Cortisol Courage
My appearance on stage in the Ballet Tucson 2015 production of “The Nutcracker” went well, at least as far as I could tell. I had a bad cold and felt really, really awful all day and was unsure whether I’d have the energy to act as though I was in fine fettle for the period required. Then, standing with the dancers in the off right wings, I listened to their chatter and the final announcements being made to the audience, heard the stage manager, softly and confidently say into her mic: “Take house lights to fifty… take house lights to zero… cue music… prepare to fly the main… fly the main… lights……..”
And it began.
I have taught rooms full of rowdy twelve-year-olds. I’ve been parasailing. I have spoken, alone on stage, to a large audience of strangers. I have driven my car at 140 MPH. I have said “I do.” Twice. I have stood to greet strangers for hour upon hour at one man shows for decades. I have run toward an overturned car dripping gasoline. I have confronted abusive drunks and powerful people. But never has my heart beat as though it were about to explode outward through my ribs as it did that night when positions were taken, the performance had begun, and it was clear that nothing but an extinction event would likely stop what was about to happen from happening. I was going to go out there in spite of everything. So I did.
And, happily for me, our old friend cortisol “cured” my cold for a couple of hours. The flash memory of that moment is now firmly locked in my brain, and I am unlikely to forget it.
