My facebook profile picture is a still from ISU's production of Rock 'n' Roll.
I look at it and have to look away immediately.
1) I cannot fathom how much larger my waistline has gotten in only three months, and
2) sadness crashes into my sternum like a wrecking ball every time I think back to those happiest moments of my life.
How does this make sense?
The joy, the fulfillment, that pain, the beauty, the struggle of that show- it was palpable. It was tangible. It still is. I don't know why- I don't think any of us that were a part of it understood what was happening to us- but even up there on that stage, I could feel it slipping away from my grasp- the purity and meaningfulness of what was happening.
Please understand that I don't mean anything as far as the performance was concerned. Think what you will about the final product- that's your right, and I wholeheartedly encourage it- but the experience, for me, was so life-alteringly beautiful that I weep like a two-year-old denied his post-dinner ice cream every time I hear U2 play that damn song over the speakers at CVS.
But that's the problem. It was life-altering.
I'm still living my life. And it's been altered. But I don't know how to let that change manifest itself.
I spoke to Jake the day after the show closed. Over breakfast, I said to him, "I can't live a life that's not beautiful anymore. I can't spend nine hours a day on the couch. I need to live a beautiful life."
And I meant it. The issue I've found is that it's extremely hard to live beautifully when you're clocking in 40+ hours a week and worrying about your bad credit score.
I'm here. I made it to Chicago. I've been on a few auditions. I've been blessed enough to have been given a beautiful project to work on with a dear friend. What I'm terrified of is that I'll spend the rest of my life looking for what I had for that brief moment.
Go ahead. Say it. Tell me I just have to go for the dream. Tell me I have to audition like it's my job. Tell me we all have to start somewhere.
I know. You're right. I know.
But, please, dearly beloved, tell me how to do it when I don't have the energy to walk back from the El.