06/17/2026
A tale of two crowds.
We went to see Machine Gun Kelly in Scranton last weekend. And the crowd was a wall.
Let me be fair right out of the gate. The man puts on an incredible show! The lights, the sound, the energy coming off that stage. He pours his whole heart into it.
And so do I. Every room I walk into, I walk in with my whole heart out and my hands full, ready to give. He does it from the stage. I do it from the floor.
So we showed up the way we always do. Glow sticks, lollipops, water, mints, business cards. All of it free, all of it to give away.
But the crowd had other plans.
It started before the music even did. We bought fast pass and nobody could tell us where fast pass actually was. Line to line to line. Four times. Every turnaround shoved the people who'd been up front to the back and you can guess what that does to a room. Anger. Confusion. Fights breaking out around us before a single song.
I kept trying to do the thing I always do. Catch an eye. Smile. Offer a glow stick. Start the little spark that turns a crowd of strangers into a crowd of new friends.
And I got nothing back. Not cruel exactly. More like a closed door. Like we'd wandered into a party we weren't invited to and everyone could feel it.
And then it turned. I got pulled from the barricade to go up for "Bloody Valentine." They ran us backstage, then told us it was too late and literally pushed us off stage. Fighting my way back through hundreds of people, a girl accosted me. I stood in a crowd of hundreds, hands full of things to give and never felt more shut out.
And here's the thing. I have felt the exact opposite. I have stood in a crowd of thousands and felt like I was home.
The Eras Tour was the night that inspired this whole idea. Strangers traded bracelets like currency. People I'd never met hugged me like we'd known each other for years. Someone shared their water. Someone held my spot. Someone started crying and three of us who didn't know each other reached for her at the same time. The door was always open. You didn't have to earn your way in. You just had to show up.
Shaken and shoved and on the outside of something I couldn't get into, I didn't get bitter. I got clear. This is why I built Swift Steps.
Belonging is not automatic. It doesn't just happen because a bunch of people love the same thing. You have to build it on purpose. You have to decide, out loud and over and over, that the door stays open. You don't have to be sober. You don't have to be far along. You don't have to be sure of anything. You just have to come.
I built a room where the Eras Tour feeling is the rule, not the accident. Where a stranger gets a bracelet, not a wall. Where if you're getting pushed around, three people you've never met reach for you at the same time. Where compassion is the method and nobody has to prove they belong.
That crowd did me a favor. It reminded me what it feels like to be on the outside looking in. And it reminded me that I never want a single person walking into Swift Steps to feel the way I felt that night.
So if you've ever stood in a crowd and felt invisible. If you've ever wanted a room and couldn't find the door. The door is open. It has been open. It will stay open.
Just come curious.
The door's at swiftsteps.org.
Julianne Griffin
Swift Steps: the Recovery & Healing Community for Swifties