The Stage

“The stage has grown further away,” said the once prolific performer. Now advanced in age, he climbed the steps onto the stage rarely, and it felt as if the stage itself had moved. It hadn’t. He had.

As the two of us sat on the porch in silence, I thought about the “stages” on which I had once performed. I could see, like him, that the stages seemed further from me than they used to be. It’s as if time slides the stage out of reach, then out of sight. I suppose it’s only natural, but the distancing stage phenomenon is something that troubles me.

There are all kinds of stages: jobs, roles, activities, friendships. Each in its own way has given us an invitation to show up, take our place, and offer whatever it is we have to offer, but if we ignore those invitations enough, those opportunities, like the stage for the performer I was sitting with, grow distant. We are left bemoaning the emptiness that surrounds us and think only of what used to be.

The key is to get up and walk toward the stage. Even with weary legs and scratchy voices, we need to make the effort to return and sing whatever song we have to sing. We need to pick up the phone and call that friend who once meant so much to us. We need to turn off the news and go join the group who asked us to do something. We need to pull out the long-forgotten instrument, pick up the pen, or make a meal like we used to. Yes, it will take some getting used to, and we are bound to stumble or forget the words to the song, but the more important thing to notice is the stage somehow draws closer and the steps are not as steep.

Time is not our friend when we squander it, but it can be a precious gift when we don’t.