Yesterday, I went to the theatre. Nothing fancy, just the local amateurs' group performing “Treasure Island – the musical”. A very dear friend of mine was in the play and I mainly went to see her. She's suffered badly with depression the past few years, and its impact on her life has been for the most part devastating. It's a recent and ongoing process for her to reclaim what was lost. But I'm proud and grateful to see that she is indeed doing it.
Seeing her on stage, back on form, … as confident and vibrant as I have ever seen her… it was a brilliant feeling. I couldn't stop smiling. I knew all too well what it meant to her. It made me think of all the times she and I worked on the same plays…. which again led me to remember other things…
I sat there in the dark, remembering the years I'd lived and breathed for such productions. The endless hours I'd spent with friends, building and decorating countless set pieces till the wee hours of the morning while singing along (read: bawling at the top our lungs) to old Broadway classics .
I remembered milling around during dress rehersals with that definite “we'll never make it” void stirring in the belly… and Opening Nights where somehow magically everything still in fact came together and worked out perfectly. And I realized just how much I missed it.
I left the theatre years back. It wasn't a pretty parting. In fact, it was anything but. The reason doesn't matter, save to say that it was and has been significant enough that I have never gone back. And that I have refused even the slightest suggestion that I might. I don't know that my view on that has changed… but I do know that I'm coming to forgive and relinquish the past to being just that. The past.
I'm remembering the good that theatre brought me… and that it continues to bring to my friend. And I am grateful for it.