Fifteen Minutes

“In the future everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes.”  – Andy Warhol (1928 – 1987)

Last week, I had my first public appearance, a book signing at Costco. Appearance may be too strong a word here. Most of the customers seemed embarrassed by my presence, looking quickly away when I smiled at them, edging their carts around my table as though the pile of books surrounding me were nuclear waste. On one side of my table, a stack of picture frames depleted rapidly. Apparently, the good citizens of this suburb of Toronto were in desperate need of wall decoration. On the other side, a man gave demonstrations of nonstick cookware. I envied him his license to attract attention by performance. I had nothing more to sell than my signature and sat there with stiffening cheeks - at both ends - for the longest two hours of my life.

Two days later, during my coffee break at the library, I had a chat with Jason, the intense, energetic young man who works behind the counter at the library café. He was more intense than usual that day, excited about the upcoming performance of the Dream Players, a group of physically and mentally challenged people who put on a show every year. Jason had worked with the group as a volunteer over the winter, helping them write and choreograph a musical. To support him, I hauled friend Wen out to see the show the next night.

We were blown away by the performers. They loved being on stage. They sang their songs (not always on key) and danced their dances (as best they could) and performed their skits (with assistance from offstage prompters), soaking up attention from the audience and beaming it back out at us somehow intensified. As the show progressed, their joy infused the room with emotions much stronger than appreciation of art or talent. What we felt was admiration for their determination, amazement at what they had achieved, awe at the power of the human spirit to overcome limitations and realize a dream.  We whistled and shouted and clapped. We gave them a standing ovation at the end of the show, partly to reward their efforts, but mostly to bask a little longer in their moment of triumph.

I think, deep down, we all want our fifteen minutes in the spotlight, to perceive the value of our achievements through the eyes of others.

Sitting at that table in Costco, I felt like an unwelcome intrusion, an obstacle in the aisle between house wares and groceries to be navigated around with annoyance. This is not the reward I envisioned for the two years of effort I put into achieving my fifteen minutes.

Sitting in the audience watching the Dream Players, I felt like a willing contributor to an experience greater than the sum of its parts. I felt this so strongly, I’m applying for a volunteer position with the Dream Players this fall when Jason leaves for Toronto to work on his master’s degree. Next year, I hope to take my bow, like the one Jason took, at the end of the show. That’s the fifteen minutes I really want.