The show on Sunday was fantastic.
The rehearsal on Saturday? Not so much.
I could ramble on and on about precisely why (the podium felt weird, reading from a binder felt wonky blather blather blather), but the only important point is I left the rehearsal wishing I could back out.
I felt panicked in a way which Id never felt before.
I love getting up in front of people.
I’m a performer at heart.
I longed to feign illness.
Not only was the Listen to your mother show a departure from my comfort zone—-it was a tribute to the Tornado.
I wanted, more than practically anything before, it to go flawlessly because it was essentially an act of love.
For her.
And after Saturday morning I was a frazzled mess.
I spent Sunday morning reading and rereading my essay.
In front of the mirror. At the breakfast table. Attempting from memory in the shower. Alone in my bedroom.
Over and over and over.
Mid oneoftheovers I heard a timid knock at the door & the Tornado came into the room.
“Mama,” she said with the confidence of one who has done myriad presentations. “When youre reading just pretend it is only Dada and me in the audience.”
And, as trite as it sounds, I immediately knew it would all be ok.
Id stammer. Or I wouldnt.
Id get tripped up. Or Id read it just fine.
I’d not make it through because I’d be sobbing too hard. I’d appear detached because I was working *so* hard not to cry.
I knew no matter how I did—-it would be perfect enough.
After the show was over (when the video is youtube‘d you can see how it all went down) we went out to dinner as a family.
“I knew you could do it, Mama.“ The Tornado told me in her most serious of tones. “Good job. Now you know it, too.”
Today begins month number five of striving to live my priorities.
I think it’s a toss up between when Ive learned more about life and about myself: the past 42.75 years or the past five months.
I cant wait to see what the rest of 2012 has in store.
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