stepping out

The air is thick in here. The audience is chattering away, flipping through programs and fiddling in their bags and in their pockets. The sound rolls in a burble across the room, the acoustics of the theatre tumbling it all around expertly. It is overwhelming: the air full of sound, the mass of people, the cast of their gaze...

And then:

The house lights go down. The curtain sways softly. And I wait a beat, listening to the sounds peter out. I wait, feel that electric tingling on my skin as I'm about to step out onto the stage, as I'm about to throw myself onstage before the audience; some combination of anxiety and excitement. I feel it--in that moment, as I lift my foot and draw back the curtain to step out--the peace and confidence of it all pour through me. I feel the elation of being alive, of commanding these people's attention, of stepping out there and being vulnerable...

In that moment, I am invincible. There is no success. There is no failure. There is only the curtain in my hand, my weight shifting forward, my foot connecting with the wooden floorboards, and the darkly glowing audience before me...