Love, love, love. It's the most powerful emotion. It's the shining star of the list of human qualities. Love cures, has the capacity to change perceptions and open the world up ever more so. How often I forget that?
After my accident, I was really bitter. "Why me?" seemed to be the resounding mantra that based my ideology. I was especially angry with my family. They weren't there for me, I'd whine internally. Never once did I share this sentiment. I horded it like a possessive lover. This all-consuming venom would erode every valuable relationship I'd ever treasured, and left me bereft on my own island of isolation, depression and castigation.
Shortly after recovering from a pain-killer dependancy after my accident, the rage had subsided, and I trudged the road to happy destiny. I cleaned house, and shone a bright light on my own limitations, which made it easier to detach from my resentments. After weeks of inner work, I realized my misery was often of my own making. My pride kept most people at a distance. My rage was a luxury I could not afford.
I had a show last night. It was important, in my mind, because it was the same booker who had extended an offer to me to perform many times before, and I was unable to bring the audience required*. I spent weeks promoting this show. Even going as far as going to other people's performances in exchange for support for mine. The juggernaught of pride was the thing that stopped me from ever telling the truth before. "I need you to come because I've failed every time I've attempted to do this before." So simple, yet so impossible to say previously.
I reached out to my family. I spoke with my dad and reminded him that he had NEVER seen me perform. That seemed incredible to me. I've been doing this most of my life, and unless I was on t.v. or in a movie, he had never gone out to see me in live theater. Actually, my parents had not seen me performing stand-up. I've really only committed to it for 3 months, but still.
It was close to curtain. I was ready to begin. There, like a twilight or dream, appeared my family. My dad, dressed in an ill-fitting turquiose stripped polo shirt, appeared just behind my sisters. I felt like I wanted to cry. They drove 1 1/2 hours to see me. I put on the best show of my life.
Funny, isn't it? You can have the SAME material, say the SAME things, night after night, but it is the night when your podium is made with purpose, your stage built on a foundation of love, that you are able to soar. When diving off that cliff, love gives you the wings that helps you to soar.
I spoke with a family member who told me that on their 1 1/2 ride back, they all sung my praises. One said that I made them want to pursue their dreams. My dad, perpetual critic that he is, said that I was the second best. No small feat, considering that my comedy IDOL was the headliner. Pretty impressive that I can go head to head with a 8 year pro. Well, I won't get ahead of myself, but that's what love does, I guess. Give you a really inflated sense of self.
"I'm the shiznick, biotch!"
* in case you didn't know, most of the mainstream clubs require talent to bring an audience to their club, in exchange for stage time