Broadway doesn't officially reopen until the fall, but Bruce Springsteen is doing a revival of his show over the summer, and I saw it last night.
It felt too soon for me to be sitting in a theatre with 1700 strangers, even if all of them had provided proof of vaccination. But then, everything feels too soon to me these days. (Until I do it, and then do it again, and do it one more time...) So even though I still regret not seeing this show during the original run, and I am so very very tired of missing things, part of my brain was saying Of course I'm going! while another part was screaming Absolutely not! Of course, the rest of my brain was busy chanting Bruuuuuce! and there's simply no arguing with that. I compromised with my anxiety by keeping my mask on for the entire show.
It was wonderful. I may come up with more to say about it later, but his amazing command of language -- supple, wise, funny -- appears to have stripped me of my own. What I can say is that I came out of the theatre understanding that each of our lives is a poem. We don't all learn how to tell them. But maybe we could.
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