I love live performance, it’s electrifying. They’re up there on stage, sweating for you, and they’re so human. They’re shaking their tails, belting it out, or stage-whispering an invitation for you to climb in to their imaginary world.

Even when the specific results are mediocre, it’s such a gift to receive a live performance. It’s so much fun to play with other people in this way, even when your role, as an audience member, seems small and inconsequential.

But you showed up. If you wanna feel that electric connection, you gotta play your part. If you’re not willing to suspend disbelief, to extend your own creativity and become engaged, to really listen, then you’ll miss the point.

Living in Edinburgh, festival season in August is a yearly high-point. It was really sad in 2020 when everything was cancelled. This year the festival was minuscule, but I was nonetheless elated to catch a few shows.

I noticed something, though, which really highlighted how I feel my part as audience member.

Wearing a mask felt like a barrier to engagement, a barrier to experiencing emotional reactions. I hadn’t realized how tightly interwoven my face and expressions were to my emotions. It’s not as though I think the performers need to see me smiling, my open mouth as I gasp in shock, or laugh. But I felt I wasn’t able to play my role, as an audience member, quite right when I was behind that mask.