Saying Good-bye to Lucy

"You're a good man, Charlie Brown", Lucy says to her round headed pal as she extends her hand in friendship. These are the last words spoken in the musical of the same name.

As (I) "Lucy" uttered this final line yesterday, I fought tears (and lost the battle) at the realization that I was bidding farewell to Charlie Brown, Lucy and the rest of the gang. Months of preparation and rehearsing were over, choreography learned would no longer be performed, musical numbers with silly lyrics would be resigned to being sung around the house and not on a stage. Even now as I write this, I get a bit misty.

I've been trying to put words to these emotions. I know it is usual to have some degree of melancholy when finishing a show. It is common to experience a let down following months of intense prep, learning and creating in "overdrive" mode and then suddenly shifting to a complete stop. It's bittersweet really. I am looking forward to the change in pace; my body is tired (although in better shape and several pounds lighter!), my house is a mess, and any kind of routine has gone to the wayside. So a calmer pace will be welcomed. But at the same time I'll be missing new friends, the challenges and joys that go along with being part of an ensemble piece like this, and the fun of pretending.

This after-show sadness is different this time. I think it comes from the realization that "play" time is over, and I'm going to miss Lucy. I haven't really missed being a character when I've done previous productions, but yesterday as I packed up my black and white saddle shoes, and placed my little blue "Lucy" dress on the hanger for the last time, I felt like I was saying good-bye to a friend.

I have been so spoiled these last months. Not everyone has the opportunity to be fully immersed in a make-believe world where being a queen is not out of the realm of possibility; where taking a survey will help one to "know thyself"; where even if one knows nothing, they can be an expert on everything; where no matter the quality of voice, you can be the best singer that ever lived--even if you're the only one that thinks so.

There's a side to Lucy that I think everyone longs to be able to let out of the closet once in a while, but it is not really socially acceptable to do so. I'm talking about her brash, bossy, know-it-all, abrasive way of being that in some odd way has endeared so many of us to her. She can steamroll through a room, leaving carnage in her wake, yet turn on a dime and be empathetic, considerate and even show her softer side. (Okay, maybe she has a split personality!) But in reality, I think most of us do. We have learned to harness a lot of these inappropriate impulses (hopefully--or at least we're working on it), but honestly, aren't there times when you just wish you could just come right out and say exactly what you're thinking and not care?? And in the end things still turn out okay?

Yes, I'm going to miss Lucy. I'm so thankful for the chance to "play" and be a little girl again. In many ways I feel rejuvenated and re-energized as I continue on in my adult life.

Thank you Lucy. You'll always be dear to my heart.