So. The show went on and now one show is over. Relief. I haven’t performed in 18 years and I forgot just how terrifying it is. And sharing deeply personal stories was more difficult than just acting.

In case you are wondering what I’m talking about, I was in this great show with six other lovely ladies and one gracious host. It was called “The Pleiades” and it was a special presentation of Boise’s “Story Story Night.” If you didn’t get a personal invitation, you weren’t alone. There must have been things I didn’t feel comfortable sharing in front of you.

So what did we discuss as a tribe? Oh, all kinds of things. Sexual assault, addiction, domestic abuse, social anxiety, mental illness, relationships between mothers and daughters and sisters, our relationships to the cosmos. And there were all these wonderful connections between strangers who became sisters.

Jodi Eichelberger did a fantastic job of narrating and tying these stories together.  I cannot thank him or the ladies I was in the show with enough.

What did I talk about? Mostly my mental maladies (surprise, surprise). I even sang a phrase from one of my favorite operas. I had a lot in common with these ladies–some of them were performers, some of them were writers, some were ex-military, all were talented and gorgeous beyond measure.

And from them, ideas for more stories abound. I already wrote of my own assault, inspired in part by two of the ladies in my star cluster. I think I might be ready to write about other experiences in more depth. Including but not limited to experiences I had in my marriage and with my own sisters.

But that will be saved for another early morning. I’m currently playing catch-up. And I think I’m singing “Send in the Clowns” for an upcoming audition. And I put an ad on Craigslist seeking a combo to back me up for singing. It’s a long shot but I’m ready to put myself out there again.

I’d be lying if I said the inspiration these ladies provided didn’t light a fire under my butt. As I narrate calls at work, I am reminded of life’s fragility. And how it can be gone in a second. And I keep thinking, you want to perform. You also want to write more. What is it that’s stopping you?

Social anxiety. Time. A million reasons. A million excuses not to do it, as plentiful as the stars. But am I really setting a good example for my daughter by being exceptionally lazy and not pursuing my dreams? Not really. So little by little, I’m going to start performing and auditioning for things. Will there be rejection? Plenty. But my eggshell ego could use a few cracks.

So as I bask in the glow of the early morning moon and starlight, I will continue to dream. I will, perhaps, change my tune from focusing on the negative so much and finally do what makes me happy.


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