Yesterday I had the pleasure of performing an obscure one-woman opera entitled “The Italian Lesson” by Lee Hoiby from a monologue by Ruth Draper. I have a love/hate relationship with performing. The day of a performance I go into major adrenaline mode. I run through my life in a flutter of intensity that no amount of yoga or meditation can subside. I find my mind racing through the same entrances, melodies, and text over and over in a last-minute struggle to create a flawless performance. A bevy of activity, I move through the day in hyper-drive. But, then, just moments before the performance, I lay on the floor, close my eyes, and just breathe. I smile and remember the joy that delving into each character brings. I get up on that stage and find my place amongst the notes, rhythms, and musicality and just ride the beautiful wave of song. I am home in that moment of performance and I love it. This is why I spend hours, and months really, drilling the music, refining my technique, planning staging, and researching characters and backgrounds– for these few moments of interconnected bliss.