Let me ask you something. Would a normal person opt to do something on a regular basis that scares the living bejesus out of him or her, and claim that they are having fun and getting fulfillment out of it? I’m not talking about riding roller-coasters here. I’m talking about getting up on stage in front of hundreds of people and acting. Why would anybody ever  want to do such a thing?

Did you know that the number one activity that invokes fear in people is public speaking? That’s a fact. It ranks higher than death on the list of frightening things.

Sir Laurence Olivier used to get stage fright so badly that he would go through severe bouts of diarrehea and vomiting just before entering the stage.

Dick Cavett used to have to literally be pushed onstage every night when he did the late night talk-show thing.

So, why do I do it?

On average, I spend about six weeks preparing for a role – creating on my character, memorizing hundreds of lines, working on blocking, getting up there and rehearsing with my fellow actors, getting notes from my director, worrying over my aging memory, wondering if I am doing my character justice.

About two weeks before opening, panic sets in. Invariably, I’m having trouble with my lines. During rehearsals, I forget different lines on different days. It’s not that I’m having trouble with any particular line or group of lines.  It’s kind of like a roving forgetfulness. I can be out there on a roll, spewing my lines out like a machine gun fires bullets, and then, suddenly, I run into a brick wall, and I can’t remember what comes next.

At that point in the rehearsal process, I often curse myself for putting myself through this terror. (And that’s what is it; pure, abject terror!) When I just think about getting onstage, my stomach flips and my hands literally go numb. I always swear that this will be the last time I ever put myself through this. If I can just live through to the closing, I’ll be satisfied for the rest of my life and never, never, NEVER get back up on a stage again!

And then, something happens. Sometime takes place during the tech week, when the set is complete, all the props are in place and we are in costume. Something turns everything around. Perhaps it is when I realize that I am good enough to cover myself and others with ad libs if something goes wrong. Perhaps it is when I realize that fellow cast mates are good enough to cover me if I screw up.

Perhaps it is when I fully immerse myself in my character, and HE takes over! (Nah. That’s just pure bullshit. Even when an actor is “in character” he is aware that he is acting, and all he is thinking about is his next line or piece of blocking. Or he is wondering, “What the hell just went wrong?”)

And suddenly, it’s opening night. I feel the butterflies in my stomach, but there is no fear or panic – just an old, familiar nervousness which can be channeled into a good performance.

Then, I hear the cue line for my entrance. I take a deep breath, check my fly, and step out into the light. I encounter friends onstage whom I trust and respect, and I begin my two-hour love affair with the audience.

All at once, all of the hard work and long hours was worth it.

My gratification comes well before I hear the ovations from the audience. I feel it inside myself when I know I have completed a good performance. I look at my fellow actors and the techies and the director,  and I think, “Hey guys! Together, we did it again!”

And what a wonderful thing it is that we have done! I step out onstage for my bow, and I barely hear the audience. My head and heart are so full that I think they are both going to explode.

Stage drama is a transient art. It doesn’t stay around like a piece of writing or a painting or a photograph or a movie does. It must be appreciated at the exact moment that it is created, and then it is gone.

But for that one shining moment, there was wonderful, powerful smoke and magic, and I was a part of it!

And that, my friends, is why I act.