There Are Moments

There are moments when you stare at your work and think "Why am I doing this?" And, some weeks there are a lot of those. And, unfortunately, some months there are a lot of those weeks, as well.

And I wish I had something to add to that to turn it all around and say that things are amazing and I love my job and blah blah blah. But I don't. At least not today.

On the other hand, though, there are those moments when you see your friends doing something and, instead of getting hit with a jealous moment of "Why does my life suck so much when his is so grand?" you sit back and think "Holy crap. That's amazing. She's amazing. I'm so freakin' lucky to know her."

I'm very happy to say that I kind of try to cultivate those moments (the latter, not the former). I try to focus on the moments when something is going really well for my friends and point them out to myself and think "Life is good. Just look at that. That's proof that life does not suck."

I feel that way when I go to weddings. And I usually cry, as a result of the amount of "How cool is that?" that I feel.

And I try really hard to feel that way when I hear of people getting new jobs - even if there may be a part of me that is a little jealous (and frustrated because I haven't won the lottery, yet).

As someone who has spent a decent amount of his life in and around the Arts, though, I find myself really excited when someone does something artistic. I may not understand why or how it was done. I may not fully grasp the artistic expression I feel like I'm supposed to be seeing. But there is something oddly tactile about seeing something artistic come to fruition.

This is true of reading something a friend has written, or looking at a painting or photograph someone has created. And - I think because it envelopes so many senses - it's especially true when I watch a performance. Whether the person I know was backstage, or on stage, there is a rush of pride in knowing that I know that person.

I don't get that rush when I see most "famous" people perform live. I'm not, typically, the groupie type for people I don't know (okay... John Barrowman book signing notwithstanding). But for people I do know, I can be a serious contender for Number Four Groupie. (I'd say "Number One Groupie", but unless Christopher is the one doing whatever it is, I'm probably not the first person on the list - I'm way too midwestern for that.)

So, when the moments come along when I get to see someone and point to him and say "I met him a few times, he's a friend of my friend - although he'd have no idea who I am" (as in the case of Andy Karl who is currently starring on Broadway in the musical adaptation of Rocky - yes, that Rocky), that kind of thing makes me happy.

When I can post on Facebook that people should really go see a local production of a show no one has ever heard of because someone I know - who also knows me - is involved, that makes me even happier. Or when, last summer for instance, I got to watch one of my best friends sing in a concert half a world away thanks to the miracles of the Internet - that's decidedly tear-worthy, even if it happens in the middle of the day at work.

And then there are moments like the one I had yesterday. When a friend of mine - who also knows me - showed up on Good Morning America to sing as part of the cast of the new Broadway revival of Les Miserables... and I got to watch that from halfway across the country and know that it was a good thing... those are good moments. (Oh... When you watch the Les Mis video - which you really should do - my friend is the brunette in the grey jacket and brown skirt who shows up behind the guy in the blue jacket when the whole cast rushes the stage at about 1m37s, and she's in the front row on the left of the screen toward the end of it - the sound quality isn't great on this, but it's the only version of it I could find that I could easily link to.)

Moments like that almost make the moments when I'm staring at my work and wondering what the heck I'm doing worthwhile. Or at least they make me start thinking more about what I need to work at to make my work feel more worthwhile. So that maybe, someday, I'll have my own Groupie Number 4.