Spotlight

A brief allegory about anxiety.

The edge of my seat is hard and uncomfortable, but you don’t tend to notice these things when you’re literally “on the edge of your seat” in anticipation and excitement. The Circus is filled with strange and fantastical things, and I’m getting ready to drink them all in. As the lights dim, I’m craning my neck to get a good look at the Ringmaster.

The spotlight hits the empty floor and the anticipation rises as we wait for something to happen. I look around me and there are all these faces. They merge into the collective audience. They belong together. I’m sitting on the edge of the crowd and somehow I’m still the center show. The audience members watch closely as the spotlight suddenly shifts to land on me, and shines too brightly in my eyes. What is my act? Do the audience members have their own routines to perform? Do I care? I glance around nervously and hope that the spotlight will just go away. I want to be a face in the crowd so badly, but people are getting up from the seats and throwing me into the center ring. I look straight into the light.