Here's What I Want to Remember

The bittersweet ending of a big project.

As we near the end of another production from my small but mighty theatre company, here is what I want to remember.

I want to remember the joy of watching my actors come together as an ensemble, the miracle of opening up to their characters, the discovery that comes with finding a moment, a gesture, or a sentence that brings a scene to life.

I want to remember the faces of the audience as they experience this beautiful story, the tears that spring unbidden at certain moments, the revelation that happens when the silent character finally reveals who he is. I want to savor the delight when the transformation happens and the small rural town comes alive in new ways.

I want to remember the smiles of longtime patrons as they walked into the space and experienced the stunning set design, so artfully constructed.

I want to laugh as I remember the night when the character of Percy somehow managed to catch all six bean bags thrown to her by the other actors — a feat that felt worthy of its own curtain call.

I want to appreciate the honesty and compassion of our cast as they circle up before each show and share what they are bringing into that moment. I want to revel in the sweet feeling of an enthusiastic standing ovation at the end of each performance.

I want to remember the musicians, the backstage crew, the people running lights and sound, the volunteers greeting patrons at the door, and all of the unseen hands that make theatre possible. So much of what audiences experience is built quietly and lovingly behind the scenes.

Most of all, I want to remember how enormously gratifying it is to bring a gift to our community that will stay with them long after the final bow. For all of the hard work, the stress, the endless details, and the exhaustion, that is what makes it so worth it