linger, but they no longer hinder my happiness, proving age truly brings wisdom.