I’m a Deadhead. The Grateful Dead’s music is the soundtrack to my life, their artwork adorns my cubicle and apartment walls, and they are my favorite band, head-and-shoulders above any other artist I’ve seen or heard. I’ve hung on every note, been lost in the sonic bliss of a favorite song, sung along to every word, and ventured deeply into the psychedelic realm, joyfully dancing along the edge of insanity while peering within and discovering new parts of myself. All that separates me from many older Deadheads is that I’ve never seen the band with Jerry.

It’s clear to see how myself and many other young folks gravitated toward the Dead. Never buying into the rock music idiom that included bands like the Beatles and Led Zeppelin, I seldom sought music that was technically brilliant or overtly catchy. The first music I cut my teeth on was punk. The energy of the music was rough and tumble and it was the scraggly outlier of other, more polished rock acts. Punk and hardcore shows became meeting places for like-minded misfits. But then  a very cool high school teacher burned me a disc of essential live Dead after I played Sublime’s reggae version of “Scarlet Begonias” after class. He told me all about them and their culture, and shared many of his experiences from the road, parking lots and shows. Like any brilliant work, it took very devoted studying to fully appreciate the atypical polyrhythms and teetering loop-de-loops of the Dead’s compositions; the robust whirlwinds, vast terrains, and celestial imagery of the their songs. The music felt liquid, and the more it seeped into the vast expanses of my mind and heart, the more it felt like this music was a part of me and always had been. This unearthing coincided with puberty and other nascent aspects of my teenage self.

The next part of most “How I Became A Deadhead” stories go something like, “Then I saw the boys for the first time in Hartford ’84 and had my mind blown on acid and did the whole rest of the tour.” While I missed the real deal, I connected with the beauty of the Dead’s music and the culture surrounding it in other, untold ways. As Jerry’s influence has disseminated so far and wide, my ushering into the scene was a scattered happening through countless concert and festival experiences. Notable events include teenage forays to Gathering of the Vibes, a very psychedelic trip to New York City to see STS9, ditching the prom to go see Dark Star Orchestra at Princeton University (where DSO opted to recreate a Dead show that my uncle attended), a road trip to see Phil Lesh and Friends at Penn’s Landing the day after high school graduation, the ‘Deadheads for Obama’ show at Penn State, and the ensuing 2009 tour. I find the Grateful Dead’s warm vibe in new, unexpected places all the time, like when I hear vendors playing Dead at a primarily EDM festival, or notice a bartender at an after-hours Brooklyn warehouse party rocking a Steal Your Face patch, deep house blaring. Jerry lives in every blade of grass, every ray of sunshine, and every drop of dew that glistens on the face of a newborn doe. Much like my Jerry-time Deadhead counterparts, I’ve been freaked out by a freaky “Dark Star,” had a “Terrapin Station” bring order and warmth to a chaotic trip, and even told an old girlfriend once that yes, we could all see the Steal Your Face in the moon too.

Far from the only one, an entire generation has embraced this music and become the first wave of post-Jerry Heads. While it is impossible to quantify the Dead’s influence, their level of cultural prominence today offers plenty of fodder for younger fans of the band. We get to see Phil and Friends play every regularly at Terrapin Crossroads. We find hints of the Grateful Dead in Ryan Adams, My Morning Jacket, Phish, and Game Of Thrones. Modern indie rock luminaries are paying homage to the Dead via The National’s Day of the Dead record. New literature on the band seems to be published every year. We hear “Truckin” at coffee shops and we wear Jerry Garcia ties to weddings. We bid farewell at Soldier Field last year, while we are getting tickets in order for Dead & Company this year. I see versions of my teenage self at shows, who never graced the planet while Jerry Garcia was alive, and we are both singing along every word. There are people who love the Grateful Dead who don’t even know it yet, and whether we saw the band with Jerry or not doesn’t matter. This music will continue to weave its eternal thread through the deepest reaches of consciousness and beyond.