Finding Community Through Music: My Journey with Dead & Co.

The First Spin

My connection with the Grateful Dead began long ago, when I was shy teenage girl. My childhood bestie Lisa and her mama Michelle took me to my first show. I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t know most of the songs. The air was hazy with smoke. The energy was thick, electric. And then—I saw the spinners.

They moved like they were tethered to something cosmic. Eyes closed, arms open, twirling endlessly in devotion. I was spellbound. I remember thinking, how the fuck do they do that!?! I witnessed their freedom. It stirred something deep inside me I could not yet name.

The Summer That Shook Me

Decades later, in the summer of 2024, I found myself attending most of Dead & Co’s residency shows at the Sphere in Las Vegas. I showed up searching for that same magic I glimpsed all those years ago. And while I found moments of it—flashes of awe, ecstasy, connection—there was also unexpected turbulence.

Tensions surfaced within the community. Underneath the music and the movement, there were fractures. Conflict, judgment, and division felt deeply out of alignment with the spirit of the band. It was disorienting. I came seeking healing and wholeness, and instead I found myself navigating an undercurrent of discord.

So I did what I could. I leaned in. I talked with people. I tried to bring forward a spirit of collaboration, care, and community. There were moments where it seemed to land. Moments where something softened. But it was a lot to hold—and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to return.

A Hesitant Return

When the spring 2025 Sphere run was announced, my heart leapt—but then that old dread crept in. Could I do it again? Did I even want to?

As the shows approached I was settled in Vegas, waiting. Watching. Hoping for a shift. But as conflict began to stir again in the lead-up to the first show, I made the decision to pull back.

On Wednesday night, while the crew gathered to line up, I stayed home—sitting in the dark, meditating, reflecting. I wasn’t sure I wanted to face another season of emotional intensity. And then something unexpected happened. Lowell FaceTimed me from lineup. He’s been a grounding force in this community, though we’re very different people, we’ve found a powerful rhythm working together.

That night, he thanked me for my continued commitment to fostering grateful community. He shared that he’d made an announcement honoring my intention. The lineup had gone smoothly. His call, his words, and his steady leadership meant the world to me.

The Shift

I still wasn’t certain when I woke up Thursday morning. But my good friend Gil’s voice echoed in my head—gentle, persistent, true. And by 10 a.m., I was back. I arrived in time to reconnect with my close crew. I hugged familiar faces. I settled into the space with presence before the show began that evening.

Thursday night, the energy felt different—softer, more gracious. There was a sense of openness I hadn’t felt in a long time. My body began to relax into the music. The people around me were kind, grounded. Something was shifting.

Friday’s Reminder

By the second night, I found myself in a familiar groove. The rhythm returned. The hugs came easier. The laughter felt real. But that night brought its own reckoning. Michelle, Lisa’s mama who took me to my first show, had a health scare. It shook us to the core.

It reminded us how fragile life is. How quickly things can change. And how deeply we need each other when they do.

Saturday: The Circle Closes

And then came Saturday. That’s when my longtime friend Prism arrived.

Prism was tall with long curly gray hair. He has the energy of a musical wizard. Prism brought a quiet magic with him. I had looked forward to introducing him to the community, but I was also a tad apprehensive. What unfolded moved me beyond words—he was welcomed instantly, fully, lovingly.

Watching the people I’ve grown close to embrace him as an extension of me made something click. I realized in that moment: they see me. I belong.

The show was vibrant, alive with connection. Calm yet electric. There were still a few bumps—unpredictable moments—but the energy held. We held. And I felt something I hadn’t dared to name before: peace.

A Tribe, Found

Back at the New Year’s show in Fort Lauderdale, Lisa told me, This is your tribe Jelibean (her endearing childhood nickname for me).

I remember laughing, even resisting. I said more than once, “This is not my fucking tribe!”

But this weekend? I felt it.

By Saturday night, I looked around and knew in my bones—I am home.

A Love Letter

So here’s my love letter to this journey:

To Dead & Co., for creating sonic medicine we can dissolve into.

To the Sphere and staff for being a sacred container of light, sound, and rebirth.

To Vibee for weaving the invisible threads that made it all possible.

To the strangers who became friends.

To those who spun like prayers.

To those who stayed, who showed up, who softened.

And to my crew. They held the line with strength and grace. Their quiet loyalty kept the wheels turning.

From my heart to yours, thank you.

Because in a world that often feels too fractured to bear, we need reminders of what’s still wholesome. We need music. We need meaning. We need moments like these.

In community,

Joy