A couple weeks ago, I was standing on stage next to Rick, rehearsing a scene in Ragtime that we hadn’t done since it was blocked and singing a song we’d only sung through once before. Rick’s a talented guy and I like to think I’m not too shabby myself, but we were a mess. I forgot a couple of lines, we got confused about who sang what where on the song, and by the time we reached the end of the number I couldn’t remember what was supposed to come next. Rick whispered my line: “Well…”
Note to self: When in doubt, just say, “Well…”
That rehearsal made me think just how much of a trust exercise I’m engaging in every time I step on stage. I’m trusting that the sound person will turn on my mic, that the lighting operator will make sure I can be seen, that the music director will keep the orchestra playing at the right tempo, and that when I forget a one-syllable line, my partner in that scene will subtly remind me. Seriously, the whole thing is like one gigantic trust fall. But if I’m not willing to throw myself out there and trust that everyone involved will be there to catch me, the magic could never happen.
Luckily, all of my Ragtime compatriots are at least vaguely aware that they’re involved in a trust exercise.
These days, I’m learning that the fullness of my life directly correlates to the amount of trust I am walking in. This is not to say that we should haphazardly share our deepest darkest secrets with a gossip or give our debit card to a stranger. It does mean that in those key places and with those close relationships, trust needs to be complete if we are to experience the fullness of what’s there. Today I’m asking Daddy to show me areas I’ve locked away, areas I may not even know that I guard, so I can strategically exercise trust.
I want the more. I want the most!
Incidentally, if you’d like to come see me in Ragtime, you can buy your tickets here. We open this Friday at LCC and run this weekend and next!