One last time.

Performing at a long running show is a lot like a relationship. Before the show begins there is a lot of nervous anticipation, you wonder what it will be like. Sure you have done a number of shows before, but every stage is different, every audience a different lover. With each rehearsal your acceptation builds. You prepare, you take joy in seeing to all the little details in the hopes of making opening night perfect.

Then as the show opens you find yourself fascinated by every aspect of it. You seek out all the nooks and crannies of the theater, amazed by them all. You may leave the show tired and battered, but eager for your next opportunity together. Somewhere in the back of your mind you feel a slight twinge of something, but you’re too wrapped up in the newness of it all to care about that. You love this and can think of doing nothing else.

Somewhere mid run the shine starts to fade. It is not a sudden thing, rather a gradual realization like the coming of dawn. The armor you once so eagerly cleaned is now showing rust and you don’t really mind. The actors you once looked forward to working with now chafe your nerves. The energy you once spent so freely now seems like a bit too much to give, there are other things that need your attention. The drive out to the show site feels a bit too long. The show site that you once found “quaint” now looks old and dull. No longer holding the joy, the show becomes work.

You press on, mindful of your commitments. You are in this for the long haul and cannot back out now. Knowing that these people have paid to see a good show, you dig deep for the energy that once flowed so freely. Sadly those reserves are not endless, and soon you find that you are scraping bottom. You find yourself stealing energy from other aspects of your life in order to fuel the performance.

In the end, as you stand rain soaked on the tourney field once again, you look forward for the day when you bow for the audience one last time.

It is not that you hate the show, quite the contrary. The show as brought you all kinds of joy. The memories and moments are something you will truly treasure, but now you have no more energy left to give it. This thing, once precious to you, now must be put to rest. You have cast your last die; you have no more to give. This is it. The time is nigh to close this chapter of your life.

And so as I sit, coffee in hand, Galahad shows up once again at my door and says.
“One last time into the breech, dear brother?”
“aye, one last time”