Last night I went to the symphony with my sweet surrogate Mother. We had some of the best, neck-breaking seats in the house. Last night I realized that sitting too close to the orchestra is not all its cracked up to be.

We both sat there and tried to let the music wash over us. All the while our necks were arched and stretched staring at the back of the First Viola Chair and noticing all the things a person in cheaper seats would never see. We saw socks that were falling down, black sport coats that didn’t match pants and shoes that weren’t shined. We noticed that only the First Violin’s shoes were patent leather and that during the first few movements of the program their timing was off. Maybe if we sat further back the music would have had an opportunity to travel through the room and magically assemble itself in perfect time before we even knew what hit us? We were sitting too close to the orchestra.

It took me a long time to get ready last night much longer than it normally does. Something happens when I stand in front the mirror. Suddenly there are fat rolls, bad skin and unruly hair where there used to be a sexy, healthy, vibrant woman. All I can see is a woman who dresses nice in an effort to hide her helplessness, weakness and fear from everyone around her. Suddenly as if; “What if everyone finds out I’m fake?” One of my friends wrote me today after reading my blog post and said something I haven’t felt in a long time. “You’re the most powerful woman I know.”

Wow – not what I see when I’m sitting so close to the orchestra.

Something did happen over the weekend as I shut myself up in my house and tried to start writing again. I started reading my book over and realized that the time I’ve stepped away from it might have been good time. I laughed a bit and cried a little as I allowed myself a few moments to revisit the memories from the week that my mother died and the memories from my childhood. I didn’t focus on the typo’s, the bad grammar or the useless repetition as much as I did a few months ago when I attempted a re-write. I set it aside before I got too close again, before I noticed that it wasn’t as shiny as I want it to be; before I started beating myself over the head. Again, a time when sitting away from the orchestra was the best move I could make. I guess I’m ready to go back again and start the rewrite.