The Balcony People
Behind the top rows of the balcony in the theatres of our minds, in the room where memories store the props for our lives’ plays, sit the balcony people. Mrs. Jackson, your favorite grade school teacher, is there, and your old neighbor, Mae. There’s Uncle Fred and that counselor from camp who convinced you that you could swim after all. They’re the people who believed in you, who told you how special you are.
They sit there, watching through time’s magic window, as the scenes of your life play out on your reality’s stage. When you fall, they murmur, “Get up, kid! You can do it!” When you succeed, they throw their hats in the air and cheer. And at the end of each act, when you tuck yourself into bed at the end of a day, they break out the popcorn and rave about your performance.
“Man! He’s really something, isn’t he? I loved the part where it looked like he was going to get all riled over Sarah’s attitude again, and then just smiled and walked away.”
“Yeah, and how about the way he stopped to give that homeless woman a coin and said, ‘Keep believing’ as he pressed it into her hand?” That nearly moved me to tears.
“I just wish he’d stop taking himself so seriously. Have a little fun now and then. Kiss the wife a little longer.”
“Aw, he’ll get there; just watch. He’s got spirit in him he hasn’t even begun to tap yet.”
You may not know they’re there. But they are. Once we connect with people, we stay connected. It’s a quantum physics thing. Anyone who ever saw your potential, who saw your strengths, who admired your honesty or creativity or determination, believes in you still, is cheering you on and wishing you well.
You may want to wander around up there, in the back of the balcony, sometime between scenes, and say hello to these old friends, get reacquainted, thank them for their support.
Posted in Happiness Tales 
