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I'm a homebody. I mean a HOMEbody. In 2006, when I wondered if I was home enough to care for a dog (I had wanted one badly for a number of years), I kept track of how many nights I was home and how much I was gone on the weekends. The results: most nights & rarely. So between being a homebody and a recovering co-dependent, workaholic who is still exploring healthy boundaries and the practice of putting on my own oxygen mask before assisting others, I find myself saying no to a number of offers to see plays, have dinner out meet in "the city."
I seek balance between spending time with friends I don't see often enough and roaming the streets of our little Sunnyside, Queens with Madge (the dog) germinating writing ideas while taking photos of the beautifully-strange to post on Instagram.
And then there's the time-consuming reality of actually doing the writing alongside developing a yoga practice, getting to the gym, cleaning, working, cooking, staying on budget, and Game of Thrones. This might explain why I avoid what are, no question, amazing offers of fun-city-life. But on Thursday, I said, "Yes!"
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| *Seriously, yes, it's called that on my ticket, see... |
Actually I texted, "Yes. When?" A flat (text-wise) response to a friend's message: "My Colorado friend just offered me an extra ticket to see Violet on Broadway. I'd love you to meet. Can you come??? Say yes." But I was working under deadline when her text came in, so Yes. When? was the best I could get out. For some reason I felt happily compelled to accept, and so I did. Glenn graciously offered to walk Madge for me that night, so I could stay in the city (and go buy a pair of new shoes since I felt cloddish in my comfortable-I-have-a-blister-
From the moment I took my seat, saw the stage and read a quote about the show, "It's about the journeys you take to discover who you are," I was all-in.
It is a beautiful show** about a young white woman with a disfiguring facial scar (instead of seeing through makeup, we see through Sutton Foster's* interpretation of her character) who takes a trip to see a televangelist healer she is convinced will make her pretty; along the way she encounters people who struggle with their own scars, including a young black soldier (Joshua Henry) whose friendship stirs up some conflict along the southern route of this 1964 bus ride.
The music moved me with its simple story-telling, soaring energy, and tender grief. About 3/4 of the way through the show, I realized I was holding my shoulders up near my ears, and my muscles were tight across my back and chest. It occurred to me that I was holding myself in; I imagined if I was alone in the theater, how would I be responding? I realized I would be crying. So, I relaxed and just let it out. It felt good to connect with the show and myself, and, as it turns out, others in the audience who were also experiencing their own mini-journeys, making their own connections. Like Joshua Henry's character, Flick, sang so gorgeously-melty and strong, "You've got to give it room and let it sing!"
Clips of some of the songs in Violet: http://www.roundabouttheatre.
Thursday morning, I was sitting in my office wearing garden clogs, trying to finish an overload of work before heading home to share a great dinner with a wonderful brother; Thursday night, I was sitting next to a friend, wearing my new silver shoes, letting my own scars rise to the surface, not to be healed away but to be seen for what they are: strangely-beautiful evidence of life.
**Links for more on theaters, Violet, and Sutton Foster:
Short videos (5ish minutes) on Broadway theater, including the American Airlines Theater (previously the Selwyn): http://Spotlightonbroadway.com
Violet: http://youtu.be/_
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Okay, so it wasn't half-bad and some of you may even say it's better than what I could have written, but you would be WRONG!
Seriously, though, I always enjoy reading Faith's writing and I'm glad she was spontaneous, and did something different from her usual routine. She is BEST!
Later tators!
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