I don’t miss explaining to people that singing is what I “really do for a living.” I don’t miss hotels and apartments. I don’t miss searching for places to eat that won’t make me sick.
I don’t miss the contrived fights I had with my wife in the days just before leaving the house, because I didn’t want to leave her again for two months. I don’t miss having to explain to my boys why I was leaving and that “I always come home.” I don’t miss how depressed I would be on the walk back to my hotel. I do not miss the night horrors.”
I do miss going to lessons. I do miss opening a brand new score and unraveling the mystery. I miss many of my colleagues. Not all of them. I miss standing next to voices which made me cry and forced me to regain my composure during a performance.
I miss the electricity of the 20 minutes just before the curtain rises. I miss being in a dressing room where greatness once had their scores on the piano. I miss looking at the labels inside my costumes to see who else wore them. I miss my dressers and make up artists who gave me so much free therapy.
I miss belonging to such a marvelous phenomenon which gave my soul wings at times and brought me crashing to the ground at others.
by Frank Lopardo