Catharsis

It is a little obscene how much I love performing. The thrill of the applause, the fear of missing an entrance and the chance to share a little bit of truth hidden behind a plot of twists and turns that demands a dutiful suspension of disbelief is addicting. Something about it consistently causes me to agree to one too many things just so I can have 1 more minute under those hot stage lights.

Two weekends ago I gave my senior recital. Wednesday I performed in the Chamber Choir Concert. Thursday I performed in the Green Opera Performances and tonight I will perform in those Green Operas again (8 pm Stamps Auditorium in the Walgreen Drama Center if anyone is interested). While being in all of these shows is amazing and I have never regretted taking all of this on, it gets tiring. Beyond the physical exhaustion of all the rehearsals and performances augmented by late nights to finish homework, the act of performing is emotionally and mentally exhausting.

After the run of a show ends I typically send out apologies to everyone who came to it. Not for my performance or the way that the set looked or for any other reason you are probably thinking of, but because after a show when I walk out of the green room to talk to my friends and family I am out of it. After having spent 2 hours being someone else, I am not able to so quickly transition back into Alexandria – which always feels awkward. Here are people congratulating me, supporting me, and often paying money to see me perform, and all I want to do is go to bed!

Yet, this exhaustion is part of the experience of performing. I know that if I am not mentally, emotionally and physically drained by the end of the performance I was not “in it”. If I am perky and immediately transition back to Alexandria after the final curtain I know it was Alexandria up on stage – not Brooke, not Phyllis, not Grace, certainly not anyone that the audience had paid to come and see. This exhaustion is cathartic and means that on stage I was not thinking but that I was living life through the eyes of another. This is the beauty of performing, because once it stops being a “performance” it is not longer contrived but a theatrical presentation of truth.