Sunday may have been my personal proverbial five minutes of fame. It was wonderful. It was exhilarating. It was nerve-wracking. It was addicting.
And now it is over.
I feel incomplete.
Like something is missing.
Empty.
I am Empty.
This troubles me, so I muse.
I analyze. I dig around, within
myself, to find a root. To extract
it. Completely. Like a weed, so that it will not spread. So that it will not choke-out the good that I
have planted. Nurtured, painstakingly,
until I saw the first blooms. My garden
is fragile. Temperamental. I must always keep a steady eye and ready
hand upon the first shoots of a weed.
So I dig. I think
back upon this experience. It began a
little over three months ago. February 9th,
to be exact. The moment I read the non-conspicuous
call for local writers to audition for a reading of their personal story on
motherhood. I wasn’t expecting the
invitation, which made it even more delightful; spontaneous. My response was immediate. Adrenaline rushed through my veins as I read
the words, seek, writer, audition, read at Bing Crosby Theater. The call for the second annual Listen To Your Mother Show in
Spokane, WA. Their invitation: Giving
Mother’s Day a Microphone. I wanted a
microphone! I wanted to share my
story. My life.
I emailed for an audition.
And my journey began. The
pins-and-needles. The anticipation. The highs of the yes and the thrills of a journey upon
completely uncharted territory. The
approval. The acceptance. The comradery of other women with
stories. Stories that you just don’t go
around talking about in everyday life.
Powerful stories. Soulful
stories. Stories that by being spoken aloud
bring connection in a room to otherwise total strangers.
This is when I realize, no wonder I am addicted. It wasn’t the lights, the stage, the
microphone. I was living life to its fullest for ninety minutes on Sunday. I was in a theater of nearly 200 people. Some friends and family, but mostly faces
unknown to me. And I was in the
moment. I was in the intimate secret
places of twelve women’s hearts. In
their pain, their laughter, their joys, their fears, their tears.
It was real. And I
want more.
But who wouldn’t?
This is life at its finest. Life
together. Life connected. Life intentional.
We all left the theater that night on a high. The speakers and the audience. The young and the old. The male and the female. It was truly amazing. Most of us probably had a hard time getting
to sleep that night from the raw emotions coursing through our veins. But
eventually we all did. And then we woke
up Monday morning. Life goes on. Routine kicks in. Cinderella’s ball at the stroke of
midnight.
And then it dawns on me as I write. Life goes on.
New stories are waiting to be lived.
Stories that will need to be spoken.
Stories that will need to be heard…maybe not on a microphone, but nevertheless, heard.
This is absolutely gorgeous, Carole. Thank you for sharing your heart with us and for capturing so perfectly the high and then the let down of release and moving on.
ReplyDeleteI have been feeling empty too and the way your put it is exactly right - what we had on Sunday was magical and amazing and so of course we want more more more! You, my dear, were spectacular. Bravo, hear hear, and thank you!
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