The Seats Are Empty and the Theater Is Dark

German-American poet and novelist Charles Bukowski once wrote, “The seats are empty. The theater is dark. Why do you keep acting?”

Have you ever ask yourself that question? Why am I still acting? After all these years. After all the self-medication with a strong drink or religion — why am I still acting? After all the pain. The humiliation. The suffering. Why am I still acting? After all the money has been made and spent and all the weight has been gained or lost — why?

The seats are empty. No one is even watching.

The theater is dark. Even if someone was there, they can’t see me.

Why am I still acting?

I recently attended a high school musical — no, not that one. Zach Efron was nowhere to be found. Aside from there being no Wildcats, one other notable difference was this was a junior high school musical. Loads of 6th, 7th, and 8th graders giving it their all.

As I watched the production unfold, I forgot I was watching 12, 13, and 14-year-olds performing. They were so natural and comfortable on stage that losing awareness of their tenuous teenage place in this world was easy. So how does a cast of 50+ middle schoolers create magic on a stage with a shoestring budget and all the anxieties that accompany being a teenager these days?

First off, theater kids are different. In a world that demands conformity of thought, dress, and lifestyle, these kids often cut against the societal grain. They can be eccentric, dramatic, moody, and usually viewed as outsiders by those who worship the center or normalcy. Theater kids tend to live on the outer edges and care for those who do not fit in. They understand the importance of acceptance, and acceptance becomes the norm during the difficult weeks of rehearsals and their three live performances .

But then the show ended. The lights faded following the final curtain call and wild applause from an adoring audience.

Now what? Soon, the seats would be empty. The theater would be dark once more. Would the performers go on acting?

We learn early on that society loves and applauds our learned and perfected personas. The Greek word for a persona is “stage mask.” Our personas are what we desire for the world to see in us. Our “stage masks” are part of our mirage. Our personas are not necessarily evil. They just are not always true. In many ways, our masks protect us. They keep us safe from harsh realities. They tend to act like armor. Not bad. Just not real and in most cases not needed.

But the world loves a good persona. And people do not hesitate to heap praise and recognition on a beautiful stage mask, which takes years of rehearsal to craft and develop into perfection.

Then the crowd leaves, and the lights go out. Now what? Do we still act? Or do we remove our masks and do the hard work of becoming authentic? Do we continue to play a role written in a script by others? Each of us gets to make that decision every day. So why do I keep acting? I’ll tell you why — because I’m scared.

I’m afraid I’m not enough. I fear I will live and die and never leave any noteworthy mark. I worry that when I’m gone — it will be as if I was never here. So I act. I carry on. I refuse to go out quietly. I don’t care if the seats are empty. Curse the darkness. I will act! I will act until I can’t anymore. What about you? Why do act?

However, eventually, the seats really will literally be empty. The theater will actually be dark. In fact, I sense this reality more and more every day as I age. These days, I sit with myself and struggle to set my mask aside, even for a few minutes daily. I try. I attempt to stop the acting. You see, there’s no crowd. It’s just me and God. The Creator and the created. It gets dark. For the first time, however, I’m finding brilliant new colors and new depth and dimensions in my theater, which has no one in its seats and no lights. I’m not sure but I believe this is what the experts call peace.

I’m doing my best to stop acting and start living just because it is my privilege to do so. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to go fully maskless in this world, but that is okay because there are empty seats and a dark theater that has become my new sanctuary. It’s mystical, magical, and mine.

I left the theater that night and wondered how the kids felt after the show. As the seats emptied and the lights were turned off — I wondered about their makeup and masks and how long they would keep their stage personas on display. I contemplated if they would keep acting.

I smiled because I knew the answer — of course, they would act. And they will continue to act until they can’t anymore. When that day finally comes, they will become fully alive and truly fearless. And they will leave their mark. Their legacies will be formed.

Their mask will be set aside in a dark corner until someone else comes along and picks it up and tries it on . Suddenly, the seats will be occupied for more performances, and the lights will shine brightly once more. And the acting will begin again.