In 2018, I made the wrenching decision to move my husband, Fred, into an assisted-living facility because I could no longer care for him myself. Every day, I made the 40-minute trek from Northampton to Agawam in my new Rav 4, which I’d named Ruby Flare for her color from the shop. My new baby had satellite radio, a first for me, so I took great care in choosing my pre-sets.

E Street Radio on Sirius XM beat out top contenders like Classic Vinyl and Soul Town because of its afternoon programming of Springsteen Live. I’d been a fan of Bruce and his band for decades, ever since my older brother introduced me to “Greetings from Asbury Park” in 1973, but I’d never gone to one of his live shows.

When Springsteen fans talk about their devotion to the Boss, they often say, “You’ve got to see him live.” Many talk about his shows with the reverence of a religious awakening. My born-again moment occurred as Ruby Flare made her way one gray spring day, down a stretch of I-91 between Holyoke and Springfield. The inside of my Toyota Rav 4 felt womb-like to me, a safe place, a cocoon from the turmoil of my life as a caregiver.

Bruce introduced “The Promised Land,” then got the song started with his harmonica solo. The instrument reminded me of the ram’s horn of biblical times that called Jews together on the high holidays. Poet and prophet, Springsteen put me under his spell. Then he sang a verse that gave me an eerie sense of déjà vu, like I had written the words myself.

How could I, a woman in her 60s, identify so closely with the narrator of the song, a young man who works in his daddy’s garage? Well, chalk it up to Springsteen’s genius as a songwriter. He makes his tales of the underdog into something universal. When he got to the line about taking a knife to cut out the pain from his heart, I felt like he was singing words I had secretly etched on the windshield of Ruby Flare.

Not only had the singer read my mind, so, too, had the E Street Band. The distinctive sounds of the saxophone along with keyboards, guitar, drums and harmonica tickled my musical sweet spot. Unlike fans who go for the stripped-down Woody Guthrie vibe of albums like “Nebraska,” I favor the raucous, rollicking sounds of the E Street Band.

The third verse of “The Promised Land” sent a shiver down my spine. Its image of a storm blowing away dreams and leaving us lost and brokenhearted spoke directly to me. For months, I’d been picturing my caregiving journey as a shipwreck caused by pounding rains and piercing winds.

Then Bruce came back with his final chorus. He still believed in a promised land. My hands froze on the steering wheel. Something inside of me had changed.

I’d entered a new level of fandom. Authors Lorraine Mangione and Donna Luff speak for me in their excellent book, “Mary Climbs In: The Journeys of Bruce Springsteen’s Women Fans.”

With its title ripped from the song “Thunder Road,” the book describes how Springsteen’s female aficionados defy the stereotype of fans driven by sexual and romantic attraction. While not immune to the good looks of the singer, the women of Springsteen Nation speak more about the way the Boss makes them feel heard. He captures their experiences, hopes and dreams.

In the final chapter of “Mary Climbs In,” the authors reflect on their own connections to Bruce. Mangione writes about Bruce’s notion of the promised land. “We can reach it, at least the one here on Earth,” she writes. “But it takes grit, effort, paying a price of some sort.”

In the course of my drive to Agawam, I got a much-needed infusion of hope and understanding. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, we can get the live concert experience without ever leaving home. Sure, it we might not be the real thing, but it’s close enough for me. Our imaginations can fill in the rest.

Everyone has their own vision of the promised land. Mine features my favorite music. It’s a place where I try to live with the zest for life that Fred embodied. Yours might be something entirely different. Whatever the case, it’s waiting for you to rock like there’s no tomorrow.

Joan Axelrod-Contrada is a writer who lives in Florence and is working on a collection of essays, “Rock On: A Baby Boomer’s Playlist for Life after Loss.” Reach her at joanaxelrodcontrada@gmail.com.

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