It's F*cking Good. And I'm Running Out Of Time.
On legacy, ambition, and what happens when two women refuse to stop at the edge
If you've ever made something you're genuinely proud of and had no idea if the world would ever see it, this one's for you.
I‘ve always wanted to be an artist with a voice that commands attention. Not through volume or force. Through truth.
The director of my solo show turns 80 this year. She’s internationally renowned, an actor, an Artistic Director, a woman who carved her path through theater with raw determination and real sacrifice. Through her I learned that ambition isn’t a dirty word. It’s the backbone of art that matters.
What we’ve built together lives and breathes. It pulses with rhythm, pushing and pulling, racing and pausing, soaring and diving. On stage it becomes a mirror. Audiences see fragments of themselves in every moment, every movement, every breath.
This is my work. Our work. I’m so proud of it.
The Final Chapter
As I review the countless drafts and we gather our strength to send this thing out into the world, I can feel we’re entering the final chapter. The completion feels both imminent and surreal. The journey has been longer than I could have imagined. Five drafts, six iterations, or has it been a lifetime? But somewhere inside all of that I found something I didn’t know I was looking for.
My voice. Unmistakably, unequivocally mine.
I’ll try to say this without ego: it’s fucking good. It represents every ounce of artistic truth I have at this moment in my life. It is exactly what I’m capable of right now.
And I may be running out of time for this kind of work.
Every day I wake up to a new body, a new illness, a new ache or creak. Currently I’m dealing with either a frozen shoulder or a torn ligament, I’m waiting on an MRI. Which means I’m having trouble playing piano. Which is somewhat essential when you write a musical.
She knows about running out of time too. At 80 she’s deep in her third act, fully aware of what remains undone and what she still wants to see exist in the world. We’re both striving to get this to the finish line. Together.
We’ve acknowledged, out loud, the possibility that the world might never see this piece. That knowledge doesn’t diminish our conviction. If anything it sharpens it.
The risk is enormous. To invest this much energy, thought, compassion, time, and soul into something that might never reach beyond our rehearsal room is genuinely terrifying. This is why so many people step back from the edge. The fear of failure is real. Failure remains possible.
I’m standing at that edge right now.
Some might call it foolish to risk this much for art.
I call it necessary.
And I’m not stepping back.
Substack runs on ♥️’s. Did you know that something like 99% of people never click it? So if this landed for you, be the 1%. Hit the heart. Share it with a human you like. Or subscribe and never miss a post. It genuinely helps more people find this little corner of the internet. I’ll be here either way.