My Show, Here We Go

January has been headachingly busy. I opened and closed my solo show remount. I want perfection, and that's just not fair to wish for. My final show had a bevy of technical issues, which crushed me. People loved it. They gushed, they hung out at the bar, they said, "I could barely tell," and "the important thing was--." I appreciated all of it, and based on the anonymous post-show surveys, I believe the responses were honest. But. I held Puhg close and told him I needed to cry. He said, "Okay," even though he was in the middle of sweeping the stage of debris, and took me backstage for a hug. Why was it so important? A time and money investment, uh huh, but really I believed in what I said and did, and I wanted that to be crystal. It's never going to be crystal. I'm too accomplished to ever confuse my work with magic. I'm too consistently good. It's an odd problem to have. I don't mean to brag. I don't know how else to say what I feel.

There's been such a heavy weight on me since I signed the space contracts in October, and maybe it's naive to think it would lift. It will dissolve slowly in the bleach of new projects. As people filed out of the theatre with their free vegan cake, they were joyful. I forget how infrequently adults can be joyful. And all they had to do was spend $8 and an hour in a small dark room. A white-hairs man and a woman on his arm sat in the second row. As they left he pointed proudly to his chest and said, "14 years strong vegetarian." I was sincerely happy.

I could have had more choreography. I wish I hadn't skipped that line. How did the timing work on that bit? And then I have to be understanding that good theatre gets workshops and previews, and who am I? The Queen? I googled how to deal with biffing and got an article about how to forgive one's self after a bad interview. (Ugh, you'd think I bumbled around in a potato sack the way I'm describing this experience. I watched two minutes of the recording, and it looks good. Better than it did in my brain. This is some weird massive female humility at play.) The article encouraged the downtrodden to consider what they learned. Yes, yes, I've learned.

I've learned the tiny things--always bring a flashdrive and print the full script, review the cue sheet. I've learned it's not about the number of people under a platform, it's about the sincerity with whoever is around. I've learned what holds people back. I've learned to calm down. More more more than anything I haven't learned but recognized the people who love me. My family who came and loved. My Puhg who left tulips on the counter for me after closing, who ran home for forgotten props, who set up chairs, who sat in the back corner, who tore down stage dressing and carried costume bags down the street. Everyone who came. Period. (And yes, it's hard not to feel bummed about who didn't.) But everyone who came! From the stranger who chastised me as I waved goodbye to the girl I sit-in with who saw the poster on her way home and said why not.

Kale visited Chicago for this show. I am stupid grateful for three days with an old friend. I will probably break even financially--a modern miracle as I paid everyone. I go to experience a dream of doing a scene with Cher Horowitz. I saw someone's jaw drop. I saw someone cry. I felt a calm. It's still breathing.