What do I want?

I am faced with that dreaded of all days, that annual unholy-of-unholies that has me feeling trapped, sick, scared, and depressed, and forces me to contemplate the true meaning of life and sacrifice:

Yes, my birthday is nigh.

I will be twentysmufflmfnmph. A goodly number, close enough to thirty to be taken seriously, far enough from it to be taken at all. Not that I view thirty in and of itself as an ancient age, I just have to think of everything in terms of my marketability. And an aging thirty-something singer/actress/go-go dancer is far less sellable than a fresh twenty-something, unfortunately. If I already had anything of note to my credits, age would be far less important. But alas, alack, anon, I have none.

Thus, the annual celebration of the unlikely completion of yet another year in my crazy life has me, as usual, contemplating the past, analyzing the present, and agonizing about the future. Have I done everything I SHOULD have? Am I doing every thing I CAN? Will I get to everything I WANT to do?

And then, that pesky question that haunts us all pops up to display its ugly head like a plastic gopher at Chuckee Cheese's, mocking me with my inability to bonk it soundly with my padded club: What DO I want?

The truth is, I don't want what I seem to be offered in terms of musical opportunities: church gigs and chorister opportunities abound. Too bad I abhor choral music in all its secular and sacred forms. The occasional small/medium jazz gig is making an ever more regular appearance in my booking schedule, and I enjoy those shows, especially the paycheck that accompanies them, which is typically higher than the average Church gig compensation.

So I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want...

Whoops. Didn't mean to slip into an ode to the Spice Hos...

I miss rehearsal. I miss 4 grueling hours in character shoes getting blisters and bashing the director in the wings. I miss the vulnerable feeling of stepping onto an empty stage, gazing into the dark theater, unable to see the eyes that are loving you, hating you, judging you, cheering you on. I miss that floating surreal feeling after the curtain has fallen and you are amazed that you are already on the other side of opening night. I miss the moments that have directors pulling their hair out. I miss being dead tired after a long rehearsal and still finding the mental energy to hear and integrate production notes the night before a show goes up. I miss the theater and all its ugly beautiful glory.