A blank stage. The lights shining on the face. The gasp of the audience when the curtain goes up. The music resonating from the pit. The click-clack of my tap shoes. The candy and flowers piled up on tables backstage. The crazy inside jokes. The amazing vocal trills coming from the boys’ dressing room. The costumes that you try not to spill Coke on. The Panda Express or Dominions that the directors pass out before you start to put on makeup. The plague (even the plague is great). Hell, even Tech Week. The constant reminders to not eat/drink/inhale dairy. The ups and downs of closing night.

Being in theater isn’t just a hobby. It’s my entire life. From ballet to musicals I was destined for the stage. Tease me, call me gay, say that I’m stupid for going on constant vocal rest. I don’t care. One day I’m going to have my first Broadway opening night curtain call and you’re going to be in the back row of the mezzanine, on your feet clapping and screaming.

Tell me that I’m naive for thinking that I could make it that far. I know what I want to do with my life. I have goals that I’m am going to accomplish because I believe in myself and my ability to get what I want when I want it. I’m going to get that Tony, that Oscar, that Teen Choice Award. And you can’t stop me.