At some point, every concertgoer laces up their boots in preparation for facing the infamous “mosh pit.” For the scarce amount of people out there who have never been exposed to a mosh pit, it is essentially the rowdiest section of a crowd where arms, fists and kicks are thrown in all directions. In the aftermath, expect blood, sweat and tears to be shed as well.
Nobody usually enjoys their first mosh pit because they lack experience. (Warning: The worst that could possibly happen is being surrounded by pre-teen fangirls who claw at anyone separating them from their favorite band member.) The nature of surviving a mosh pit is simple: when push comes to shove, reciprocate it all.
If someone gets knocked down, they have a choice—stay down or get back up. This same idea can be applied to everyday life. When we are faced with a challenge, we have the decision to give up and accept defeat or go in knowing it will be difficult, tackle it hands-on and conquer the beast.
My favorite part about the mosh pit is the unexpected kindness conveyed amidst all the chaos. The same people who want to tear their victims apart limb from limb will bend over backwards and support them in the event that they get hurt or need protection. If the pit becomes too intense, there is always the option of getting out, and people will open a path towards the nearest exit. Beyond the venue, this support system is a representation of family and friends. No matter how rough things get inside and outside of the pit, there will always be people who step up and offer a shoulder to cry on or a reassuring hug when it is needed the most. These same people also provide guidance free of charge.
In a way, going into a mosh pit is like a rite of passage. Sticking it out proves how dedicated you are to the band and, above all else, the music. Everyone is equal in the pit; there are no advantages, cheat codes or free passes. It’s one thing to stand on the outskirts and tolerate moshing but quite another to participate for the thrill of defending yourself at all costs, and in the process earning some respect.
There’s something educational about being in a crowd full of strangers at a venue for one night that completely triumphs what I am forced to learn out of a textbook in a classroom every day. The people of the pit teach me more about life in one night than my professors manage to do in one week.
Then again, maybe I am speaking total nonsense because I have been hit in the head too many times by random crowd-surfers.
sgore@theeagleonline.com
