What I didn't say when I said what I did last time about that one day...
Returning to the ren faire last week was special in more ways than just the run-in with the unrequited crush. The whole day had this magical aura for me, probably much as it did that summer fourteen years ago when I decided I would audition for the following season. And it was probably as magical for me as it is for many long-time faire-goers.
But I'm not really what one would call a Rennie, those people who go every weekend, dressed in garb of all sorts (and not always historically accurate), often without a real grasp of the era those at our faire try to recreate (the reign of Elizabeth I). When I worked there, I was a contracted musician. I had a job to do. Yes, I got to design my own costume and wear a corset under several layers of clothing, and indulge my love of Renaissance England and of the music of the time. But there is just an air about it that leaves me at peace. Perhaps it's the people... The core actors and musicians are still there after all these years. Or perhaps it just the distinct spirit of the place. I don't know. But I know I'm not the only person to feel that way.
People have asked me if I would ever go back there to perform. Maybe, I tell them. Maybe I would, if I had something worthwhile to offer after all these years, and probably not until after my son is older.
When I was there last week, all my fears and insecurities about being there were put to rest. Everyone I cared about recognized me. I didn't have to say, "Hey, it's me. Remember me?"
And everyone seemed as pleased to see me for the first time in eight years as I was to see them.
That was gratifying to an unparalleled degree.
I stayed there from opening gate, until closing gate. A solid ten hours. I packed my son into the car and slid into the driver's seat not a bit sleepy-eyed. My feet didn't even hurt! During the drive home, I followed my old route through northern Illinois and was filled with the most profound sense of peace and contentment. It was, truly, a perfect day. I wouldn't trade it for anything.
My husband is arriving in Chicago Monday afternoon. My weeks here without him have been largely peaceful (barring the spats we've had over the phone), and I'm really not looking forward to his arrival. I feel a little bad about that, considering he's giving up his life in Germany to raise our son here in the States. But I don't relish resuming the power struggles, especially here on my own turf where I've always been an independent thinker and doer. My husband will expect to resume all control over our family, and I don't want to go back to that way of life.
He expressed interest in seeing the faire, and I'll take him--probably next weekend. I don't expect him to understand the influence it had on me, or to acquire a deeper understanding of me as a person separate from him (he hates the idea of me being an entity separate from him). So I'm glad I had the opportunity to visit on my own, and to get in touch with an essential part of myself that got pushed into a dusty corner, so long ago. I will probably need to draw on that strength more than ever in the weeks and months, and even years, ahead.
What a gift that day is, in so many ways!
