Ode on a Grecian Urn

As I'm sure yours did, my high school English classes covered a broad swath of poetry, plays, novels, and short stories. I usually remember only snippets of these unless specific titles are mentioned to me, but there's one exception: John Keats's "Ode on a Grecian Urn".

It's not that I recall the specific words in the poem. What I remember is the discussion that accompanied it. The main point, according to my teacher, was that anticipation is sweeter than the actual event. So the lover chasing his beloved never catches her, and that's perhaps the best possible outcome. The two of them are forever frozen in anticipation of an embrace.

Now, I'm not so sure that I would want to be perpetually in a state of anticipation without any fulfillment, especially with a kiss. But I do agree that there is a definite beauty to anticipation. In fact, I think about that a lot right now in the midst of the opera gala I'm doing.

This week has been filled with nightly five hour dress rehearsals in preparation for tomorrow's opening. Every night, I stand backstage, dressed either as a water nymph or a maid, waiting for my cue. And every night, I look around and drink it all in and think about how much I love this.

I love looking at the lights hanging above with their blue or yellow colors.

I love seeing the backs of the flats - the upright pieces of the sets - with their careful diagrams and Roman numeral labels that tell the stagehands where all the pieces fit together.

I love standing beside the legs - the narrow black curtains that flank the stage and wings - and feeling them absorb both light and sound, as though I'm two years old again and hiding underneath the dining room table in my own little world.

I love listening to the amazing singers, my fellow students, who grace the stage with such beauty and poise. I marvel every time that these people are nearly all under the age of 25, and yet they have such power and professionalism in their tone and stage presence.

I love hearing the different colors in the orchestra that float upwards and around the stage, gently cradling the sounds of the singers and carrying them out into the audience like a wave.

I love exchanging smiles with the tech crew and feeling the warmth that comes from doing a show - you're all in it together.

But mostly, I love just standing there in the wings, waiting, watching, and listening to everything going on onstage, knowing that the audience can't see me, but I can hear everything and I'm a part of this whole wonderful and magical thing we call a show. And I love not having any sense of wistfulness because, soon, I get to walk through the doors in that flat and be on that stage, a place that is completely alive, and even though I'm just saying a small line in French or singing a small set of notes, I'm still there, and I have the chance to embody a character, pronounce something with feeling, and sing something beautiful. I get to walk the high wire that is live performance where anything can and does happen.

But, for this moment, I'm standing in the wings. I'm anticipating.

~Hope