Today I discovered something that makes me cry.
People applauding at the end of a performance.
And this is the weird thing: It wasn't my performance. It wasn't like it was something I was involved in. So why did that make me cry?
Because... Hm... It's just something about the act of physically showing your appreciation for someone's art. Being in a packed auditorium while they applaud and the performers bow - the smiles on their faces!! - just gets me. And if people start standing - oh man...
{ That hasn't been my experience onstage. That's quite a bit different. It's more like a combination of gratitude and stage fright and shock and focus on what comes next. }
But that appreciation of someone's art. Of the hours. Of the effort. The unrecorded phone calls. The uncounted costume alterations. The heart put into these characters, this story, this production for you. I guess I love that there is a specific, present audience for plays. It doesn't just go out into the world. Plays are put on for THIS audience, in THIS auditorium, at THIS time, just THIS once. And while there's something tragic about how plays aren't often recorded, and if recorded, aren't captured completely - because you can't capture the feel. The feel of being there, being given something that's just for you. Just for this audience. Just for this moment. An actress in a play doesn't give her heart to the camera, or the page, or the canvas - but to THIS SPECIFIC AUDIENCE.
Other things that make me cry:
I cry when I'm picking music for my ballets. I cry when I find the right piece. Because finally a piece of story is TOLD - right there, in front of me. It's just THERE. It's when the marriage of song and story happens that I get pricks in my eyes and and overwhelming feeling of perfect in my heart. It's TELLING STORY. I just go ga-ga over it.
I also cry when the choreography works. When I cry, I know I've got something. There are times when I just double over and freeze because I'm so excited and overcome because it's so beautiful in my head. And it sometimes transfers through the dancers to the stage, sometimes not. Part of being a good choreographer is knowing what choreography will transfer from your imaginary performance to the actual dancers, and that takes time to refine.
When I watch the DVD of my ballet and still get choked up over something - that's when I know it actually worked. And THAT is SO rewarding.
When you make yourself cry... Even after all of the pain and the stress and hearing the music 200 times and teaching the same steps month after month.... That's when you feel you've achieved something.
Sacrifice makes me cry too. Soldiers. Wives who've lost their husbands in war.
There's a part in Harry Potter that made me cry.
When I talk about crying above, know this: I rarely shed a single tear for those things. I just get a tight feeling in my chest and feel the need to blink twenty five times. But when I read this chapter in Harry Potter, I actually had tears running down my face.
{ I'm going to wax eloquent about this a moment longer, so if you've not read Harry Potter and don't want to be spoiled, go read it and come back. }
Harry finds out that he must give up his life to save the world from Voldemort because he, too is a Horcrux. He, too, has a bit of Voldemort's soul inside him - he is the Horcrux Voldemort never intended to make. And because of that, he too must die, for the world to be rid of Voldemort. Because Voldmort cannot be killed while his Horcruxes survive.
Harry walks, half in shock, out onto the castle grounds, preparing to deliver himself to Voldemort, who waits in the forest.
Rowling writes,
"Why had he never appreciated what a miracle he was, brain and nerve and bounding heart? It would all be gone...or at least, he would be gone from it."
He sees Ginny helping an injured girl.
"Ripples of cold undulated over Harry's skin. He wanted to shout to the night, he wanted Ginny to know he was there, he wanted her to know where he was going. ...With a huge effort, Harry forced himself on."
"Every second he breathed, the smell of the grass, the cool air on his face, was so precious: To think that people had years and years, time to waste, so much time it dragged, and he was clinging to each second."
Isn't that just show stopping? When I read that, every inch of me just wants to quit - wants the world to stop revolving - wants the earth to be quiet and remember how precious it is!
And I want to cry!
Know what makes you cry, because what makes you cry is what touches your heart, and what touches your heart is what makes you come alive, and what makes you come alive changes the world.