A poorly painted, black stage has fostered my growth, not only as a performer, but also as a person. On that stage, I know where every small crack or ridge is, I know the best way to pirouette on the rough surface and I know that dancing too close to the pit could land you in the pit. The curtains have become my friends as I’ve tripped over them, ran into them and tugged on them yet they still shield me from the audience and allow my entrances. I’ve formed an unbreakable bond with the stage lights, even though they virtually blind me my first couple of minutes on stage. I can’t even begin to tell you how much I love the dressing room. Not only has Dressing Room taught me that make-up can and WILL get on your costume, but that your tap shoes will sound better on tile than the crackly stage, your lipstick will be used if you keep it on the counter and your curling iron will act as a small space heater. The back stage area has seen me cry, laugh and fumble between quick changes. Back stage is where friendships are born, secrets are shared and performances are closely admired. Back stage has also taught me that “shhh” can be the most aggravating sound. The sound booth has heard my glorious voice cracks, conversations backstage and even my pre-show warm-ups. I’ve spent countless times getting to know the sound technicians of the show and learning about the technology side of the theater, which is something I one day hope to grasp, as difficult as it may be. My favorite place in the entire theater is the rafters above the stagehands, which my director would kill me if he know I was up there; however, there, I can see the lights, the stage, between the curtains and people sharing a laugh or cry in the audience. And up there, I can see my future.

Indulging in musical theatre has taught me to never be perfectly content. I do not wish to be complacent, I want to constantly work for and achieve my goals. The work required for progressively evolving into an outstanding performer is rigorous, but worthy and I never truly find myself content with thirty-two pirouettes on pointe, but that is the point. The inanimate friends of mine in the theater have brought me the only sense of contentment I expect to experience.

This atmosphere has taught me to savor every moment. Whether I’m belting out on stage or warming up in the dressing room, the theater has already shown me to experience each failure, success, rise and fall because those are going to constantly happen throughout my life.