Filed Under: Paranoia in Motion
You took an edible at noon. It’s 3:07. Trombone Shorty just walked onstage, and the soundcheck alone has you convinced you’re floating six feet above the grass. You’re surrounded by 10,000 people, most of whom look like they’re melting. Your hands feel like you borrowed them. Someone nearby is eating a funnel cake, and the smell is making you think about your childhood, your ex, and mortality all at once.
You are not okay.
Welcome to music festival season. Where weed meets weather, and edibles turn from mellow companions into public crucibles. This guide is for anyone who has ever dosed too hard in the middle of a crowd and still had to pretend they were fine.
We’ve been there. We survived. Mostly. Here’s how.
Start Low, Go Slow. Seriously.
Yes, this has been printed on labels, tweeted by stoner brands, and yelled across state lines by every experienced cannabis user alive. And yet.
Someone always thinks today is the day they can handle the full 50 milligrams. Spoiler alert. It’s not.
Festivals are long. They are hot. They are overstimulating by design. You are already consuming music, sun, body heat, bad decisions, and possibly a margarita in a commemorative cup. You do not need to add “accidental ego death” to that list.
Start with 5 milligrams. Wait at least an hour. Hydrate. Repeat only if you still remember your own name and can identify at least one band on the lineup. This is not the time to test your tolerance. This is the time to coast.
Don’t Lose Track of the Bathroom
This seems basic. Until it’s not. Until you’ve been wandering for twenty minutes through what feels like an infinite landscape of food trucks and shirtless people with glitter on their shoulders. Until you’re so high you forget what the inside of a porta-potty even looks like and whether you’re emotionally prepared to be in one.
Find the bathroom before you peak. Even if you don’t need it yet. Especially if you don’t need it yet. Future You is going to panic if Current You did not prepare.
Know the signs. Scope the terrain. Count the stalls. Have a plan.
Hydration Is a Form of Strategy
Drinking water isn’t just about staying upright. It is about giving your body something to do while your brain is on loop. It is a small, portable form of control. And in a place where sound waves are literally vibrating your organs, control is priceless.
Also, cottonmouth is real. You do not want to be the person chewing air while trying to respond to a stranger’s question about whether this is their second encore or just a jam loop.
Bring a water bottle. Refill it often. Sip with purpose. Let your friends know where you refill so they can find you when you inevitably start sweating like you’re on trial.
Have a Code Word for Panic
Sometimes it sneaks up on you. A certain song hits wrong. The sun shifts. Someone in a banana costume makes direct eye contact. Suddenly, your brain hits the emergency brakes, and nothing feels safe.
This is where a prearranged signal saves lives. Okay, not lives. But definitely vibes.
Have a word or phrase that means, “I need to step out of this crowd right now before I melt into the grass and become part of the ecosystem.” Something simple. Something not alarming. Think “ice cream,” or “vibing sideways,” or “I need to pee,” even if you don’t. The point is to communicate urgency without scaring everyone around you.
Good festival friends respect the code.
Hold the Vibe, the Horn Section Will Catch You
There will be a moment when you want to leave. To vanish. To lie down behind a porta-potty and contemplate every decision that led you to this point. This is the edible curve. It hits just before the lift.
Trust that the music will carry you through.
Stand still. Breathe. Feel your feet. Find the baseline. Wait for the horns. When the brass kicks in, so will your rhythm. You are not dying. You are just extremely high in a field with other weirdos, and that is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
You do not need to talk. You do not need to explain. You just need to listen. And maybe dance a little.
One Time I Absolutely Failed at All of This
It was a Sunday set at Jazz Fest. Sun blazing. Band unknown. I had skipped lunch, doubled up on a 10mg “infused peach chew,” and then decided to chase it with a frozen daiquiri called “The Purple Monster.” Mistake numbers one through six.
By the second song, I was sweating through my shirt and convinced that the trumpet player had made direct psychic contact with me. My arms felt enormous. My ears were picking up conversations from three blankets away. I attempted to explain to a friend that I had lost time. Like, hours of it. He informed me it had been 11 minutes.
I staggered into a bathroom line that was somehow 40 people long and mostly barefoot. I emerged a half hour later holding a churro I didn’t remember buying. I spent the next set sitting under a tree, having a very emotional moment about saxophones and the power of forgiveness.
Did the day recover? Yes. But barely.
Would I do it again? Not without food, shade, and a lot more planning.
Crowd Logic and Stoner Brain Do Not Mix
You think you’ll be fine. That you’ll follow the group. That you’ll just “meet up later.”
No.
Festival crowds move like schools of fish being chased by fire. One second you’re with your friends, and the next you’re alone, texting “where are u” to a group chat that has not responded since noon.
If you’re high, this moment can feel like exile. Do not spiral. Stay put. Choose a landmark. Not a person. People move. Statues don’t. Trees don’t. The guy selling crystal necklaces might.
Let your people come to you. If they’re high too, they probably haven’t moved either. You’ll find each other eventually. The panic is temporary. The music is forever.
When to Bail
Let’s be real. Sometimes it just isn’t salvageable. The edible hit sideways. The crowd got too tight. The vibe turned weird. If your gut says go, listen.
Find a quiet spot. Use your code word. Ask a sober friend to walk you out. There is no shame in self-preservation. Better to miss a set than to melt down on a stranger’s blanket and become the cautionary tale for next year’s guide.
If you need to leave, leave. The festival will be there tomorrow. Or next year. Or never again because the lineup disappointed everyone and you knew it would.
Final Tip: Eat Something That Is Not a Gummy
Food is grounding. Real food. Salty, carby, greasy food. It gives your body something to digest that is not just anxiety and citrus-flavored THC.
Find a taco stand. Eat the fries. Get that suspicious slice of pizza. You will feel human again. Or at least like a stoned version of a human who might survive until the headliner.
You’re Gonna Be Okay
Seriously.
You might lose your balance. You might cry during a flute solo. You might have a full conversation with a dog wearing sunglasses and then realize he wasn’t wearing sunglasses at all. But you will make it. You always do.
Music will save you. Edibles might betray you. But if you pace yourself, stay hydrated, and remember that porta-potties are real, you’ll come out the other side smiling. Possibly barefoot. Definitely a little wiser.
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