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“I think I’m just curious.”

When Brad asked me how I end up coming up with such fun things to do when we are in the same city, I had to think for a second. He asked this the morning after we attended a Pink Floyd cover band concert at the historic Fox Theater in downtown Detroit, as I was describing the Formula 1 racing practice laps I had watched while eating an incredible breakfast sandwich earlier that morning. We were in Detroit for a ministry conference on Church Planting. How was it that I ended up getting a group of eight of us to one of the coolest concerts we’d ever been to and found myself watching amazing racing machines at close range on Detroit’s city streets? This was not my plan. So I said, “I think I’m just curious.”

That really is my role in many of the groups I am a part of. I do what I do. In this case, I took several walks by myself. Two mornings prior, I had to pay my parking meter at 7 a.m., but our conference began at 9. Discontent to sit in my hotel room (which, by the way, was a super cool one in the former Wurlitzer music building that I found by accident), I decided to explore Detroit as the sun rose and nobody was outside. I grabbed a coffee and started off into the misty morning. I walked around the sports venues and the old churches. After walking around Comerica Park, I headed over to the massive Fox Theater to get a picture of the sign as the sun illuminated the face of the building. I stood up on a street-side concrete planter to get the best angle and… it hit me. I wanted to see inside this impressive structure. The only way to see inside, as far as I could tell, was to attend a show. I watched the marquee until Brit Floyd on 5/29 at 8 p.m. flashed across the screen. Then I got on my phone and Googled where to get tickets and saw how ornate the interior is. My idea was to come alone after the conference, so I kept my Gametime app open to watch prices drop and headed back to my car. When I got to the conference, I decided to see if anybody else wanted to grab the row of six seats that had the lowest price. We found eight guys, so we grabbed a couple in the next row too. That’s how I did it. I walked around and became curious. I was curious if there was a way to see inside. I was curious to see if anybody else wanted to go.

I found the Formula 1 race the same way. I heard an older lady named “Mama T” talking about how she missed walking by the river downtown, so I drove downtown during our break time and walked it myself. While there, I stumbled upon the temporary race track in the middle of the city. I asked a bunch of random people with official-looking shirts where to go to see it for free in the morning and got good intel, so I grabbed my next morning’s coffee and a high-end “McGriddle” and strolled around while the cars whizzed by. This, however, I did by myself. So it wasn’t as special.

The coolest thing that happened was even more of a surprise to me, and it illustrates another layer of the 2,000 Miles to Wrigley quest. Music has a powerful impact on groups of people. This is well known. We experienced this inside the concert, of course. I actually had zero interest in seeing a Pink Floyd cover band. I am not exaggerating here. I have never intentionally listened to Pink Floyd and honestly assumed that this was going to be the dud show of the year. This is why I thought I might end up with cheap seats. I had no clue what I was about to experience. The guys I invited at first were in a similar boat — a little more aware of Pink Floyd than me, but not by much. Then Brad invited Kevin. Kevin, it turns out, is a huge fan of Pink Floyd. The moment Kevin was on the text thread, everything changed. He was using language that exhibited his knowledge of the band. You could sense the excitement in his tone. You could sense the urgency to not miss too much of the show. All of a sudden, we were a “gaggle” going to the concert with a “Floydite” who cared. This entirely changed the experience.

As we slipped out of the conference as it wrapped up, Kevin was out in front of us all and intrinsically pulled us along with him. He was speculating about the songs they would play. He had investigated the theme of the show and the album that was being remembered on its 50th anniversary. Once we arrived, he perched on the edge of his seat, singing along. He was looking for validation that we were all excited too, and we affirmed him in this, even though we knew little about the songs. I found myself bobbing my head along with the music, jamming my foot against the ground like it was a kick drum, and becoming increasingly fascinated with the visual effects. By the way, Brit Floyd is insanely good. The whole show had us mesmerized, and the execution was flawless. The Fox Theater was packed to capacity, and the attendees were passionate, singing along. Kevin would later gush that it exceeded his expectations and that they performed the album exactly as he remembered it. After the show, we found the last bar open in downtown and sat outside quizzing each other on our first, favorite, and least favorite concert experiences until 1 in the morning. I will remember this evening with these guys for the rest of my life.

On the way back, Sam, who I’ve spent time with at events before, asked me about this upcoming book project. As we discussed it, I realized that we had just had the kind of experience I hope to explore. A group of people came together around something we never would have anticipated. The bond we had before this experience is nothing like the one we have now, and it happened through collective energy. My curiosity activated the willingness to participate in Cruz, Justin, and Brad. Brad’s invitation included James and Kevin. Their excitement spilled over into the invitation to Ryan and Sam. Kevin’s passion for the band inspired us all to care more about the show and reflect on the music we love. We even got into a meaningful conversation with the dude who took our picture — so meaningful that he couldn’t seem to figure out how to illuminate us against the bright background of the theater. We decided that our silhouettes are his artistic way of capturing us that night. As the audience in the theater had become united by the music, so we had bonded deeply over this shared experience. I am convinced that friendships are born in these moments, which typically don’t happen by our own design.

Sam Zawada, my best friend, would have loved this evening. If God tuned him into what I was up to down here this evening, I know he cracked up laughing that I invited people to a Pink Floyd show. I was always the musical novice in our circles, listening to rap while Sam was listening to prog rock and jazz. This is the kind of show he would have convinced me to go to, and several of the best shows I ever attended were along with him and way out of my genre. I also bonded with Sam, when we were kids, in a similar way. One friend invited him to play basketball with our friends from school, and we forged a surprising connection that spanned over years. We didn’t plan to be best friends. In fact, I don’t know that we ever even tried to define that we were. We just kept inviting each other to stuff, and it happened. He played his role. I played mine, and many others came into our orbit along the way.

So, I hope I remain curious, and open to the experiences and friendships that might surprise me. I hope you do too.

A Surprise Gaggle of Floydites was originally published in 2,000 Miles to Wrigley on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.