Ever since I was little, I knew I wanted to be on stage. My mom has told me a million stories from before I can remember about tiny me dressing up in whatever odd combination of Halloween costumes I could find around the house and putting on "plays" in my living room. I've heard stories from my grandpa about how I would use a chopstick as a baton to "conduct" the entire score of "Beauty and the Beast," and I've heard stories from my dad about how I would always be singing... always. While I only have blurry remnants of memories of these moments in my life, the feelings I got from these small "performances" are feelings I will never forget. As a kid, I felt that I knew I was going to be a performer. I thought I would go on "American Idol," win and live the life of a celebrity. I thought that there was nothing that could stop me, and that I would be that person—the person who goes for their dreams unapologetically and never looks back. Well, I was wrong. I'm not a celebrity, I didn't go on "American Idol," and now, I'm a theater kid.

Flashback to eighth grade: My first musical audition for none other than "Annie." I was confident. I practiced "Tomorrow" over and over again, and then... I didn't get called back for Annie. I did, however, get called back for the role of Grace. I was given the song for callbacks, and essentially lost my mind. I couldn't grasp it in the short time I was given, and bombed the callback. I was cast. I was cast as a maid. All of a sudden, I had the realization that would shape my confidence for years to come: I'm not always going to get the part.

It may seem obvious that every actor doesn't get every role they audition for. Of course they don't. It's impossible. But, when you're an actor and you want that part more than you've ever wanted anything, logic and reason sort of melt away. They melt away until you believe, or can at least convince yourself long enough to audition, that you are the only one who could play that role. This belief for me, though, is often short-lived, because more often than not when that cast list finally goes up at the end of the audition process, my name is listed under "Ensemble" or not listed at all. And no matter how many people tell me "There are no small roles!" or "Every role is important!" or "You'll get it next time!," the heartbreak is the same each time.

I always wished I could have been in love with math, science or anything more concrete than theater. In math, there are always answers. There is right and wrong and there are formulas, tests and grades. Math is black and white. To succeed in math, you follow a formula and you use a calculator to get your answer. There is no luck involved. In theater, there is only gray area. There is no way to tell if you are "good enough," and there is no way to tell if you are going to make it or not. No one asks for a picture of your face to consider you for a position as a math teacher. To succeed in theater, no matter how hard you train and practice, there is so much luck involved. You have to be lucky enough to find an audition that suits you, get an appointment time and pick the right song. (How was I supposed to know that this specific director despises "Next to Normal?!"). You have to nail your audition, but nailing your audition is subjective. You have to hope that you are exactly what they are looking for, and who could ever know exactly what that is? If I was in love with math, I would always have an answer. If I was in love with math, I would never feel rejected by the thing I was most passionate about. If I was in love with math, I would have a clear direction and something to rely on when it came to my future. Things would be wildly different if I was not in love with theater.

If I was not in love with theater, I would not be in love with the stage manager who stole my heart. I would not love some of the best friends I have ever known. I wouldn't know what it feels like to escape into a world entirely different from the one I know, as someone I've never been. I wouldn't know the unexpected joy of pouring your soul out onto the stage for everyone to see or to hold the hands of friends as you come back to reality from an incredible journey.

Theater is magic. To be a part of theater is magic. Rejection isn't magic and dissapointment isn't magic, but I have learned that they are more than worth it. If you are lucky enough to love theater, learn to love it unconditionally, because theater will love you back.