The way through starts with Hamilton

The hardest thing about going to see Hamilton last night was resisting the urge to get up out of my seat and dance. Or run around. Or fight. Or, in fact, jump up onto the stage and, I don’t know, win the Revolutionary War? It seems like a minor miracle that anyone stays in their seat with all that energy coming at them.

So, yes, Hamilton was amazing. It would have been amazing anytime. It was maybe especially amazing in 2022. I cried at “It’s Quiet Uptown.” And at the end. But the moment I really had to hold back the sobs was when the cast took their bows. They were joyful. The audience was joyful. The actor who played Aaron Burr cast his eyes toward the ceiling—thanking god or savoring the moment?

Right, I thought. We’re here. We’re doing this again. This is a sort of miracle.

I don’t know about you, but I’m struggling with some serious post-pandemic blah’s. I’m not surprised. We experienced almost three years of trauma. Of course on the other end, it’s hard.

Add to that the downers of inflation and the continuing conservative war against, you know, any humans who aren’t them (and quite frankly, some who are, but whatever). The rainbow happy-land on the other side of the pandemic never exactly arrived, did it? Sometimes it all just feels sort of…empty.

I’m telling myself it’s okay to feel that way because, you know, trauma. This is where I am right now. It’s not a failure. No judgement.

I’m also hopeful that the blah’s are beginning to lift. Not through the return to normal. We can’t go back to that world because we’re not the same people anymore.

But last night at Hamilton, watching the cast give it their all, I felt that sense of preciousness that I swore during the worst days of the pandemic I would never forget. I remembered that not all is lost. We will have this. Music. Dance. Joy.

We have, perhaps, a road map to make it through into whatever’s next.

Also, thanks to my amazing sister for buying us all tickets as a Christmas present!