I didn't feel brave, or special, or even particularly unique. The month of planning that this venture required had come with an anxiety that I couldn't shake, haunting my nights and terrorizing my mornings. But once I was out there doing it, living the plans that had tortured me on paper, it felt like the answer to every one of my unasked questions.

At this point, miles and months afield from my last tour, I had more or less reconciled myself with the fact that I was once again just another face in the crowd. That, however, was challenged after my first European show - more specifically when, as I stood on barricade in Prague, Pat looked directly at me, pointed to his head and let his mouth fall agape, as if to say "Your hair!"

This was also a surprise. But so was me showing up in Prague with a fauxhawk eight months after Boston, I suppose.

When the last wave of feedback roared louder than the crowd and the show drew to a close, he walked over to the edge of the stage and mouthed, "What's your name?"

Futilely I repeated "Morgan!" at the top of my voice, only to have him come back with something like "Monet?" We somehow came to an agreement, through miming, that we'd try again at the next show.

After another failed attempt in Belgium, however, at my third show in Northern Ireland I resolved to go back to my old methods: I would make a sign. After his typical "Hi!" and "What the fuck?" greetings, I took my shot, holding up a piece of paper that read, simply, "MORGAN" in red sharpie.

"Morgan!'" he mouthed, hanging his head in either relief or embarrassment. Looking up again, he grinned. "Hi, Morgan," he said.

"Hi, Pat."

It was pivotal, at that point, to realize that even as I stood in a sea of people, somewhere I'd never been, I could find at least one friendly face. It was a sort of validation of the craziest choice in my life like I couldn't have imagined. How could I be anything but proud now, and how could I not go at it with everything I had?

And with that, there was one left to go (as far as my tour was concerned): Leeds Festival.

Even I, in my constant pre-show anxiety, could not have predicted what that was going to mean.