I've got some post show blues. I'm more heart sick now than I ever have been post show. It's not because the show was "better" or that I didn't meet people that I'm super close to now in other productions. I've been blessed to meet some really amazing people, to play some cool parts, and to have a lot of fun on stage. I miss a lot of shows and a lot of experiences. But this is definitely different. I think it's because I liked who I was as "Curly McClain." An optimistic, charming, handsome fellow who had the bravery to fight his battles face to face and to chase after the love of his life. It felt good to live his story, to sing his songs, and to walk with his gate with heavy boots and a tilted hat sitting on some curly (more like wavy) locks. Young, in love, stupid, blinded by youth and recklessness.
Frankly, I get lost sometimes. I forget who Kasey Yeargain is and let the story of the people I portray envelop who I am.
"Why can't I cast away this mask of play, and live my life?"
I know, I know. I sound like a pretentious ass. But honesty and transparency are the only tools I have to employ during time of such irrational though. My only true course of action left. So, who am I?
Who Am I?
My name is Kasey Yeargain. I sing, act, perform and lift weights on a regimented occasion. I write depressing blog posts about how tough the life of a young performer can be while wondering what else in the world would make me happier. I'm rarely ever completely fulfilled. The last time I remember being so complete was when I was 21 and head over heels in love. I'm nearly 28 today and an entire lifetime of heartache and joy has passed through this brow. Sometimes I feel like I made a deal with the devil, I traded an ordinary life for singing. I feel like I traded that feeling of coming home to sit with your gal, watching your favorite show, cuddling up and making love. I traded it for those seconds you feel when the orchestra creates that billowed curtain of sound underneath you, the reverberation is bouncing back so sweetly in your ear, your voice is an extension of your heart and you've created the picture so perfectly with each note and color that the very vision you paint blooms in your minds eye. The moment is so perfect that you don't even care if the audience claps or not, you're content with silence if the moment demands it so.
This moment. It's so perfect. But, you can't take that home with you. It won't stay up and talk with you when you can't sleep. It won't hold your hand when the day grows old. It won't wake you up with a kiss on the forehead or a brush of hair under your nose. In fact these moments can often leave you alone in a practice room, a gym, or in your bed. A Price? Perhaps. Worth the cost of admission. We'll find out.
Until next time,
Lift big, Sing big, and Look Great Doing It.
The Opera Bro