Life Is Like Live Theatre

By Jacob James Grigware

and you’ve got the lead role. The play you’re currently starring in could be anything. It could be a comedy, a romance, a tragedy, a musical, for Christ's sake. It could be the longest god damn show ever, with little time for bathroom or popcorn breaks. It could also be short. Really short. 

Characters within your show will come and go. More than likely, one or two or even a few will die. Their roles as family, friends, enemies, lovers, and even comic relief characters are nothing but that: Roles and characters. Roles switch, characters change, characters break. One can only take so much before the ego, the facade, washes away, and the person is left naked in the spotlight. If you’re lucky, you might witness it. If one odd day you find yourself too blinded by the light to see your own naked body, I will you the courage to stay there. 

Life is not live theatre, only like it. One difference is that there’s no rehearsal. I suppose there might be if you’re preparing for a job interview or you’re about to stand up to your stoic father, but generally, there is no rehearsal. You get one shot. And the kicker? You don’t have a god damn clue how the scene is going to unfold when you’re shoved out onto the stage. Oh yeah, that’s another thing. You never willfully stepped onto this stage. Hell, you didn’t even audition for this shit. You got tossed into the spotlight and were told to simply act. Now, you might look at your tragedy and think, Well, I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be born, to have life. And while I might agree with you, the fact is, you’re here, you’re alive, and you must perform. The universe exploded in just the right way, the stars aligned, the planets and moons, and asteroids collided. Dinosaurs fell, fish grew legs, monkeys ate mushrooms. Everything culminated for billions of years so that you could star in this show, in this life, playing as yourself.

Understudies do not exist. There is no one to take your place on stage. You die? That’s it. The show just ends. The theatre goes dark. You get sick? You get stuck in traffic, you lose your front bumper to a traffic light, and is the one holding up traffic? That's just it. What happens happens, and nobody will be there to replace you if you don’t make it. One more thing: there are no directors. No one person telling you what your show should look like. It’s your show. Unless you have a god of course, then you might have a director. Someone who at least has a plan as to how this thing we call life will play out. Plans, however, too often go to shit. Shit happens, and it’s up to you to remedy that shit, to live in that chaos, to improvise when a set piece breaks. Again, did you ask to star in a play? No, of course not. But are you going to turn your play into an epic? Or let it remain a tragedy? 

The relieving yet off-putting reality is that there is no audience. Nobody is watching. Aside from the characters that come and go from the stage, nobody will see you perform. You’re singing and dancing, fighting or crying, living and dying, at the front of the stage of an empty house. Why? Everyone is too busy starring in their own play. It’s not about what kind of performance you can give the people of the world, but rather the performance you can give yourself. The universe you are a part of. The God you are within. What type of show do you want this to be? How do you want it to end? Will your character simply die? Or will he triumph? Will she be defined by how the play started? Or will they learn of their constricting, condemning cage and tear their way out?

Remember, this is your play. You are the star. You are the backbone of this whole shebang. You have the most time on stage, you have the most lines, and you interact with the most characters, so don’t make this show about anyone else. Prefer to be a side character, director, or props manager? Then make your show about that. Aiding, supporting greatness, not necessarily being it. Giving, teaching others the ability to be great, and not taking that opportunity yourself. Again, it's your show, your one chance, your life, and now you must go and live it. 

By Jacob James Grigware