Storms

You never stand under a tree when there’s a storm coming

You run for cover, run home to a warm cup of coffee

You don’t stand around, waiting for the storm to hit, enthralled by it’s whirling, swirling gusts of wind

Pushing you around, the rain and thunder engulfing you till you’re the only one you know exists because the rain is hiding you from view

It’s only when the storm passes and you walk home, sodden, squelching water at every step, ears still echoing from the wind and thunder that you look back and realise that you’re storm-washed and storm-drenched and you’ll never be that person again

You marvel at other people standing around marvelling at your ridiculous choice or bad luck to be caught in a massive thunder-lightning-pouring-rain-storm

Because they, who ran away, safe at home, doing the right thing would never know the delight of being alone out there and feeling all the dirt and grime be replaced by a light-headed, freshly-washed fuzzy warmth that no amount of coffee can replicate

That’s what I was thinking once, as I walked up to perform

This… This is like standing outdoors in that storm.

You’re alone up here, with everyone watching you take on the forces of the stage.

It’s lights, sound, action as you breathe in deep, it’s just you and your words and your thoughts as you keep time

As you keep count

As you keep pace

As you keep track of the words and the thoughts…

As you perform

It’s a temporal, beautiful, nerve-wracking ordeal

It’s stress like no other, it’s love like no other, it’s a high like no other

And it’s something people might scoff at you for, they’ll tell you that you’re wasting time;

That you’re betting on a losing horse

That you’re heading for a fall.

They’ll tell you that you have priorities,

You have responsibilities,

You have duties,

You have families… But you run out into the storm anyway

Because when you step off that stage, aware of every squelching step away from the spotlight,

You know that the person who stepped up to take on the stage is not the same as the person who walks away.

You feel that light-headed, freshly-washed fuzzy warmth that only comes when you’ve faced up to a storm.