If you've ever seen the musical (or movie) The Last Five Years, you're probably familiar with the song in which Kathy preaches the truths of the universe. In "Climbing Uphill", she sings, "Why'd I pick these shoes, why'd I pick this song, why'd I pick this career, why does this pianist hate me," (in the distance, you can hear the theatre community sobbing and clapping and saying "YAS"). This lyric became permanent background music as I delved into my audition process for college musical theatre programs in the winter of my senior year.

There was a time when, if you asked me to, I would have been able to roll out my ten-year plan for you in thirty seconds clocked. I was going to audition for the musical theatre programs at nine different hand-picked schools, get into and register at one, study up and receive my BFA, move to New York City, be an actress, own a french bulldog, get married to a man who would understand my busy schedule and die happy. There was a time when people would tell me, "I see that plan happening. You're an ambitious person, with hard work and dedication, it will happen." There was a time when I believed what they said.

But then, November rolled around.

I finished all of my academic applications before November 1st so that I could get the best audition slots. I had the head-shots printed, I had the resumes tucked snugly in the front pocket of a three-ringed binder which also contained my 16/32-bar song cuts and an obnoxiously pink post-it note of encouragement from my mom. I was more than ready for the tidal wave that was to come--audition season was upon us.

My first audition was for Marymount Manhattan College. It was at the end of November, and it went fabulously. I received an acceptance letter a few weeks post-audition and danced around my family room with my mom (and dog). My confidence was at an all-time high and I thought to myself, "I can really do this. This is going to be my life." I was going to be the one who didn't give up on her passion, I could feel it.

Two months later, I had my audition for Emerson College at Pearl Studios in New York. I had a slight sinus infection and was in the weeds as far as midterms went, so to say I was a little less prepared than I was for my first audition was an understatement. I got through the dance portion by the skin of my teeth and went in to the monologue and song portion to find that there was a mirror behind the auditors. Unexpectedly, this proved to be a huge problem; you don't realize how much you hate the way you look when you sing until you're staring straight at yourself through the entirety of a 32-bar cut. I was re-thinking every single breath and every single movement, movements which had been pre-calculated and rehearsed during months of preparation. "Can you mix your voice or do you just belt?" one of the auditors asked. "Um...I just belt. As of now. I'm in the process of developing my mix." What is the right answer here? He scribbled something down on his clipboard and then looked back up at me and smiled, "Okay, thank you for coming in."

Emerson takes longer that Marymount Manhattan to send out their decisions so I had my third and final audition before receiving a decision from them (a decision which turned out to be a rejection). In February, I made my way up to Penn State (my top choice program) with a full-fledged bout of bronchitis that I had contracted a week before. I went to University Park armed with a netti-pot, travel-humidifier and a years worth of green tea bags. I took up an hour on the eve of my audition steaming my sinuses, which were still stuffy and inflamed. I spent the whole night tossing, turning and coughing, which left me with a whopping four hours of sleep--yet somehow, I woke up feeling amazing. I walked into the studio for the dance portion feeling confident and prepared.

After the first ten minutes, I was spent. We did cardio as a warm-up and then proceeded to learn two combinations, which left me wheezing and crawling towards my water bottle by the end. I was third to be called back into the studio to do my song and monologue, but realized two bars into my first piece that my voice was not going to hold up. The auditors shared a look of sympathy when my voice completely shot out after 20 seconds of singing. My dream school slipped out of my hands faster than I could say "MacBeth."

Almost immediately after I left the room, I was pulled aside by a staff member and told that I did not get a callback and could go home and "Thank you for coming!", meaning that I wasn't accepted into the musical theatre program that I had been dreaming of since I was in middle school. I didn't say anything to my mother as I walked past her in the waiting room, I simply motioned with my hand for her to follow me to the exit. Our drive home was silent (aside from the occasional coughing fit) and when we got home, I laid in my bed and held in tears as my mom rubbed my back.

"You still have Marymount," she reassured me, but to me, it was more than that. It was the months of preparation that had just gone to waste--it was the feeling that I wasn't good enough for something that had always been good enough for me. With Penn State's rejection, my entire plan had become a thing of the past. If I felt this bad after one college audition, how could I possibly handle a career that entails 90% rejection? I didn't want it enough, and it wasn't fun anymore. I dreaded the thought of going through anything like that ever again. In the spring, I registered at Pace University as a communications major and decided that I was going to work on the business side of theatre. Just like that, everything I'd worked towards for almost twelve years was erased.

I love Pace. I'm happy here. I love my classes and I love my friends and I love the city, but a hole takes up the space in my heart where my passion for performing used to sit. I miss the rush of auditions and the feeling of getting a standing ovation on your opening night and feeling entirely myself despite the fact that I was playing other people.

I forgot how insanely lucky I was to have a passion--to be able to always have something to fall back on something no matter my boy situation, my friend situation, my family situation. Passion like that is fleeting, and it's rare. How could I be so selfish as to abandon the one thing that had always been there for me?

So, friends, I'm ending my hiatus, and to those who have made similar decisions regarding their "failed" passions: do the same. I have never felt as empowered as I did the day that I decided to take back my life. Not everyone is as lucky as you are to have something they love more than themselves.