Currently, my favorite part of the day is heading to a job I don’t particularly like.
Five days a week, about a quarter past 2100, I head west into Minneapolis taking the slowest possible route, because in July that’s the time when the sun has just set and the sky is all shades of bruised and the buildings look like cardboard cutouts, haphazard high school stage props in place of decades old brick and mortar.
I have never been in a play.
I have an immense amount of stage fright. I certainly can’t sing. Mostly, I don’t think I could convince an audience of a character, even one relentlessly studied and rehearsed, when so often I don’t even feel like myself.
Which is odd, I think. Because often the things that feel the most real are things that we’ve invented.