Production of My Own Making

It took years… my lifetime, really, to create my production. The Union of my various selves, taking stage with pride to create the gorgeous display of myself to the world. 

Creativity completed set designs, while Confidence took the microphone. Gentleness plays the harp in the quiet moments and Humor bangs the symbols while Passion directs the flow between the two, signaling for Self Reflection to dance in silences. Whimsy adds flow to every gown and Practicality controls lighting while Achievement directs the set pieces and Perfectionism has to keep herself from rushing on stage when Impulsive Delight misses her cues, knowing she’ll make it even better in the end. Empathy tweaks presentations to ensure the story aligns with Love’s desires and Hope’s ideals. 

This was my production. My story. My life, dancing in display. And then I met my biggest fan. He watched, day in and day out, cheering at the highs and wiping tears with the lows. He said my production was his favorite. He admired the show. He wanted more. And I trusted him. 

He had a passion for directing. He said he couldn’t help it, these suggestions just came to him, and how bad would it be if every now and then Fear took the microphone and Shame tried her hand at the harp. Self Reflection deserved a break and her fraternal twin, Pleasing Others, had some incredible moves. Doubt can sew and Denial can shine light, too. And before I realized, the whole picture had changed. My bold, bright, beautiful production became one of shaking hands and darting eyes. Self-conscious and afraid, making far too much noise and not enough all at once. Creativity disappeared and Silence took her place, providing empty set pieces, one after the other, stale and lonely. And with this cast he insisted upon, we tried to be just as beautiful as we were before, until he said he didn’t want to watch anymore. And I found myself alone, playing a production I didn’t recognize with characters I’d fired so long ago. I could not continue. 

I searched for Hope first. She had taken a job as a light in a bottle. The bottle had been pushed aside, rolling beneath Heartbreak’s bed. I had to crawl to reach her, every stretch of my fingertips pushing the bottle farther away. Faith saw my struggle and made herself liquid, swallowing Hope whole, swirling together to become the blood in my veins so we’d never part again. 

Love never left the studio, standing just outside the auditorium, sure if she could catch him before he left, he’d want a partnership after all. I found her crumpled against the door, Commitment tied to her dirty fingernails. Together, they had tried. I held her sobbing form while Gentleness unwrapped Commitment’s hold, and the three went backstage for Self Reflection’s stash of new ballet slippers. 

Confidence was too small to hold the microphone, so Perseverance held Fear’s hand until she could finish her passage and relinquish the spotlight. Creativity had swollen eyes and Whimsy’s hands were burned too badly to hold a needle. Honesty stepped in. Her colors are not as bright and her stitch work is not so delicate, but she will keep trying to fill in the blank spots Silence left behind and patch the holes Doubt swore were her legacy. 

We are not as beautiful or strong as we once were. We all tire more easily and every performer’s understudy jumps at the chance to change things again. When Perseverance forgets a phrase, Fear shouts from backstage in unceasing recants until the two are shoulder to shoulder, both grasping the microphone and speaking in unison. Silence, Doubt, and Denial whisper constantly. Their harmonies providing an haunting background to every scene. 

Hecklers are in the audience. I sometimes mistake their voice for my own, commanding the understudies forward once again, sending my performers backstage to weep over the days that once were. 

Time will restore what once was. It took a lifetime to build the first time, and the damage was almost too far reaching to repair. 

But it will be repaired. 

I will be repaired. 

But today, I must allow Caution to monitor every action. Shame wanders the audience, clinging to whispered critiques she insists on repeating until they are anthems we each know by heart. Trust has a broken arms, but soon she will envelop us all again. Soon, Graciousness will blow fresh air into the performance hall and Peace will steady everyone’s steps and until then, I am blood sisters with Tomorrow and she says the sun is bright.