One morning after a show at the Netanya Civic Center, I parked my old GMC Safari truck right next to our neighborhood post office. I slammed the door shut and took a moment to examine our “Wandering Israeli” logo. Even though its colors had faded and it was peeling off at the edges, I still loved the way it looked on the side of my truck. And I loved the way it reminded me that, although I had settled down, I was still a true wanderer.
I was also still enjoying the rush I had from the previous night’s show.
We normally did smaller, more intimate theaters, but last night in Netanya there were more than a thousand people in the crowd! A thousand! The stage was bigger than my house. And for an hour, on that stage, I owned it!
It was one of those shows where the energy was so aligned and the timing so perfect that my feet seemed to float as I glided from one side of the stage to the other. No costumes, no makeup, no fancy set, just a tent, my two musicians and me.
Inside the tiny post office there were two other people in line. I didn’t mind the wait since images from last night pleasantly continued to flash in my mind.
Suddenly a lady barged in.
“Who’s the owner of the truck outside?!” she said looking around.
I raised my hand hesitantly.
“The one with the Wandering Israeli logo?” she continued.
“Mine,” I said.
“Listen,” she now looked me straight in the eye, “last night I was at that show in Netanya and it was absolutely brilliant!”
I felt my chest inflate and prepared for the barrage of compliments about to be showered upon me.
“So…” she said, “How are you connected to the show?”
“Me? Uhm…”
I now looked straight back, trying to somehow help her realize that it was me she saw on stage the night before. But she was blank. So I stalled a bit longer, extended my neck forward towards her as much as I could, added a slight tilt to my head and opened my eyes the widest I could. It was less than 12 hours ago and, for sure, she would recognize me any moment now. For sure.
But she just continued to look at me bewildered, and once again said, “So… what’s your connection to the Wandering Israeli?”
It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened to me. One moment I’d be on stage, controlling every beat, basking in the spotlight, completely engaged with the crowd. The next moment, I was all but forgotten. And I admit, there were times, especially during the first stages, that I had hoped some notoriety would rub off on me.
But, as I matured as a stage performer, I learned to indulge myself in the crowd’s love while I was on stage. And once the show was over, I learned to draw the utmost satisfaction from witnessing the long-lasting impression the show had upon people, and happily retreat to the comfort of my own anonymity.
I pulled back my head and smiled at her.
“I’m just their driver.”