In Learning to Live Again, Scott is a young widower trying—badly—to convince himself he’s ready for a first date. As he fumbles with a necktie and second-guesses every decision, Scott’s late wife Julie appears as a vivid, funny, fiercely honest presence: part memory, part conscience, part the love he can’t let go of. Their banter is sharp and warm, swinging from playful marital comedy to the raw truth of grief—especially when Scott’s fear of “moving on” feels like a betrayal of what he and Julie had.
When Abby arrives—stunning, witty, and carrying her own heartbreak—the play becomes a delicate three-way dance between past, present, and possibility. Scott’s connection with Abby is real, but it comes with panic, guilt, and the terrifying question of whether there’s room for “new” beside “used to be.” With a simple staging device—Julie’s light fading as Scott begins to live forward—this one-act blends humor, romance, and emotional honesty into a story about learning to breathe again, not by forgetting, but by daring to keep going.
