I flirted with fame

And it almost broke me

A couple of years ago, I saw an artist I really loved at the boulder gym in Berlin.

He’s a singer, song-writer, producer, DJ called Monolink. If you’re into electronic music or Burning man, you probably know who he is.

When I realized who he was, I approached him and told him I was a fan, that I’d seen him perform years ago at a small festival in the desert outside LA for the first time by accident and then later in Brooklyn on purpose, when he was much more famous. He was friendly, and later that night, I was so excited to have just seen and talked to him.

Then exactly a week later, we saw each other again at the same gym.

It seemed like serendipity.

We talked a bit while we were there, and as he was leaving, sensing there was a vibe, I made the bold move to ask for his number. And when I did, he (he not me!) suggested we hang some time.

So we did once and then twice and as this was going on, I was in the clouds with excitement.

We seemed to have a connection.

But that was only a small part of it. The best part was imagining that one day, he might invite me to stand with him on stage as he performed for thousands of people at a sick concert somewhere in Berlin or New York or at a festival in Central America or wherever it might be. A crowd of people I respected and would be looking up at me beside him the whole time.

The best part was imagining that I was good enough for him, that we were on equal standing, someone so talented and successful.

If this man is into me, I must also be that amazing too.