When I received an invitation to the PBS Fall Programming Preview, I enthusiastically rsvp'd yes, because well, I'm kind of a PBS geek. Fifteen minutes seemed like ample time to head from work down to campus to my old UW Theatre (yes, with an "re") & Drama home, Vilas Hall, to the WPT studios. The legend when I was in school was that Vilas had been one of the 60's structures built to throw-off rioters back when my dad was a student. This means that entrances aren't always obvious and the buildings include many maze-like corridors and terraces, befitting a fortress or prison. Inside are low ceilings, high-gloss tile floors and the type of recycled air that makes one feel one actually may be re-breathing one's breath from days gone by.
Traffic was diverted for dorm move-in days, so I made it by the skin of my teeth, after navigating foot-traffic around the Lake Street ramp and University Avenue. As I walked, throngs of incoming freshmen covered the sidewalks and malls, all achingly green and wide-eyed. I saw extroverted loudmouths freak out over cute puppies and watched a sexy nerdy upperclassmen look up hopefully as he biked past a sexy nerdy young lady standing at the crosswalk trying to appear unconcerned. There were lots of fleeting glances from one group to the next as all these quickly beating hearts burst with the energy of newly unleashed adult freedom. Some things never change.
But they appeared to be such babies to me. When I was moving into the dorms, my friends and I were so much older...weren't we?
What's more, I felt suddenly like the cool, unbothered career woman, walking confidently to a VIP event, the kind of woman I might have watched intimidatedly and judgementally from the little outdoor cement terrace, in between acting classes in the basement of this same hall 23 years ago, wondering what her life must be like and projecting my own possible future.
Wait...23 years ago? How the hell did that happen?
When I arrived at the event, I quickly realized that my short journey from the street to the studio had suddenly transformed me into the youngest person in the room by about 30-40 years, save for a few entry-level employees manning the check-in table. Throughout the presentation, I listened to these glorious supporters' enthusiastic responses as upcoming series were revealed and became teary-eyed as they asked things like "What ever happened to Hercule Poirot?" I even ended up befriending a gentleman who needed help getting good seats to an upcoming Simon & Garfunkel tribute at Overture.
Then it hit me, maybe one of these ladies or gents was one of the well put-together career people walking swiftly to a VIP event when I was 18, darting my eyes around the concrete jungle on move-in weekend in 1995. Maybe I'll be asking "whatever happened to Aidan Turner," with a wrinkled voice, at a similar event in another 23 years, bringing one of the kids I just passed on University Avenue to tears after her full day of navigating single mom kid dental appoinment fanagling, a long commute, a few hundred emails and one too many meetings.
