There will be no intermission

When I was 15, my dad took me to a concert at the metro in Wrigleyville with my best friend, Amy.

We went to see the Dresden Dolls, and afterwards we got cheese fries at Wrigleyville Dogs across the street. It was back in the day of all-ages shows and smoking in bars. They played punk-cabaret and I was enraptured with the singer, Amanda Palmer, who was so raw and honest and personable.

Over the years, I have watched from a distance as she went from punk singer to piano-playing songwriter extraordinaire. She is always pushing boundaries, highly controversial, and though imperfect (who isn't?), immensely inspiring to me for her honesty and compassion.

She used to live in Regensburg, Germany, and while I was there I realized she was playing a show the same night that I had decided to take a day off, a short train ride away in Munich.

She has always cultivated a kind and generous community online, and before I even had time to make a decision about going, a fellow fan offered to host me in her home so I could go to the show and not have to worry about finding a hostel.

It turns out she is a construction site manager and bicycle tourer.

I don't believe in fate, but it was obviously fate.

So I went to see Amanda Palmer, and just like every other time I've seen her, it was an uplifting and beautiful experience. She talked about motherhood and abortion, about autonomy and responsibility, art and politics. And she played the piano.

It was a perfect show to see while bike touring. This is when I feel free and inspired to be a better person, when I am extra susceptible to such influence.

I had been sorry to miss the show when she came to Chicago, but now I know. FateRead more