We rode among the masses of sequined jumpsuits and fringed cowgirl hats, ascending multiple escalators to the peak of the stadium. The sky greeted us with breathtaking shades of purple and gold, a Bob Ross painting sprung to life.

Welcome, the sky said. You are in the 300s. You are home.

We stepped off at the top into a wonderland of convenience. Amenities, I tell you with a chef's kiss. Multiple cashiers stood poised to serve sizzling wings and tacos, to bestow frosty beers and Diet Cokes like the flowing rivers of Eden. The bathrooms and merchandise tent had nearly no lines. Finally, we registered the most coveted prize in this summer of record heat: a breeze. The kind of breeze only enjoyed when your seats are practically in midair.

My friend and I had arrived at Beyonce's recent Tampa concert at Raymond James Stadium, finding our seats in what are commonly referred to as "the nosebleeds." Section 309, row R, seats 4 and 5, to be exact. They were the cheapest seats we could find for the Renaissance World Tour, and to be clear, they weren't cheap. They were cheap-er.

I almost didn't go at all, not because I don't think Beyonce is living, breathing American royalty, but because I had already opted to attend a 2023 show for another living, breathing American royal. Yes, Taylor Swift. That concert just about cost me a cool second mortgage, and two stadium tours seemed to be pushing it.

But a month out from Bey's visit, there were still an improbable handful of seats left. As noted Beyonce fan Franklin D. Roosevelt once said, happiness lies in the joy of achievement and the thrill of creative effort. We decided to go but strive to be economical. Just get in the building, dispense with expectations and dance our stupid butts off while perhaps getting altitude sickness.

Why did a sensible approach feel almost radical in this era of universal ticketing anguish? It certainly wasn't the first time I've settled for back rows over the years. Fans will always want to be as close to their heroes as possible, but it used to be enough to just get in the door.

The quest for bigger, better and closer does feel, at least to me, like it has intensified along with our modern, performative natures. Beyonce is not going to call out any handmade posters from the 300 sections, not make eye contact as we film her for TikTok, not function as a vehicle to inform others how close to greatness we really were.

To be fair, attempting to get any seats, let alone "good seats," has become a blood sport. You can read a number of analyses about supply, demand, scalpers and Ticketmaster's "dynamic" algorithmic pricing models, factors that have launched certain tickets for even working-class hero Bruce Springsteen over $5,000.

For Swift's show in the same stadium, two friends and I all tried to get tickets at the same time. Only one of us got lucky, finding open seats on the floor. It's hard to think through decisions when a clock is counting down, to remember your intended budget, to pass up something everyone else wants. And the floor sounded thrilling.

I don't regret our Swift seats. That would be blasphemy. I will never forget being so near to her twirling gowns and lyrical lessons as long as I live. However, as someone topping out at 5 feet tall on the best day, I stared at a lot of sweaty backs when I only wanted to see my girl in a bedazzled leotard. Also: On the floor area, we used portable toilets. Raymond James Stadium is normally a football field, after all. Real life always cracks through fantasy's luster.

In that spirit, the 300s were not perfect, either. Larger-than-life Beyonce was but a tiny glittering speck. The tacos and beer will still send a person into debt on the upper decks. And our photos and videos look kind of hazy and blown out, like we took them with a Kodak FunSaver in 2003. But these aesthetic failures were also a good reminder to dispense with distractions, absorb the sights, the sounds, the smells... OK, maybe not the smells. It was still very hot.

I guess what I'm saying is, maybe the magic of lower expectations lies not just in concert tickets. The nosebleeds of life offer sweet surprises, and I was glad for the reminder that unexpected perks come with loosening up.

Maybe it's taking a simpler vacation, wearing something old in the closet, cooking something uncomplicated, meeting a friend at Costco instead of an attractive weekend brunch. We don't necessarily need the Amalfi Coast, you know? We need an iced shaken espresso and a lap at Target. We need a night of incredible music, a little invigorating air movement and a clean line to a toilet with plumbing. And that's more than enough.

Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on Twitter or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

Photo credit: Garth Manthe at Unsplash