Festivals & Freedom

Happy Easter, happy Sunday—hope you're getting some rest. I've spent my weekend at Bloom Festival, so today I want to talk about festivals—and why I love them.

There’s something spiritual about it. A certain feeling that hits you the moment you walk into an open space with a bunch of strangers—everyone here for one reason: to enjoy themselves. Different stages, artists, areas, snacks. Maybe even a stranger offering you tic-tacs.

It’s all about the people. Real people. Weird people. Gathered to appreciate music. To vibe.

In a world constantly fighting for our attention,

a festival feels like rebellion. 

An escape. A place to live how you want for a weekend. A soft reset in the middle of chaos.

It’s a chance for adventure—whatever that looks like to you. Hanging with friends. Going solo. Dancing. Sitting still. Writing. Napping. No one’s chasing you. No one's asking you to fit in. You’re just… you.

There’s no right way to festival. No required look. No social script. Just a field full of people who want to belong to something without losing themselves. And when the music starts—really starts—it’s like all the masks drop. No one’s posturing. No one’s pretending. You’re just there, fully there.

What I love most—apart from the music—is the energy. 

How everyone brings their own flavour. Their outfit. Their dance. Their weirdness. And somehow it all blends together. A bunch of individuals creating one shared frequency.

You see it in the little things. Compliments passed between strangers. Shared rolling papers. Someone handing you a bottle of water when you didn’t ask. A small glance that says “I see you.”

At this festival, I stumbled across a tiny chai stall. A handwritten sign listed the ingredients. The last one just said: “love.” I walked up, curious, and the guy insisted I taste it first. He watched my reaction like it meant something. And it did. You could tell—this was his recipe, his pride. When I told him it was amazing, he lit up.

I went back four times. Brought friends. He remembered me. That back-and-forth, that mutual appreciation? That’s the magic.

Not just at festivals—

but in life.

And that’s the thread tying all of this together. Helping helps. Whether it’s offering someone a lighter or just making them feel seen. Those little gestures—they ripple. They make the space feel warmer. More human.

Funny thing is, I had a great time both with people and alone. That’s the beauty of it. I danced solo. I wandered. I spoke to interesting characters. Had conversations that stayed with me. Laughed with strangers I’ll probably never see again. And yet, somehow, it didn’t feel fleeting—it felt honest.

It reminded me that being alone isn’t the same as being lonely. 

And that helping doesn’t need to be loud to be felt.

And then there’s the nature. Just being outside—on the grass, under the sky, sleeping outdoors. That helps too. It’s something we don’t talk about enough. Being cut off for a weekend from concrete, traffic, screens, and noise—that's healing in itself.

I felt my body relax in ways I hadn’t felt in months. 

Just from laying on the grass. Just from breathing clean air. We’re lucky we still have a few green spaces left on this island. Places we can enjoy without worry. Places that aren’t yet another construction site. It shouldn't feel like a luxury, but it does. And maybe that’s why it feels so sacred.

The music helps. It brings you in. But the people—that’s what keeps you there. And it reminds me that even in a world that feels fragmented, we’re still wired for connection. We’re still capable of belonging.

That’s the vibe I’m always chasing.

Not the big lights.

Just the real ones.

Talk soon – matt