Hello, you lovely humans.

I’m fairly certain that at some point in my four years of performing with you, I have sobbed these words out in each of your general vicinities, high on the throes of a cast party and the honor of standing onstage beside you.

That, of course, won’t stop my long-winded self from repeating these words over and over again as the memories flood my heart, sketching images of brightly colored costumes littering the green room, hushed giggles shared behind velvet curtains, and the most magnificent form of storytelling that I have ever known across my mind.

It really wasn’t theater itself that drew me under the stage lights at all, as much as I came to fall in love with it along the way. My stage-frightened 8th-grade soul would never have willingly stepped out in front of any kind of audience without simply wilting. It was you, all of you. I hope you know that. It was your wide smiles as you coaxed a terrified me out my lighting booth freshman year, your open hearts as you thought nothing of teaching my shy, awkward self the beloved art form which allowed me to survive the cesspool of high school.

You’ve taught me so many things I’m not sure you even knew you did. At the core of performance, you taught me that putting on a show requires a connection established on and off the stage. It calls for time and patience and relationships with each other that cannot be built overnight. A cycle of connectivity, it begins with friendship, grows into love and loyalty for each other that can withstand even the harshest of life’s trials, and culminates in a performance constructed from the foundation of family. I could size you up from the eyes of a character while knowing internally that I can make bold choices, movements, and strides because you will be there to catch me. And I will be there to catch you.

You taught me about what it means to be genuine. You showed me that behind the false masks of characters are some of the most real people I will ever know. It takes self-awareness and a raw, intimate sharing of oneself to build a believable, powerful character. You all shared so much of your lives with me that I felt able to do the same, to learn more about myself, and to face the future with a continually renewed perspective. You made a point to know me so well that you could tell my general mindset from a glance and knew what to do to help me through; there was and is a difference between sifting through emotions for a role and fighting with them in the ever-present struggle of real life, and you saw that. You showed me too.

You taught me the significance of theater as it fits in with the road ahead. I will never forget what I heard one of you say regarding the prospect of losing theater as time goes on: “I’m okay with no longer telling the story so long as my life is a story worth telling.”

Theater may come and it may go, but the experience I hold onto even now will not. You taught me what it means to really be a part of the lives of others, how to care for them and love them more than I love myself. You taught me how combining efforts with those around me can create something that is nothing short of a masterpiece.

You taught me so much, and you continue to teach me more even as I drift further away from the time I had with you. I cannot live in those moments forever, but I can take the priceless lessons you’ve given to me and use them to forge a future that will make each and every one of you proud.

A future that is a story worth telling.