Not About to Throw Away My Shot!

How seeing the Broadway Musical Hamiton changed my life.

Seeing a Broadway touring cast production of the musical Hamilton changed my life in more ways than one. This was well before the film version was released so splurging for a live performance ticket was the only way to see it.

I had friends ask me questions like, could you follow it? Could you understand the words? What was going on? Isn’t hip hop kinda loud and fast?

Truthfully, I wasn’t about to waste a $200 ticket.

I remember going to the ACT to finally see a production of Three Penny Opera by Brecht. The musical that gave the world Mac the Knife. I was finally going to get the surrounding story to that Sunday morning sidewalk where that body was oozing life.

Or so I thought. But, I had three penny-pinched and bought the $20 ticket. I was up in the nosebleed seats with a blasted beam between me and the stage way down below. Which I could work around — literally.

But I couldn’t hear the damn dialogue — Scratch that. I couldn’t hear the amazing, brilliant dialogue worth a damn. So, moral of the story, you get what you pay for.

I’m not going to waste my shot.

Paying $200 for a ticket meant I was not about to throw away my shot at understanding and drinking in every intoxicating moment. So I studied up. I went on genius.com and read all the lyrics as I listened to the soundtrack — for free!!!!

I have friends who did that and read Ron Chernow’s biography of A.H. They weren’t throwing away their shots either.

So I expected to be uplifted, inspired, and entertained. I wasn’t prepared for what happened when I was in the (Orpheum Theater) room where it happened.

I was blown away. All my circuits were blown clean out. I left a different person than whoever it was I came in as. Suddenly all limiting thoughts and beliefs got pushed out of my psyche.

My self-talk became — I’m going for it. I’m playing full out.

My soundtrack — I’m not throwing away my you know what!

I invested in the beautiful book, Hamilton the Revolution with the complete libretto and the creation story, and much more. I bought copies for friends and family. One landed Cambridge, England, with my niece and her husband firing them up to see the London cast before their baby came.

I’ve read it twice, and I’m just getting started. The groove for me is — creative success only inspires and begets more creative success. Sure, I could be jealous. I’ll never be young and talented like Lin Manuel and the casts and crews.

But I can be old and talented.

Maybe not in hip hop musical theater, but I’m not ruling it out.

In a play I’m writing, Tumbleweeds, my main character, ends up pregnant and struggles over what to do. The fetus, fearing for its little life, starts singing to her in a fit of self- preservation.

Imitation being the highest form of flattery, my character Amy’s initial response pays homage to Mr. Burr’s opening lines when she wonders:

“How does a zygote, an embryo, a measly parasite come up with all this shite in the middle of the night, becoming quite an imposter, and presume to tell me what to do?”

Hamilton and the folks who created it and continue bringing it to life night after night inspired me to see what I can bring to life day after day in my own unique, sacred foolish way.

As time goes on, different songs come to the forefront of my consciousness, and given there are 45 to pick from, it never gets old.

Currently, it’s Aaron Burr’s Wait for It. It’s an especially melodic number where he sings about loving through tears and laughter and not giving up.

We keep loving, anyway. No matter what.

When I come back from a meeting that didn’t go the way I wanted, I cry till I can laugh about it and keep loving anyway…and I remind myself of a saying I appreciate more and more with time — people of integrity expect to be believed, and when they’re not, they let time prove them right.

Aaron Burr’s patience starkly contrasted with Alexander’s Hamilton’s ambition. And since Burr was the damn fool who shot him, it’s hard to make a moral point out of that.

But that being said, the song reminds me to stay humble, keep plugging away at my writing, my learning, my experimenting, my blogging, my posting, my submitting, more writing, more learning, more experimenting, more posting, more submitting. Putting in my 10,000’s of hours.

As I do so, I’m getting better, bit by bit, better, stronger, clearer about where I’m headed, and what it takes to get there. Stronger in my sense of self and purpose, and more confident in the outcome. More willing to take risks and invest in my future.

Wait for it: learning patience.

And if it doesn’t happen overnight, I’m okay with that. I am willing to wait for it. Not idly, but by continuing to work, grow, and learn.

This includes releasing distractions to concentrate on my intentions. This includes re-assessing current commitments to make sure they serve my vision.

I’m not young and scrappy. But I am hungry to see what I can accomplish in whatever time I have left. That’s how I use another part of the song where he sings about death not being choosy as a reminder that I don’t have all the time in the world.

We keep living anyway, no matter what.

Death is not the enemy of my creativity. It’s one of the prime motivators.

So in a funky way, I am learning to appreciate the nudges and tugs his visage inspires. A not so gentle reminder to live life to the fullest, and not fear failure or mistakes — which is how I learn.

After the ensemble sings, Wait for It, Aaron Burr comes back with how it is his life and that only which is his to control, and within that, he is one of an inimitable original, one of a kind.

He is. As is the inimitable Leslie Odom, Jr., who played him on Broadway. And the young actors in the touring casts as well. All of them.

But then, so am I, especially when I hear this in my head and sing along. And so are you. Don’t throw away your shot!

This post was inspired by a writing prompt in this IdeaStream:

Marilyn Flower writes political humor and satire to delight socially and spiritually conscious folks. She’s a regular columnist for the prison newsletter, Freedom Anywhere, where she writes about faith and prayer. Five of her short plays have been produced in San Francisco. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her resolve during these crazy times.