Today I learned a new dimension of panic.
For the past two weeks, I have played for a new musical production: Tokio Confidential. It is a story about a widow who travels to Japan in 1879, in order to experience an art and culture that was quickly fading from the country, and which had been promised to her by her late husband. She meets a tattoo artist, and in celebration of his art, allows him to draw a work of Ukiyo-E art on her back, in the process putting her own life in danger through unforeseen reasons.
Throughout the production, I had made it a point to reach the theater an hour before curtain, but today I left with the intention of arriving only a half hour early. Turns out, it was a bad day to leave so small a window.
For those of us living in Brooklyn, today was a difficult day to travel to Manhattan. The A,C, and F trains were all rerouted along the F line, and this made for extreme delays on that line. The last two stops in Brooklyn found the trains waiting for 10-15 minutes at each station, then again in-between stations. In the tunnel between Brooklyn and Manhattan, my train sat for 25 minutes while train traffic ahead of us was delayed. By the time I reached the first stop in Manhattan, I had 15 minutes until the top of the show.
I got off the train as soon as it reached Manhattan (not looking like it was leaving any time soon), and went upstairs to hail a cab. Fortunately, there was one waiting for me to stuff the bass in the backseat and drive to 16th and 7th. We arrived at the corner at exactly 2:59pm, 1 minute to start. For a $7 fare, I threw $10 at the driver and grabbed my bass.
Where was the theater? Suddenly, I had no memory of its exact location.
The panic and fear consumed me; I ran across the street, then across the avenue, desperately searching for signs of the theater. Was I even at the right place? I discovered that extreme anxiety can affect us physically and mentally in very palpable ways: my memory turned to jelly, my throat went completely dry, my breathing turned harsh, and on one crossing of 16th St, I came very close to fainting. Even as I write this, I can feel my heartbeat increasing just at the recollection of my nerves in that moment.
After a few minutes of this painful experience, I had to stop walking, close my eyes, and desperately attempt to access a memory that my fear had stolen from me. When I opened my eyes, I was staring directly at the sign of the theater, half a city block away. In this, arguably the most anxious moment of my life up until now, I had unconsciously convinced myself that I was standing in the middle of an alien city, at a place I had never visited before, when in reality, I was only looking at friendly street from a different angle.
I reached the theater at 3:03pm, dove backstage, unpacked my bass and set the mic in place within 30 seconds, while the audience was still being seated. The show started at 3:05pm, traditionally late. Everything went well, although I admit, I again came dangerously close to swooning during the opening number as my body struggled for oxygen, forcing it in through a dry throat.
In between shows, the band got dinner at a Mexican spot in Chelsea, and more than one round of drinks. I don't normally recommend drinking between concerts of chamber music, but today it helped my state of mind immensely.
Tonight we had the best show of the run (an opinion of which the composer agreed). I didn't get fired, although I am sure that scenario is not unheard of during the penultimate show of a run. It was a great show, and I look forward to working more in the theaters of NY.
I got home and watched a peaceful anime about a man who spent five years giving chase to a natural phenomena. It was a friendly reminder to me about the importance of recognizing elements in our lives out of our control, and making peace with ourselves when we are sent either in an undesired direction, or at an undesired pace.
And what better place to make that peace than here?
