As a hermity writer, I have come to place a lot of expectation on our live performances. It’s a tri-annual tradition, much like vacuuming one’s car for sand, soil and desiccated coconut - if I did it more often, it probably wouldn’t drive me to drink so much.
It could be a 5 minute sketch / a one-hour quick-change, multi-character event - doesn’t matter if the jokes landed / I actually remembered my lines - by the time we make curtain call / crouch behind our 5ft backstage partition, a sinking chest sensation is nearly guaranteed to hit me. The applause / heckling has long stopped, in fact the audience is already home lovingly transcribing the set from memory / ordering Ben & Jerry’s from their toilet seat. And so too have I re-entered my quiet home for a sleepless replay of the evening’s highs and lows in my head, only to don my apron for my muggle job the next day where people I greet refuse to look me in the eye let alone acknowledge how funny I am.
This feeling doesn’t so easily fade; it can and has carried over for weeks at a time. And why wouldn't it? We’ve poured our heart and soul into one thing for so long, and now that energy has nowhere to go. Luckily, there are some tried and true ways to nip this inevitable depression in the bud. Here are five iron-clad tips offered over the years by well-intentioned mechanics and half-listening colleagues:
1. It’s probably your iron
If you aren’t getting out of bed as early as you used to, tend to aimlessly browse on Netflix, or have trouble envisioning a happy future, chances are you’re not eating enough iron-rich foods. And if you menstruate or don’t eat meat, the higher the probability that you’ve never even heard of iron or know how to get it.
Once you recognise your low mood as the easily fixable dietary quirk it is, your GP can arrange a blood test which can assess other nutrients you are also deficient in. The good news is that supplements, a vitamin drip or a trusty iron infusion can get you back on top of your game in fewer days than it took to write and rehearse your passion project now burnt off and forgotten like so much morning fog.
2. Go on a holiday
You’re lucky if this is the first piece of advice you hear. It can save you a lot of time wasted from talking about your feelings, ambitions and your past hang ups. Your sojourn also has the added bonus of sparing those around you with your burdensome air. It doesn’t matter where you go, how much you spend or whether you can afford it; you can be assured that you’re leaving behind far happier friends, family and co-workers who don’t require such indulgences to feel adequate. Once home again, your creative plateau will warmly embrace you, suffocating you underneath the bed sheets.
3. Get another hobby
If writing and performing makes you so dissatisfied after the fact, maybe it’s a sign you should quit and try something new. You may want to pursue this creative work on a full-time basis, but some dreams are just that: preposterous fantasies that should not be said aloud to others. And if you had any talent, you’d have ‘made it’ by now right?
Trust me, that raincloud will be lifted once you try your hand at something classically leisurely and less showy. Like gardening. Or bouldering. You’ll soon earn a reputation as that funny gardener / climber and save yourself bricks of embarrassment trying to pass yourself off as a comedy writer who works in a restaurant.
4. Get out of the house
Further direction is not required. Once out of said house, a tumble-turn of events will conveniently transpire. Sure, you normally look for proactive solutions and draft until something meets its fullest potential, but ye of little faith have to let Destiny take you by the hand and yank you from place to place. Destiny may manifest in the form of a meandering neighbourhood cat, a cosmically forgotten dental appointment, the incessant ringing of a sleepless child, or the desperate cry of an ice cream van. The beckoning humdrum of life must be answered, will you deny its call?
5. Plan your next creative project before your current one finishes
Now, this may sound like hot garbage but hear me out. Unfortunately this has not come through the direct experience of a normie offering bankable advice, but rather the direct experience of feeling an intangible weight lifted, a spirit restored the morning after falling in love with a new creative project. I couldn’t call myself a Writerfirst-Performersecond if it all came down to the final delivery and hope of applause. Truly, my favourite thing is a dedicated sit - be it alone or chortling alongside Alastair and our collaborator friends - and jotting down an idea to test its legs.
Planning a line of projects may seem like a ‘goal-orientation’ which highly regulated and successful types spit at, but what I learned is it gets me back in the chair doing the writing I love foremost which those same bunch of achievers call ‘process-orientation’ (and absolutely horndog over).
Acknowledging “I’m sad this is over but excited to work on this other thing on the shelf” doesn’t negate the grief of finishing some writing or closing a show. But it should help some. At least that bit more than quitting your passion for re-mulching the turkey nest you call a garden.