Setbacks Are Just Set-Ups for Comebacks

I remember the first time I saw Les Miserables. I would say it was around 1986. I had procured the OLCR on CD and had the score (and every lyric) burned in my brain. The music was so lush and the story, simultaneously heartbreaking and hopeful, so powerful. The moment the first notes of the Overture played, I started to cry. I was so overwhelmed by the emotion of the moment that tears just filled my eyes. Twenty years later, I experienced the same exact thing when I took my then-five-year-old daughter to see Beauty and the Beast. When the lights went down and the magic began, I cried. I cried because I was exposing my daughter to the world of theatre that I had spent my entire life loving.

I'm afraid, however, that somewhere along the way the magic has been misplaced. Or, perhaps, displaced.

Don't get me wrong, I still love theatre. My lifelong tether to the performing arts is one that will never be cut. But something is missing. There is no spark. The indescribable surge of emotion that I once felt is gone.

I suspect that the power of the setback has had more of an effect than I had given it credit for.

For example, in the last year, I've gained at least 20 pounds. I attribute this weight gain to several things: my lack of activity, my love of food and my affinity for a good dirty martini or three. In the last six months, as my emotions began to spiral out of control, I would find solace in sitting at my computer watching seasons of Six Feet Under or Dexter, eating a good meal and drinking away the pain. However, when I stepped on the scale six weeks ago and saw that my weight had surpassed the 170 pound mark, I knew something had to change. So I joined Weight Watchers. I've been humming along pretty well, adhering to the plan pretty closely, a daunting task when you consider how deprived I was feeling without my prosciutto, cheese and adult beverages. I was losing an average of 2 pounds a week, which is right on target with healthy weight loss. Then, two weeks ago, I gained .2 pounds, went on vacation and strayed even more from the plan, only to gain another .2 pounds. Minor setbacks, yes. But setbacks nonetheless.

This is where I make a choice. Do I give in? Do I accept defeat? Or do I stare the scale directly in its digital damnation and say, "Ha! I'll show you!"

In some respects, adopting a healthy lifestyle is comparatively easier than finding creative inspiration. You set goals, you apply disciplined measures and you see results. When there are setbacks, it is pretty easy to pinpoint where you went wrong and to make the appropriate adjustments. However, when you've put yourself out there creatively and taken a couple hits in the gut, it is not as easy to get out of your corner and come out fighting. Sometimes you need to sit one out and take the time to nurse the wounds.

I think about this all the time. Maybe the key to unlocking the barrier can be found in the realization that there shouldn't be any fighting when it comes to creating art. While my instinct is to come back stronger, leaner and meaner and to prove the naysayers wrong, I'm not sure that is where I want my writing to come from. I so desperately want to rediscover the moment that makes my heart burst and my eyes swell with tears. The moment when I feel the need to tell a story deep within me. The moment when I can once again say, "I've got the magic in me."

Until then, I will tend the vessel and prepare it for the return of inspiration, in its purest and most magical form. And I know, in my heart of hearts, it will be well worth the wait.