A recent OnStage Blog article by Chris Peterson, “Why Exactly Do You Love Being Involved in Theatre?” prompted me to put into words something I’ve rarely articulated. Since retiring, I’ve become increasingly involved in Atlanta’s theatre community, and people often ask me why. I’ve never had a particularly coherent answer, much less an elevator speech.

Peterson writes about what drew him to performing. My reasons for loving theatre couldn’t be more different. I’ve never wanted to be the center of attention. I’ve never had the slightest desire to perform, and I suspect I’d have trouble trusting the applause if I did.

I just love being part of the collective breath in a theatre.

Books and films transport me to other worlds, but theatre hits me differently. There are real people in front of me, creating something that will never happen in quite the same way again. And somehow, sitting quietly in the dark, I can experience emotions I might never have the opportunity to experience elsewhere.

I love reading plays. I am rarely able to imagine the choices a director, actors, and designers might make in bringing a script to life, but I know when the words move me. I can have an inkling of their power without knowing how that power will be realized onstage.

And I am in awe of the people who make it happen: playwrights, actors, directors, choreographers, designers, technicians, stage managers, and everyone working in the front and back of the house. I have no formal theatre arts education, and much of what they do remains a mystery. But I know what their work does for and to me.

“I just love being part of the collective breath in a theatre.”

I’m particularly mesmerized by the generosity of actors willing to make themselves vulnerable in front of strangers, night after night, so the rest of us can experience something beyond our own lives.

I love being entertained, but that’s not why I go to the theatre. I go to be moved. To laugh, cry, learn something, or feel empathy for someone whose life is nothing like mine. I don’t even need to like what I see. Once I’m in my seat, ready for whatever comes, all is right with the world.

Perhaps that explains why I’m devoting so much of my retirement to the Suzi Bass Awards. What could be more satisfying than helping celebrate the people whose work has given me so much? These artists are my heroes. And while I may never fully understand how they create what they do, I know how much it means to me.

I think I’ve finally found my elevator speech.

I don’t need to be seen. I don’t need applause or a curtain call.

I just need a seat in a theatre and the freedom to let my emotions run wild.

Donna O. Willis