“Finally.” I found myself internally muttering this word several times, in several tones, over the past few weeks. And, honestly, I hope to be saying it again sooner rather than later; waiting is not a skill I have enjoyed cultivating.

After two years of tense precaution and the struggle to enforce boundaries, I finally caught COVID-19. That pernicious Omicron variant flew through the cast of Nana Does Vegas via a single entry point in one weekend, shutting us down only halfway through the run. It was the weekend of my 28th birthday, no less. At this writing, 8 of the 11 cast members have tested positive, and luckily all are in the recovery stage (thank you, MRNA vaccines). It seems a wryly fitting end to a show already delayed for a year; I had been cast in May of 2019, expecting January 2021 performances… well, we know what happened instead. I am simply grateful we performed at all.

This gratitude and lack of expectation has led me to see this closure/illness with humor; I have to admit an unhinged cackle escaped me when I read the “bad news” email, and I accepted my positive result with positive cheer. Being right, in this instance, is not a pleasant experience, but it is a validating one. Once Omicron began shutting down Broadway venues, I knew it was only a matter of time before it happened to our cast outside of Detroit, MI. I had premonitions even before our first rehearsal, and I was frankly amazed we made it to opening. By the time I got to perform a two-show day on my birthday, I was relishing every minute, having fully accepted I would never know which performance would be our last… and it just so happened to be the very next day, though we wouldn’t know for certain until later that week.

I couldn’t even tell if I really had COVID until my PCR result a week later, confirming my tiny sniffle was in fact not psychosomatic. And as much as I feared catching it, my feelings upon the actual catch are neutral, almost relieved… at least I got it now, at least I’m vaxxed and boosted, at least it’s so mild. I have spent so long anticipating these events I’ve correctly predicted that there is no adjustment period in my mind. I felt no need to grieve for the show closing. I have already accepted that my two-year-avoidance-streak is over. We had a good run. I know I did my best, and didn’t take a second for granted.

That show was everything I hoped it would be. It was a chance to create in a safe space, a chance to get back onstage with people I enjoy and admire, and it was even my first AEA contract. It was fun, and it provided a bridge from the past to now, a way to reconnect with a part of me that has been withering over the course of the pandemic, sustained only by lonely self-tapes and long drives with Channel 77 “On Broadway” on Sirius XM Radio.

…And, simultaneously, this contract has been hanging over my head for two years and seven months, feeling like loose shoelaces slowly fraying against the concrete with every step. I have been longing to tie these loose ends for so long, so that I can finally sprint ahead. There is an ache of impatience that is finally subsiding… perhaps it’s callous of me to be privately glad it’s fading sooner than planned, but so I feel. Our original closing date is still three days away, and I couldn’t be happier to be sitting in my Bronx living room instead, writing this on gifted time.

Now, staring at an open expanse of unplanned possibility, I feel a thrilling, terrifying potential… but even now, my old friend Impatience hovers, invading my personal space. I am trying to enjoy the freedom and clarity, but I also just want to know what happens next. What’s next? It’s suddenly a question that arrived sooner than I expected, forcing me to act, to choose, to do.

I hope to finally know what’s next again, soon.