If I could
play a song for you rather than surmise a post, I would. Which song would I
play? Clair Matin by Paul JeanJean.
It’s perfectly sweet and French and summarizes exactly how I’m feeling at the
moment.
On that note
(pun intended), today I assembled my clarinet and went so far as to play it!
After nearly two months of silence, the reunion between musician and instrument
was long overdue. Yes, I played Clair
Matin, and it was as if my very self leapt out of my body and stood
directly across from me and gently reminded me of who I am.
Ladies and
Gentleman, I’m a performer. There’s no getting around it. Give me an audience
and I’ll give you a show. Any day, anytime. I have been performing on various
levels throughout my whole life.
The problem
is, somewhere along the way, I forgot the difference between acting/performing
at the appropriate time and acting/performing all day long, even when it wasn’t
necessary. So, a façade was created and before I knew it I was locked into this
performing contract that I know I didn’t sign.
I just
recently discovered this about myself; that I didn’t know when to perform and
when not to perform and suddenly my life came to a screeching halt. I began
questioning everything I had known. What is true about me and what is merely
the performance? Was I doing that just to maintain a good show or was I doing
that because it was genuinely me?
Amidst all
the questioning, the performer in me began to shrivel up and slowly die like a
neglected flower.
And then my counselor
asked me to think about the times in my life when I’ve felt most alive. And the answer came to me so “matter of factly”:
When I’m on the stage. Theatre. Recitals. Opportunities to be in front of
people and perform. That is when I feel most alive.
So, I pulled
my clarinet out of its case and played. And I was reminded of who I was. Who I
am.
I want to
explore this passion inside of me. This passion that has turned to embers. And
I hope, in time, the embers will turn into a fire.
I want to
perform. But more than that, I want to learn to distinguish “real life” from “performance
life.” In performance life the show must always go on. And I’ve discovered that
that statement doesn’t necessarily apply to real life. Sometimes in real life,
the puzzle pieces end up scattered in a pile of mulch and you are forced to
sort through them and determine which pieces fit your puzzle and which pieces
must to be thrown out.
