It felt good to stand in the sun. The weather
was starting to warm up but the chilliness in the shadows
cast by the buildings was a reminder that it wasn’t
yet May.
The plane ride that morning had
been smooth and uneventful. It
was only as we touched down and I caught a glimpse
of the “I ♥ New York”sign that my
pulse started to race and I realized that this was
really happening. I was in New York and I was
finally going to see a Broadway show.
My two buddies and I shared a cab
ride into midtown. The
anticipation I felt and my unfamiliarity with the roads
caused me to believe that the cab driver must have
been sadistically taking some roundabout route. What
was taking so long! But then I finally
saw it –the famed skyline; the Chrysler Building;
the Empire State building - just like in all the pictures,
only more expansive, more majestic - finally real. Every
surface seemed to sparkle with the sun’s rays.
Then we were whizzing across the
bridge and we were in Manhattan. The buildings instantly got taller. Cars
and people seemed to appear out of nowhere. But
before I could take it all in, we were pulling up to
the hotel.
We tossed our bags in our room
and discussed the game plan for the day. That
afternoon we would be on our own before we met up
again that evening for
dinner and the show for which we already had tickets.
I trotted to the heart of Times
Square, straight to TKTS. I was sure that if I wasted too much time
all the shows that I wanted to see would sell out the
moment before I stepped up to the window. Some
people had brought along distractions to occupy their
time while standing in line. I needed no such
thing. My distractions were all around me: the
marquees, the traffic, Mr. Cohan’s statue, a
forty-foot Coke bottle. I might have been mistaken
for a whirling dervish as I took it all in.
It felt good to stand in the sun. After being
cooped up and sitting in planes, trains and cars all
morning, it was refreshing to enjoy the warmth and
feel the concrete beneath my feet. The line moved
slowly, but with every step I craned my neck to see
if I could glimpse the offerings on the board. What
would it be? What was I going to see?
I was finally able to get a full
view of the afternoon’s
offerings and was slightly disappointed that my top
two picks where unavailable. Both were relatively
new and were wildly popular so going in I knew that
the chances of them being on the discount board were
slim. But my third choice was there, and once
again my pulse quickened as I willed the line to move
quicker so that I wouldn’t miss out.
At last I was at the window and
I soon had my ticket in hand. This was it, just a couple of more hours. My
feet felt light as I killed time by strolling around
the theatre district. I grabbed some lunch and
tried not to flinch at the price of my burger.
Now at the theatre, I hand my ticket
to the usher and walk in. The buzz of the crowd meets my ears
and the energy and excitement fill me up. I marvel
at the intimacy of the house. I thought it
would be much bigger. I find my seat and
reverently open my Playbill. Before I’ve
barely begun to read the bios, the lights are dimming
and the audience starts to settle.
A spotlight catches the conductor,
who acknowledges the audience to a smattering of
applause and he turns
to face the orchestra. His arms are in the air
and the music begins and my body tingles. It
is almost too much to take. It’s as if
every event in my life has led me to this one moment. Then
there are lights and costumes and bodies moving around
the stage; and everything is spectacular and exciting
and exactly as it should be.
And before I can catch my breath,
it’s over
in the blink of an eye. I sit mesmerized. I
don’t want to move. I don’t want
it to end. But I’m soon gathering my things
and making my way out of the doors.
It feels good to stand in the sun. The warmth
brings me back to reality and I can reflect on all
that has just happened. I wish I could say that
right there, at that moment, that I vowed to myself
that I would some day be one of those people on that
stage. But standing mere steps from the stage
door, the reality of fulfilling that dream still seemed
oceans away.
But the one thing I did realize
was that I had to try. I had to move to New York and I had to attempt
to be a professional actor. There was a very
good chance that nothing would ever come of it, but
despite the odds I wanted to be in the game. That
much I knew.
I did move to NYC. And I did get to live my
dream. And on those days when it starts to become
routine or it begins to feel like just a job, I try
to remember a bright, clear spring morning several
years ago when it felt good to stand in the sun and
imagine living this life.
Then I think of all those people
that might be standing on exactly that same spot,
dreaming those same dreams
and hoping that their experience will be spectacular
and exciting and exactly as it should be. And
I instantly know that there’s no way that this
is just a job. What this is, is Broadway, and
I realize how thankful I am that I’ve gotten
a chance to play in the game. I hope someday
you might get that chance too.
