Wow, Wendy and Eliza (and CP and NA, of course). Love all of your contributions !
You all are really hard acts to follow. You all write so well.
At the risk of embarrasing myself, here is my meager attempt...
Adam sat at the patio bar, repeatedly rolling the burning cigarette between his fingers, waiting impatiently for his drink to be refilled. As he flicked the forsaken ash, his mind pondered the glass receptacle to which it fell, a simple ashtray that was in desperate need of being emptied, a collector of what once was. It was as if each cigarette of the evening represented one of his prior performances, one that had once burned brightly for a few moments, then quietly faded away into obscurity. And while the ashes piled up endlessly, Adam couldn’t help but reflect, anticipate, and try to reign in the feelings of anxiety that festered within.
In only a few moments, the lights of the patio would dim as he once again took center stage. Those in the audience would be expecting something inspired and exciting, something that moved them. Adam was fully aware, however, that there were always two potential outcomes once his hands touched the keyboard. His fingers would either glide gracefully over a sea of black and white, on a whitewater journey to undiscovered melodic territory, …or… just as likely, they would simply fall into a familiar trap; traveling a well-worn path of mediocrity. He was troubled that he had so little control of which way the performance might go. Mediocrity was always happily waiting in the wings when inspiration failed. And while his fans would more than likely be unable to spot any difference in his playing, it was his own internal integrity that was at stake.
As he stared at this glass ashtray in front of him, he wondered if the freedom to create demanded that these ashes of days gone by be discarded, as if by tossing away what once was, a new collection of fresh ideas would have the room necessary to materialize in their place. And yet, those ashes contained the very building blocks that he would need if he were to succeed this evening. They were his collective experience, his triumphs and his failures. They were what they were, and discarding them would be a futile gesture. Yet, in their present form, they represented a crutch, a safety net. Nothing good, or original for that matter, ever came from playing it safe.
The only hope was in the serenity of letting go, to recognize the ashes for what they once were, and yet, to realize that they would never be the same again, no matter how hard he tried. Rather than cling to the safety of pre-conceptions, the key was in simply allowing himself the permission to move ahead. Only then could a new chapter set forth, rising from these ashes like a phoenix. A bird, given the freedom to explore unknown territories far away from its humble beginnings, yet never losing sight of where it came from.
Tapping his shoulder, the waitress asked, “Can I get you a fresh ashtray?”
“That’s ok”, Adam replied as he stood and took the final swig of his drink.
“This one still has some life in it, I think.”
The waitress looked a bit puzzled but nodded anyway, as if she understood. It didn’t matter. What was important was that Adam understood. He made his way to the stage as the lights began to dim, looking forward to the journey ahead.