I don’t perform much anymore. At least not in the form of theatrical shows. I still speak when those opportunities come my way. And I teach, and I suppose that’s a form of performing.
Part of it is that I’m busy running Teaching Artists ROC, making sure other artists are out performing in schools and communities, bringing arts to kids who need it (which is all of them, by the way). But part of it? I’m just tired. Not like “I-need-a-nap” tired. More like “oh-right-this-body-has-some-miles-on-it” tired.
I’ve always believed a performer should drop things from their repertoire before their audiences can detect that their ability has waned at all. They should go out at the top of their game and be remembered for an amazing performance rather than for just trying their hardest to be what they once were.
There are routines I’ve retired. The straitjacket’s been hanging up for about 15 years. Climbing inside a giant balloon used to be a regular thing for me. Now it’s a surefire way to spend the afternoon with a heating pad.
But I’m not old. I’ve got a lot of life, and quite a few performances left in me, and more ideas than I’ll ever have time to finish.
Today, I did two performances of my kids’ science show, How to Catch a Mouse: Simple Machines at Work. It’s the only children’s program I still do from time to time. It’s about simple machines and problem solving and teamwork, with a balloon-built Rube Goldberg contraption that’s as ridiculous as it is educational. The kids were laughing, pointing, shouting answers, getting entirely swept up in the story. It was, well, magic.
I, on the other hand, was drenched in sweat and short of breath. I don’t remember this show being so exhausting. Maybe the cafeteria was too hot. Maybe I didn’t drink enough water. Still, the show went great.
After the second performance, the principal came over, smiling.
“This was spectacular,” he said. “We have to have you back next year.”
Then he paused. Looked me over.
And followed up with:
“…unless you’re retiring and won’t be available next year.”
Ouch.
Part of me wanted to grill him on what he meant by that. Did I look as tired to him as I felt? I decided to just laugh it off.
Retire? Please. It’s just a couple shows. I can do that again. Only, maybe not both on the same day.