The Green Room

We live as if it's all going to be around forever. As if we are forever. We buy furniture we never sit on. Perfect clothes in the closet, never worn. We even bury ourselves injected with preservatives, covered in glistening wood. That will not decompose. Will not end. Not for a thousand years. So we can extend the masquerade. Keep pretending we can hold on. As if we can stop time. Freeze ourselves. To be remembered.

We're like actors in the green room waiting to go on stage. And never going. Because we forgot. We forgot there even is a stage out that door. The green room has become our stage. Just waiting comfortably. Near the costumes. But stuck in the character we were given. Thinking this is who I am. And this is my little room to keep my perfect life in order. Where mistakes are erased and failure is avoided.

Occasionally, we hear the ruckus out there, and the laughter from the crowd. But can't translate it. Because it doesn't exist. That's not for me. That's for other people. Out there.

And yet just maybe, we can find that door, and step out into our own life. Under the lights where the imperfections shine. And there is laughter. There is a lightness in the air. A sense of wonder. Of life as a child's drawing. Free and unpredictable.