Curtain Call
Last night I performed in a dance show. From 9 am until 1 in the morning, I strutted my heels through a dream world of rhinestone costumes, bright lights, false lashes, and applause.
Today I’m thoroughly exhausted.
The post-show comedown is in a league of its own. Not only is show day physically taxing - my whole body feels like a bruise - but the aftermath of a performance is emotional. Bearing yourself to an audience is draining. Heart open, chin up, you beg the crowd to feed from your energy.
The more they respond, the more you give. By the end, they leave entertained, and you leave with a gash down to your core. Everything feels tender, loved, and exposed.
Me gushing in the cast group chat today
While I rest and recoup, I’m aware of a unique fatigue I’ve only found in performance. There’s a spiritual release found in leaving it all on the stage. I no longer need to remember choreography or keep my costumes organized. The lights have gone out, the speakers cut, and there is a blissful quiet.
That type of release isn’t something I feel anywhere else.
Writing, for example, is never finished. Words caulk the crevices of my brain, and I have to purge my thoughts every few days, less my whole head becomes caked over with gunk. My work is a passion defined by maintenance.
Similarly, there is a never-ending build-up of things. Chores, emails, catch-ups, important dates…. even the ones that bring me joy come as accumulations. Add it to the calendar, tack it to a task…the pile is constantly growing. I so rarely feel like I’ve done, had, or am enough.
Performance, however, is an exercise in letting things go. You have one night only, and what’s done is done. It has to be enough because it’s all you have.
After the final curtain, we start fresh. A clean stage is a clean slate.
Spring is here and I’m exhaling - at least for a week or two. Soon the fatigue will pass, and I’ll be itching to get back to the performance high Until I’m on the stage again, enjoy a few moments from last night:
