Confessions From the Mosh Pit

Self-regulation:  some children learn it at an early age; some adults have never mastered it.  I confess when I taught pre-school, it was my number one objective.  Yes, I wanted them to learn pre-academics, but I knew that someday they would most likely know all the letters of the alphabet and how to count to a hundred.  Most of them would eventually learn to  identify shapes and colors, and cut paper with scissors.  So what instead was my biggest focus, and something they might not ever learn unless I taught them?
To manage their feelings.

I explained it to parents this way:  their children needed to enter public school ready to learn, and while all the academic skills would certainly help, but they also needed to know how to get along with others, how to follow a routine and directions, and how to problem solve.

Without these skills, school and life can be much more difficult.  Most felons?  Probably not the best with self-control.

If at school, you become overwrought with fury and sock it to the person next to you, learning comes to an immediate halt, and consequences aren't far off...more time away from learning.

The adult's question is always "why?"  Why did Tommy hit Sally?  It does no good to ask Tommy, of course- Tommy may or may not even know.  It does help to ask the question to ourselves, and watch Tommy a little closer next time to see what, if anything, prompted his action, and what gain he was able to derive from it.

All of this well-intended behavior analysis aside, last Friday night, I discovered that there is still this humble but undeniable truth:  it just feels good.

Doesn't it?  Have you ever just wanted to give someone a good shove or a light slap?
The reason we don't is because it's not acceptable behavior, and there are consequences for those who cannot follow these basic social norms.  Most of us enjoy our freedom too much to risk it for the satisfaction of beating someone senseless.  (Well, that, and most of us developed some self-control at some point in our formative years).

So, what if you remove those expectations?  What if you put a few hundred people, with their various rages and angsts, inside a dwelling and tell them it's perfectly okay- even encouraged- to push and shove?

Buddy, sign me up.
Do you hear me?  I stood there the other night at the concert of my favorite band watching the crowd begin to move back and forth in a light wave, and slowly realized that to the music, these people were "moshing"- deliberately pushing and slamming up against each other to demonstrate their enjoyment of the music, and perhaps to work out their anger?  The word mosh was originally an acronym for "move over shit head"- as in that obnoxious stranger in the crowd that in your line of sight and refuses to budge an inch.

Look, I had already realized I was very nearly the oldest person a this show while waiting to get in.  When an eighteen year old slip of nothing girl with a belly ring came up and asked if I'd take her and her friends picture, it was all cemented home, "Umm, excuse me, ma'am?  Would you please take our picture?"

Ouch... ma'am.  I guess my days of climbing on the speakers to see the band better are over.  What I wasn't too old for, however,  was to take advantage of the new rules of etiquette.

I looked around at all the sweat streaked faces- some with smeared makeup, some with piercings, and saw in my mind some people I'd like to have a good go at:  the insurance lady, a few of Battle Creek Police Department's finest, the rescue workers, and none other than the driver herself.  To the angry music, I gave a satisfying yell, and pushed with all one hundred and twelve pounds of me.  I really put my back into it, and you know what?  It felt mighty fine.

I was lost in the satisfying meaty feel of pushing against someone else's flesh in an effort to knock them off balance, if not completely over,  perhaps picturing her father's face when he showed us his back for the hundredth time, when my husband caught up to me.  I was just considering climbing into some stranger's hands for a little crowd surfing when he pulled me back, shaking his head with a grin.

Maybe he was right.  I was wearing glasses that night.

But the next mosh pit?  Count me in.