There is a period of coming down after a big performance; it is a time of exhaustion and reflection after a whirlwind of exhilaration and adrenaline. It is a thoughtful and hopeful time and I love it. It is a dangerous and depressing time and I hate it.
I brought my idea for a show to life. I successfully opened the event (my first ever “opening” slot) and set the tone for the other acts to follow. A total stranger came up to me at intermission to compliment my choice of music and my general concept … my boldness, the delicious shock value. All of this … and I am vaguely disappointed. I missed the one little marker I had hoped I could hit:
The best dancing to date in my avocational career.
I gave my audience what one of my late grandmothers would call “personality plus” – stage presence extraordinaire. I served up a heaping plateful of theatrical belly dance with a Jello mold and possibly a Mint Julep waiting in the wings. But I could not offer a personal best. My improvisational moves were just fine, but I poured all of my energy out into the room and had none within me for control. I set the mood, but not the bar. My secret dream of getting out on that stage and revealing that – unbeknownst to Them, I had become a truly incredible dancer never happened. I hadn’t known that my dream was so important to me … until it didn’t come true.
I am a visionary and one helluva tight organizer and this was revealed well enough. I am irritated with myself that it doesn’t seem to matter. There are no easy answers right now. They may come … and they may not. But I will go forward with new schemes and dreams however unresolved I am about the old ones.
At the end of the day, I am nothing if not hardcore.
