At some point, when I look back on the year 2015, I think I'll see it as the intermission in the "play" that is my life.
It's, like, everything through the end of last year could be seen through the lens of "solitary American woman trying to enter the all-male field of English cathedral music." Even the long 30-year stretch where I ran away from that world, thinking it would be less heartbreaking just to try other, utterly different things, was still "about" it deep down. Act One of my life drew to a dramatic climax the last few years, as I found ways to reincorporate that world and some excellent singing experiences. As the curtain came down on Act One late last year, the orchestra played a rousing flourish, and I stepped off the stage.
So, here I am in my "dressing room," aware that the stage hands in black are running around, moving the props and setting up an entirely new stage scene. Some of my fellow actors will be in Act Two, while some others have already played their parts and will just watch from the sidelines. That's OK.
The temptation is so there for the writer and historian in me to look back at Act One and perseverate on it -- How did I do? What if I had done X instead of Y? Why did those characters do what they did? Why did my character have to go through so many challenges and obstacles? What was the playwright thinking, placing me in that situation? I'm exhausted. The lights are too hot. Act One ended on a high note. Can't I just stop here? Retire? Tiptoe to the back stage door and out into the street?
And yet, I can already hear the audience starting to return to their seats. My make-up and hair are being touched up, my new costume is ready to put on, and the scenery for the next Act has been put on stage. The orchestra is tuning up. There is an Act Two to this story. While I feel like I don't remember my lines, I've skimmed over them and hope that once I get on stage it will all make sense. There is a unifying thread between Acts One and Two -- they aren't two different plays -- but clearly there isn't time to focus backwards. In the short time remaining before Act Two starts, I need to look forward, remind myself of the basic outline and intentions for this next Act, and smile a little smile of satisfaction that I had the good sense (as an actor) to choose a play with an improbably "happy ending."
Intermission has gone on longer than I expected, but isn't going to last forever. In fact, they just knocked on my door to give me the "five minute" warning. Breathe. Just keep breathing, Wilson. You're about to go onstage again! You can do this!
