When I was only 8 years old, I experienced something incredible. I was in my first play. (Not counting the random skits put on to entertain family.)
Over the course of two summer weeks, I had lessons in dance, drama, and voice at a local civic center, all culminating in a mostly-kids production of The Hobbit.
Not gonna lie, I kinda rocked the goblin look, don’t you think?
(Gotta love the orange circles around my eyes. Note to self: add that to your makeup routine. Great way to draw attention to your eyes.)
Yep, I was a fantastic goblin. I even had speaking lines. (I’ve also had age issues ever since the adults in charge told me they would’ve made me a dwarf if I had been a little older. One of the thirteen mighty dwarves! Straight and strong and true, marching, marching on, with just one goal in view – to slay the dragon, the awful dragon Smaug! Ahem. Did I mention it was a musical?)
But even though I didn’t get to be a dwarf, it was still incredible. The lights, the excitement, the strobe-light fight scene (although a short, rope whip is rather a disadvantage in a sword fight), the fog-machine smoke, the hushed and sacred backstage.
It was intoxicating. I’ve loved acting ever since, and I think about how much I miss it at least once a week. There’s something magical about being on that stage, knowing an audience you can hardly see is watching your every move. To know there are no second takes. To step into a character and breathe life into him/her. It’s the purest form of magic.
Tomorrow, I get to be one of those shadowy outlines in the audience in the place where theatre lives: Broadway.
That’s right, I’m going to a Broadway show. Newsies, to be exact. It’s the second part of my birthday fabulousness. My husband and I are hopping on a train to NYC tomorrow and catching the show that night.
I can’t wait to breathe in the magic.
But before then, I have to figure out what shoes to wear. So if you need me, I’ll be buried in my closet…