Feeling nervous about not feeling nervous

When I was just a wee lad, and was going on stage for the first time, I turned to my coach and asked: "Why am I nervous?"
And she, in all her erudite and venerable ways said simply: "Don't ask so many questions. Just get out there."

Which, for a young boy of a singular digit age, was most crushing. It was not until I had reached high school that I got a much better answer: "Nervous is good. It means you care."
Ironically enough, both answers apply greatly to the principles of acting. For additional irony, the first slot of advice used to be pasted up in our rehearsal space itself. (Of course, in a more coherent manner, advertised as actings' golden rule): "Don't think. Just do."

The 2nd slot of advice applies here, where; on the brink of 2 months worth of rehearsals and tinkering and memorizing and experimentation, I personally find solace in the nerve-wracking feeling of sweaty palms, shallow breathing, and hair tearing. (Not applicable in my case, fortunately) The sheer unwelcome shot of adrenalin as I get into character in preparation for the play serves as a reminder of just how hard we've all worked to breathe life into this play. And while a lot of people would receive this reminder as a grim responsibility to not fuck up, it only takes a very small paradigm shift to realize that as an actor you can't fuck up.

Sure! You could forget your lines. Yes! The lights may not be queued properly. Indeed! The careful coordination of movement across the stage may be torn asunder by a simple misstep, but thats just not the point anymore. The point is that both the cast and crew have created something absolutely mind-blowing in the past 2 months, and if some edges turn out to be abit torn, it won't matter, because we have gone through the whole rigmarole of preparation and know exactly what we're capable of, and exactly how good this play has become, and if perhaps some of the audience don't see that on a given night, its fine; because we know that we have created something beautiful. And failing that, our most wise director always reminds us: We are not alone on stage. So yes. Save for the set itself to be eaten by termites, (Touch wood, no pun intended), we are good to bloody go.