The road is never more lonely than after a bad show. The economy rental car silently cuts through the night, guiding you back to your room on its own. Your mind is elsewhere, contemplating the minutiae of the show, reliving the performance word-for-word, beat-for-beat.
A bad show is like getting turned down by the girl you asked to prom - except this time it's in front of 500 strangers. A bad show is like forgetting your sixth grade book report over and over again for 45 minutes. A bad show is like watching your coffee mug careen off the counter in slow-motion, crashing into a million pieces on the kitchen floor.
Don't be fooled. When you're bombing, you're completely aware of it. You know you're bombing and you do your best to tread water and get through it. A slight laugh or a hint of energy in the room gives you hope to continue, even though you may have lost the crowd 30 minutes ago.
Sometimes it's the audience. Maybe they weren't your demo. Maybe they were too drunk, or not drunk enough. Maybe they were too tired.
Sometimes it's the venue. Maybe the room was too big. Maybe it was too small. Maybe the sound system was outdated and people couldn't hear you. Maybe the client changed the floor plan at the last minute.
Sometimes it's the event. Maybe it went too long. Maybe there was too much going on. Maybe they were distracted by the company raffle or the dessert the caterer just laid out on the opposite side of the room.
The excuses echo in your hotel room as you stare at the ceiling. You question every decision that led you to this point. But the only person to blame is yourself.
It's always your fault - no matter what.
You failed to educate the buyer or vet the client. You failed to effectively plan the layout. You failed at something.
It's always your fault.
You get into performing for the good shows: the applause, the standing ovations, the packed houses and rave reviews.
Good shows are what you dream of on those early morning flights around the country. Good shows are the answer to every half-baked creative equation scrawled in your notebook. Good shows are the destination...but bad shows are how you get there.
Bad shows are your education.
A bad show stops you in your tracks. You're distraught and depressed but everyone else is going on with their lives like nothing happened. The sun still rises and sets, just like any other day.
At first it's hard to sleep and hard to move on, but developing a mental suit-of-armor is a must for a career in the arts. You keep the good and fix the bad, then move on to the next gig.
This isn't about a bad show I had recently. It's about something else. But you're supposed to write about what you know and I thought that the necessity of learning from bad gigs was a good metaphor for life. For every experience, you have to keep the good and fix the bad. You have to wake up tomorrow and get back to work.
Life will go on. It always does.