It Isn't A Regret Exactly

Last night I saw The Government Inspector at the Guthrie, a new adaptation of the 19th century Gogol comedy. The play was good, funny and light. But it made me somewhat homesick for the years I spent onstage. I miss the smell and the heaviness of stage makeup, how it erased my own face and gave me a new one. And I miss too-tight shoes and corsets and the sound of my voice and the echoes of an audience.


But more than the joys of performance and applause, I miss doing something I knew I excelled at. I've been an attorney for all of 9 months and I don't have much intention of pursuing a traditional legal practice. I haven't truly begun my career so I have no idea if I will be successful. I love to write and have written poems and stories since I was a child, but I also hate my writing 90% of the time and cannot remember the last time I finished a piece I wanted to share with anyone. Writing feels too personal, too important to be enjoyed sometimes. But acting was never like that. I always knew I was good, often excellent. I always knew I had a lovely stage voice, knew I could slip into a character with the ease of a new dress. So even when I felt ugly or sad or stupid or completely lost, I always knew that on stage I would give the impression of assurance and purpose.


I don't regret not trying harder. I flipped a coin after Peace Corps, move to New York and give acting a go (heads) or apply to law school again (tails). And when it landed heads, I flipped again. I knew I didn't want that life and the happiness I found onstage was not enough to carry me through years of waiting tables. But I do miss backstage jitters, the rush to find the lost eyeliner, the heat of the lights, the sound of the audience coughing and sighing into their seats, the momentary forgetfulness of that first damn line, the sadness of the last night's applause. I miss it all.