dreamed

I went into the living room last night to sit on our big exercise ball and bounce Grace to sleep.  I was going to put in Sleeping Beauty - we've been watching it at bedtime in chunks all week.  I decided to check what was on TV first.  PBS during pledge time often has stuff I love.  (Celtic Women, Celtic Thunder, etc..)

Last night was the 25th anniversary Les Miserables in concert.  Unfortunately on the last song.  The encore was awesome though... I wanted to cry.  I think if it hadn't been for the antidepressants, I likely would have been bawling.

Because of the story?  The music? Partially.

Mis is a reminder to me.  Of the passionate dreams I had once upon a time.  Of being carried away by the music in a way I seldom get to experience these days.  

Performing has always been a catharsis for me- a way of expressing myself and pouring out my heart in a way writing cannot always express.  I'm generally a very shy and quiet person, eager to not give offense and unwilling to share my own hurts and anxieties.  But on stage...  on stage I can let everything show.  Performing, I have no fear.  The little bits of me in a song or a role just take over.

I'm a horrible liar- I just can't.  But I can act... Now that I consider it- how much of what I show people is an act?  So often I still feel like a child trying to muddle my way through the big world, even though I'm the mother of two and in my late thirties.

I think some parts of me will always be that teenage girl belting out "On My Own,"  closing her eyes and seeing herself onstage.  Sometimes- like last night- I miss that dream.  I wonder how I could get some measure of the dream back- make something happen.  But I know it won't- it can't.

The role I was meant for was not Eponine- but Brynn.  There is far more need for me to do the laundry than for me to sing.  Still I cannot let the dream die.