I'm Sorry

Yesterday I trod the boards of the Antelope Valley stage for the last time. Yesterday I said goodbye to a part of my life that has profoundly shaped me over the last 12 years.

Yesterday I cried.

It's not the first time I've cried on this journey. It's not the last time I'll cry, either. Tears seem as much a part of this journey as smiles are, though most people only see the smiles; I mostly cry alone.

Not because I'm ashamed to be seen crying or because I worry what people will think; I couldn't care less whether or not people see my crying or judge me for it. The things and people I'm crying over deserve every teardrop. It's just that right now, the moments when it hits me are solitary ones.

That'll change.

Today I said goodbye to the stage, which is important and worthy of tears. But too soon I'll say goodbye to the people I've met through the theatre—what I call my theatre family—and that's going to leave a mark. I think that the tears I cry over them will not be solitary ones.

I'm leaving people I love and who I think love me. We're all losing someone important to us. We've all got cause to grieve.

I do think, though, that in some ways it's easier for me. After all, while I'm losing people I love, it's because of a decision I made; it's the consequence of my choices. My family and theatre family and friends are losing someone they love, but they didn't do anything; this loss is being imposed on them. I, at least, inflicted my loss on myself; the catch is I'm also inflicting their loss on my loved ones. It's my doing.

I think that makes it harder for those I'm leaving than it is for me. I'm not saying it's not difficult for me—it is—I'm just saying that it's easier for me than it is for my friends and loved ones.

That realization sucked, by the way. To realize that this choice, which hurts me so much, may be hurting my friends and loved ones more...just sucked. And to realize that all of it—my pain and theirs—is my doing is just about enough to break my heart.

So let me say I'm sorry. I am sorry to inflict this on you.

I won't—I can't—take it back. I must and I want to move ahead. It feels right. It feels good.

But it hurts, too. It hurts me to be saying goodbye to you (and you know who you are), and it hurts me to know that my leaving hurts you more.

No wonder children throw tantrums when they can't have two (mutually exclusive) wishes at the same time. That's what I want. I want to have my cake and eat it, too. I want to do what's best for me and do what makes you happiest. But I can't have both.

This pain is not going away any time soon.

Swan Song

Today is bittersweet. Today I take the stage for the last time in the Antelope Valley. Today one of the most important chapters in my life to date ends. And here come the tears...

I know that in the next six weeks, these tears will flow again and again, and I don't begrudge them. Whenever something important ends, there's pain if not outright injury, and whether pain or injury, the end of something important deserves tears.

Yes, I wrote the end to all the chapters ending soon—it seems that every new beginning comes after a (happy or unhappy) ending, and I made the choices knowing full well that these would be among the consequences—but even though I'm the one ending it, I am sad. Even when it's a loss I choose, I still lose. So let the tears flow...

The chapter that ends today—the Antelope Valley Community Theatre chapter of my life—began some twelve years ago, when I auditioned for and was cast in Cedar Street Theatre's production of Damn Yankees. I played Vernon Linville, a ballplayer on the Washington Senators, and had the time of my life. In that show I met Wayne, who has become my best friend.

Twelve years later, I've acted in nearly 40 shows, directed a dozen, designed several, seen three I wrote make their way to the stage...Damn Yankees planted the seeds in me that led me to pursue teaching theatre as a career, led me to graduate studies in theatre, led to many of my finest and most precious memories and friends. That show and its aftermath transformed me; among the ways my life is marked, BDY and PDY (Before Damn Yankees and Post Damn Yankees) are important.

Twelve years later, I am finishing a run as Milt Fields in It's Only Tuesday Productions' presentation of Neil Simon's Laughter on the 23rd Floor, and that's it. Finis. The end.

I'm proud of what I've done PDY. I'm happy to have been a part of so many productions, to have contributed to the founding of It's Only Tuesday Productions, Wayne's theatre company, to have met and shared the stage with so many wonderful people. Antelope Valley community theatre has been at the heart of my life for twelve years now...

Of course there are tears.