To reminisce on my younger years is not a pastime I enjoy. In fact, usually just thinking of what I did last month is enough to make me cringe. Unlike every rom-com set in high school, I was never able to become the new kid and embark on a journey towards the pinnacle of popularity. The fantasy of “finding myself” was never indulged, and I desperately wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. Similarly to my peers though, I had my way of surviving. Mine just so happened to come in the form of singing along to starving artists living in New York City to help calm me down before entering the doors to my own personal hell.
Thanks to my mother, musical theatre has been in my life for as long as I can remember. Before doing my first show at the ripe age of 7, it was there in the form of cast albums. Belting the anthems from Rent Disc 1 on the way to school, and crying during Collins soulfully reprising “I’ll Cover You” on Disc 2 while driving home. Although I couldn’t understand at that age what the show was discussing, it brought me a feeling of contentment and joy. After I discovered theatre extended beyond a disc, I signed up for the first production I could find. Truthfully, I don’t remember much of my time spent during Beauty and the Beast rehearsals, but I know it’s where the light went off. And after starting middle school, it became so much more than just “rehearsal.”
If you haven’t caught on yet, let me be frank – I hated school. I struggled socially, fumbled through classes, and began avoiding it at all costs. However, knowing that a whole different world was waiting for me upon leaving last period excited me. It made me feel like I had a sacred hideaway, far away from the familiar. With my libretto in hand, theatre gave me permission to be who I was scared to be anywhere else. Whether I was a child singing my way out of 1905 Russia, or a teenager desperate for love during the French revolution, I was always able to find someone who understood what I often struggled to say. It gave me back the voice I felt I had lost.
As I mentioned before, reminiscing is my least favorite thing to do. But if I could, I would go back to personally thank every single director I ever had. Every friend I ever made, a character I ever brought to life, and harmony shared gave me more than just an extra-curricular. The most accepting, loving, and caring people are the ones I’ve had the privilege of sharing the stage with. Theatre has given me not only the most kick-ass mantras and unnecessary diction, but forever friends to articulately sing them with. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
