Satisfyingly (Mostly) Sober Summer
Graphic by Emma Crago
This summer, riding the high of an intoxicating spring semester, I decided to take a much-needed T-break. I stopped drinking, tossed out the substances stashed beneath my childhood bed, and committed to being the designated driver for boozy high-school reunions. But, as a reward for my sober pledge, I would allow myself one reprieve: my city’s annual music festival. For the sake of anonymity, I’ll call it “Heaven”—because that’s exactly what it felt like.
I opted for just a three-day pass, convinced it would let me experience the music, the open air, and the substances without overexerting myself. Each day became its own experiment: a different mix of headliners, vibes, and highs. I chronicled the weekend through a variety of voice messages and rushed shorthand, in my Notes app, trying to answer my own high-induced philosophical questions about balancing living in the moment and preserving memories. I also interviewed the friends I had enjoyed my experience with. Some were sober, some were higher than me, and others were riding my same wavelength. By Monday, I felt like a changed person—or at least like a third grader who had just discovered the golden ratio.
Day One: Shrooms, Alcohol, and Two Unforgettable Artists
“Voice note for Indy article: cacophonous is the sound. I’m drunk. And I’m on shrooms. The shrooms are doing a lot… I’m feeling loose. In the sense that I could wobble, wobble, fall. And there are two nuns here.”
I had not planned to start the weekend with shrooms—I wanted to ease into the intoxication and stay present for Doechii’s set. But after pregaming with 99-proof shooters and Buzzballs, I let my friends convince me into microdosing half a gram. Drugs, like drinking, are best done in community. Five of us munched on fungi and chased the taste with smuggled Fireball, while others chose either not to indulge at all or to partake in different vices.
One friend had already spent three hours at Heaven without a drink or drug. “Being here sober and solo… I learned so much about myself,” she said. “The main disadvantage of being sober is [that] you get in your head a little bit more about certain things, like interacting with people. Yet everyone I talked to is so friendly, and they just want you to be yourself and they’re themselves.”
Another friend—drunk at the time of the interview but often sober at festivals—argued that clarity was the best way to appreciate the experience. “I enjoy it as the one who likes to take care of my friends and likes to be aware of things… [I’ve even] gone sober to Ushuaia in Ibiza, because you enjoy the experiences and observing interesting people and the interactions they have with others, and you actually remember those.”
Satisfied with their answers and desperately needing to pee (thanks to the never-ending porta-potty line), I steered the conversation towards a question that would keep our thoughts occupied a little longer: Is it better to remember a moment clearly, or to live inside an accentuated feeling?
We discussed our perspectives at length, struggling to reach a gratifying conclusion. It is well known that people commonly attend festivals cruising on drug-induced highs—often, the music itself is the incentive for intoxication. I was once told that coke should always be done around lasers, and that R&B is best experienced stoned. But to achieve those purportedly sensational combinations of atmosphere and internal stimulation, people often sacrifice the clarity of their recollection down the line.
An experimental scientist at heart, I decided that my weekend in Heaven would be the perfect time to conduct irrefutable research. Over the next couple of days, I would experience the festival under different conditions and document my memories, deciding whether I cherished the moments or the feelings more.
Content with my newfound resolve and swaying under the influence, I ended my voice note: “The sound is fucking cacophonous, and I’m hating it. And yet, thanks to my buzz, I might find myself to be enjoying it.”
I do not remember the rest of the night.
Day Two: Sobriety and Tyler, the Creator
Hungover and hazy on the details of Doechii and John Summit’s sets, I entered Heaven at noon the next day, dead sober. This would be, by far, my longest day at the festival. I explored Heaven’s assortment of food stalls, solo-hopping from vendor to vendor and checking back in with my friends when I was confident I could easily find them in the crowd.
I enjoyed the artists I had really wanted to hear, taking charge as I moved through the hordes of festivalgoers and keeping track of set times. I danced for my favorite DJ, went feral for Ludacris, and pushed toward the barricade to wait for Tyler, the Creator.
We made friends, ate snacks, and tried not to pee. Sober, I felt sharper—free to savor the bass rattling my bones. I was not overwhelmed, and the dopamine flowed naturally. I remembered every second.
By the time Tyler hit the stage, my friends were scattered across stages of intoxication—rolling, crossed, plastered drunk. Their energy elevated mine, but my clearest memories are my own: moshing, screaming, and recording far too many videos I will never need to rewatch, because I can still see it all in my head.
It was, by far, the best performance of the entire weekend. The music mattered more than the substances. Rather than relying on an artificial high to rock my world, I let the tones electrify me. Writing this now, I cherish every moment I can still play back lucidly.
Day Three: Molly, Alcohol (whoops), and Hozier
On the final day, I popped my metaphorical molly cherry—drunk by the time it hit, surrounded by lifelong friends, and taking every necessary precaution to stay safe. I was joined by a friend on my journey, and the rest of the group was well aware of how we had been having fun that day.
When I peaked, the world turned luminescent. Time blurred and played tricks on me. The quality of my fingernails dictated the hour, strangers glitched like cartoon characters, and the lights bursting from my eyelids felt kaleidoscopic while my skin smoothed. I lay in the grass for what felt like hours, and when I awoke, I realized Glass Animals was still playing the same song. I do not actually know how I spent the rest of their set. I think I took a bathroom break, grabbed some water, and rejoined the dancing with my friends. A week later, hearing their music still transports me viscerally back to that dreamscape. I do not expect that to change. I cannot play Glass Animals when I drive anymore.
After they finished, I followed my friends to an EDM set. I remember none of it. There are, however, plenty of pictures of me at that performance.
My memory semi-revived itself. My body remembered even when my brain didn’t—I screamed, ran barefoot in circles, did burpees, high-fived strangers, and wriggled through the crowd only to return sprinting to my friends. At this point in the night, after I’d spent hours talking non-stop at my friends, (rather than with my friends), I had finally unlocked a new skill: speaking to strangers. This was a good thing, because I was bursting with love to share.
Overwhelmed, I grabbed my friend’s phone and recorded a few voice memos while Hozier played in the background. “I feel really free to experience music in a way I’ve never experienced music before.” And I did. I can still feel the joy, love, and gratitude that pulsed through me. I praised music, Hozier’s voice, my friends, and the crowd. My senses were so heightened that everything that brushed against me carried an extreme, almost electric quality. It was perfect.
But when I think back, I don’t remember Hozier’s songs. What remains is pure feeling, not detail. My friend’s joke about how elated I looked while conversing with a stranger, but I can’t remember a single thing I said—only the fact that I felt fulfilled by whatever ideas and emotions were exchanged.
After Heaven
Looking back, Day Three was by far the most euphoric. But Day Two, the sober day, gave me the memories that I cherish most. I still can’t answer my question—moments versus feelings—a strong conclusion eludes me. The two experiences aren’t really comparable, but I do think intentionality matters the most. Standing sober in a writhing crowd, but wishing you were drunk, can taint a crystal clear memory. Yet being plastered and praying that you could lock in enough to remember the details of your favorite performance also totally harshes the vibe.
I still do not know a lot, but here is what I do: music can be magical under any condition. Do not let the stigmatization of sobriety at festivals stop you from appreciating the atmosphere with a clear head. Sometimes a single perfectly coherent memory is worth more than the highest high. Other times, take the opportunity to enjoy your friends and the love of strangers while doped. Get caught up in the blur. Take risks, and let them pay out.
Mix it up and, as always, stay safe.
Again, for legal reasons, everything written by Lady Guinevere is always an entirely fictitious account, and the anonymous author has never consumed illicit substances.