Yet?

I keep up a pretty remarkable pace in this life.  It's one show after another here:  shows that sometimes overlap beginning to end; shows that overlap with events; events and shows that overlap with vacation, and family happenings.  I'm living my theatre life at breakneck speed, to fit in all the shows in which I want to perform, events I want to make happen, actors and directors I want to work with, shows I want to direct and produce.

It's an exhausting existence, one that leaves me, the household, the family, in a constant state of flux and anxious anticipation.  The house revolves around my schedule of auditions, rehearsals, set-building, and performances.  I try to keep the eternal antsy-ness I feel of needing to be somewhere, needing to finish tasks, needing to Go and Do to myself, and only call on the family as needed.  Just thinking about it increases my heartbeat....

But for now, we are mostly done.  The current show will wind down this week.  It has been yet another wonderful journey of camaraderie, hard work, introspection, and joy--one of the best ever--all fodder for a blog post, but not for this one.  Maybe later.

As the to-do list for this show grows shorter, the weight on my shoulders lightens, and my breath-speed returns to normal, I think about my life, where I am now, my place in this family, in this community, in the world and I reflect.  Next?  What's next?  Or...am I ready?  I'm 53 this summer--still leaning more towards Jack Russell Terrier than Bassett Hound, however, but my  husband is retired now, and at home.  Two boys at home, still trying to find their own place.  What. Do. I. Want?

I search every corner of my brain for the laciness that comes with age.  I check the edges of my soul for the singe marks of burn-out.  I check my heart for any sign, any sign at all of unrest,  of weariness, of dissatisfaction with the current track; any sense of 'been there, done that' boredom; for a feeling that what has brought me such joy for so long is starting to become a chore....  No.  Not just yet.   Not. Yet.

A pile of books and magazines beside my bed beckon to me--something to read that is not a script.  An evening in front of the TV instead of at rehearsal.  Sewing for myself and not for an actor, and decorating ideas from Pinterest for my house and not a set.  Shimmery visions of the future. These lie ahead, down the road. 

For now, there's another show ahead--the kids this time--laughs to be had and lives to touch.  For now, auditions and costumes, a set to design, and a new to-do list to compile.  For now, it's still theatre, and not my place on the couch; for now, there's still the applause.