I consider myself to be a social sponge. Not a butterfly, but a sponge. If I’m surrounded by highly motivated performers, I become highly motivated, and vice versa. I learned this about myself the hard way. In junior year of high school, I was given the opportunity to understudy the role of Velma Kelly. I was over the moon to be given the chance to even sniff at this role and to return to the enriching environment I knew. I found something I was made fun of during rehearsals, told I wasn’t allowed to rehearse with the “real leads,” and directors often refused to even call me by my name. The environment became draining, and it wasn’t just me that was affected by this, it was our whole cast. Members new and old of our program felt isolated and it became hard for us to work as a unit. After closing, I had no motivation to continue performing. How could I have any after spending a year being beaten down not only by my peers but my teachers too? If this is just what high school is like, what is the professional world like? Am I cut out for this? Why even bother auditioning for colleges? Eventually, my senior show, Hello, Dolly!, was announced. To say I was reluctant would be an understatement. I feared that the things that nearly pushed me out of the program a year ago wouldn’t have changed. What do I do to make sure I don’t get treated the way I was last year? Is it even worth it to audition? I decided to show up to auditions last minute, and I am so glad I did. As honored as I was to play the one and only Mrs. Dolly Levi herself, it was the camaraderie that truly inspired me. As we began rehearsals, I felt very stuck in my own head. Haunted by past experiences, I didn’t think I could afford to mess up because it showed a weakness I feared others would take advantage of. I vividly remember the day something switched in me. I finally had a break during rehearsal and got to watch our dancers rehearse and I realized that nobody was doing it perfectly. I watched a pair of dancers laughing together as they stumbled across the stage, a line being completely fumbled and giggled through, and overall, pure joy emanating from every person on stage. It was then that I learned a value I cherish deeply. To work with a team of your peers is to be unified by a general idea or goal. To work with a team of fellow artists, however, is to be unified by something different. You are brought together by the knowledge that whether the product of your work is good or bad, you had fun creating it and it evoked something in the souls of those who interact with it, including you. Your connection to the art is what allows the rest of the world to connect to it as well, and the process of making that art is extremely important to that connection. In my career, I vow to create the safe space I wish I had for others to make their art free of judgement or boundaries.

I consider myself to be a social sponge. Not a butterfly, but a sponge. If I’m surrounded by highly motivated performers, I become highly motivated, and vice versa. I learned this about myself the hard way. In junior year of high school, I was given the opportunity to understudy the role of Velma Kelly. I was over the moon to be given the chance to even sniff at this role and to return to the enriching environment I knew. I found something I was made fun of during rehearsals, told I wasn’t allowed to rehearse with the “real leads,” and directors often refused to even call me by my name. The environment became draining, and it wasn’t just me that was affected by this, it was our whole cast. Members new and old of our program felt isolated and it became hard for us to work as a unit. After closing, I had no motivation to continue performing. How could I have any after spending a year being beaten down not only by my peers but my teachers too? If this is just what high school is like, what is the professional world like? Am I cut out for this? Why even bother auditioning for colleges? Eventually, my senior show, Hello, Dolly!, was announced. To say I was reluctant would be an understatement. I feared that the things that nearly pushed me out of the program a year ago wouldn’t have changed. What do I do to make sure I don’t get treated the way I was last year? Is it even worth it to audition? I decided to show up to auditions last minute, and I am so glad I did. As honored as I was to play the one and only Mrs. Dolly Levi herself, it was the camaraderie that truly inspired me. As we began rehearsals, I felt very stuck in my own head. Haunted by past experiences, I felt like I had something to prove. I didn’t think I could afford to mess up because it showed a weakness I feared others would take advantage of. I vividly remember the day something switched in me. I finally had a break during rehearsal and got to watch our dancers rehearse and I realized that nobody was doing it perfectly. I watched a pair of dancers laughing together as they stumbled across the stage, a line being completely fumbled and giggled through, and overall, pure joy emanating from every person on stage. It was then that I learned a value I cherish deeply. To work with a team of your peers is to be unified by a general idea or goal. To work with a team of fellow artists, however, is to be unified by something different. The “one beat” of the “one heart” that a cast shares rings out with the knowledge that whether the product of your work is good or bad, you had fun creating it and it evoked something in the souls of those who interact with it, including you. Your connection to the art is what allows the rest of the world to connect to it as well, and the process of making that art is extremely important to that connection.. From then on, I vowed that while I would continue being a social sponge, I’d make an effort to “wring myself out” into other people and make them feel welcome in ways I wished I was. In my career, I will work to instill the feeling of having “one heart” singing “one beat” of the true gift of art: pure joy.

I consider myself to be a social sponge. Not a butterfly, but a sponge. If I’m surrounded by highly motivated performers, I become highly motivated, and vice versa. I learned this about myself the hard way. In junior year of high school, I was given the opportunity to understudy the role of Velma Kelly. I was over the moon to be given the chance to even sniff at this role and to return to the enriching environment I knew. I found something I was made fun of during rehearsals, told I wasn’t allowed to rehearse with the “real leads,” and directors often refused to even call me by my name. The environment became draining, and it wasn’t just me that was affected by this, it was our whole cast. Members new and old of our program felt isolated and it became hard for us to work as a unit. After closing, I had no motivation to continue performing. How could I have any after spending a year being beaten down not only by my peers but my teachers too? If this is just what high school is like, what is the professional world like? Am I cut out for this? Why even bother auditioning for colleges? Eventually, my senior show, Hello, Dolly!, was announced. To say I was reluctant would be an understatement. I feared that the things that nearly pushed me out of the program a year ago wouldn’t have changed. What do I do to make sure I don’t get treated the way I was last year? Is it even worth it to audition? I decided to show up to auditions last minute, and I am so glad I did. As honored as I was to play the one and only Mrs. Dolly Levi herself, it was the camaraderie that truly inspired me. As we began rehearsals, I felt very stuck in my own head. Haunted by past experiences, I felt like I had something to prove. I didn’t think I could afford to mess up because it showed a weakness I feared others would take advantage of. I vividly remember the day something switched in me. I finally had a break during rehearsal and got to watch our dancers rehearse and I realized that nobody was doing it perfectly. I watched a pair of dancers laughing together as they stumbled across the stage, a line being completely fumbled and giggled through, and overall, pure joy emanating from every person on stage. It was then that I learned a value I cherish deeply. To work with a team of your peers is to be unified by a general idea or goal. To work with a team of fellow artists, however, is to be unified by something different. The “one beat” of the “one heart” that a cast shares rings out with the knowledge that whether the product of your work is good or bad, you had fun creating it and it evoked something in the souls of those who interact with it, including you. Your connection to the art is what allows the rest of the world to connect to it as well, and the process of making that art is extremely important to that connection.. From then on, I vowed that while I would continue being a social sponge, I’d make an effort to “wring myself out” into other people and make them feel welcome in ways I wished I was. In my career, I will work to instill the feeling of having “one heart” singing “one beat” of the true gift of art: pure joy.

I consider myself to be a social sponge. Not a butterfly, but a sponge. If I’m surrounded by highly motivated performers, I become highly motivated, and vice versa. I learned this about myself the hard way. In junior year of high school, I was given the opportunity to understudy the role of Velma Kelly. I was over the moon to be given the chance to even sniff at this role and to return to the enriching environment I knew. I found something I was made fun of during rehearsals, told I wasn’t allowed to rehearse with the “real leads,” and directors often refused to even call me by my name. The environment became draining, and it wasn’t just me that was affected by this, it was our whole cast. Members new and old of our program felt isolated and it became hard for us to work as a unit. After closing, I had no motivation to continue performing. How could I have any after spending a year being beaten down not only by my peers but my teachers too? If this is just what high school is like, what is the professional world like? Am I cut out for this? Why even bother auditioning for colleges? Eventually, my senior show, Hello, Dolly!, was announced. To say I was reluctant would be an understatement. I feared that the things that nearly pushed me out of the program a year ago wouldn’t have changed. What do I do to make sure I don’t get treated the way I was last year? Is it even worth it to audition? I decided to show up to auditions last minute, and I am so glad I did. As honored as I was to play the one and only Mrs. Dolly Levi herself, it was the camaraderie that truly inspired me. As we began rehearsals, I felt very stuck in my own head. Haunted by past experiences, I felt like I had something to prove. I didn’t think I could afford to mess up because it showed a weakness I feared others would take advantage of. I vividly remember the day something switched in me. I finally had a break during rehearsal and got to watch our dancers rehearse and I realized that nobody was doing it perfectly. I watched a pair of dancers laughing together as they stumbled across the stage, a line being completely fumbled and giggled through, and overall, pure joy emanating from every person on stage. It was then that I learned a value I cherish deeply. To work with a team of your peers is to be unified by a general idea or goal. To work with a team of fellow artists, however, is to be unified by something different. The “one beat” of the “one heart” that a cast shares rings out with the knowledge that whether the product of your work is good or bad, you had fun creating it and it evoked something in the souls of those who interact with it, including you. Your connection to the art is what allows the rest of the world to connect to it as well, and the process of making that art is extremely important to that connection.. From then on, I vowed that while I would continue being a social sponge, I’d make an effort to “wring myself out” into other people and make them feel welcome in ways I wished I was. In my career, I will work to instill the feeling of having “one heart” singing “one beat” of the true gift of art: pure joy.

I consider myself to be a social sponge. Not a butterfly, but a sponge. If I’m surrounded by highly motivated performers, I become highly motivated, and vice versa. I learned this about myself the hard way. In junior year of high school, I was given the opportunity to understudy the role of Velma Kelly. I was over the moon to be given the chance to even sniff at this role and to return to the enriching environment I knew. I found something I was made fun of during rehearsals, told I wasn’t allowed to rehearse with the “real leads,” and directors often refused to even call me by my name. The environment became draining, and it wasn’t just me that was affected by this, it was our whole cast. Members new and old of our program felt isolated and it became hard for us to work as a unit. After closing, I had no motivation to continue performing. How could I have any after spending a year being beaten down not only by my peers but my teachers too? If this is just what high school is like, what is the professional world like? Am I cut out for this? Why even bother auditioning for colleges? Eventually, my senior show, Hello, Dolly!, was announced. To say I was reluctant would be an understatement. I feared that the things that nearly pushed me out of the program a year ago wouldn’t have changed. What do I do to make sure I don’t get treated the way I was last year? Is it even worth it to audition? I decided to show up to auditions last minute, and I am so glad I did. As honored as I was to play the one and only Mrs. Dolly Levi herself, it was the camaraderie that truly inspired me. As we began rehearsals, I felt very stuck in my own head. Haunted by past experiences, I felt like I had something to prove. I didn’t think I could afford to mess up because it showed a weakness I feared others would take advantage of. I vividly remember the day something switched in me. I finally had a break during rehearsal and got to watch our dancers rehearse and I realized that nobody was doing it perfectly. I watched a pair of dancers laughing together as they stumbled across the stage, a line being completely fumbled and giggled through, and overall, pure joy emanating from every person on stage. It was then that I learned a value I cherish deeply. To work with a team of your peers is to be unified by a general idea or goal. To work with a team of fellow artists, however, is to be unified by something different. The “one beat” of the “one heart” that a cast shares rings out with the knowledge that whether the product of your work is good or bad, you had fun creating it and it evoked something in the souls of those who interact with it, including you. Your connection to the art is what allows the rest of the world to connect to it as well, and the process of making that art is extremely important to that connection.. From then on, I vowed that while I would continue being a social sponge, I’d make an effort to “wring myself out” into other people and make them feel welcome in ways I wished I was. In my career, I will work to instill the feeling of having “one heart” singing “one beat” of the true gift of art: pure joy.

I consider myself to be a social sponge. Not a butterfly, but a sponge. If I’m surrounded by highly motivated performers, I become highly motivated, and vice versa. I learned this about myself the hard way. Junior year, I was given the opportunity to understudy the role of Velma Kelly. I was over the moon to be given the chance to sniff at this role and to return to the enriching environment I knew. I found something I was made fun of during rehearsals, told I wasn’t allowed to rehearse with the “real leads,” and directors often refused to even call me by my name. The environment became draining, and it wasn’t just me that was affected by this, it was our whole cast. Members of our program felt isolated and it became hard for us to work together. After closing, I had no motivation to continue performing. How could I have any after spending a year being beaten down not only by my peers but my teachers too? If this is what high school is like, what is the professional world like? Why bother auditioning for colleges? I feared the things that nearly pushed me out of the program a year ago wouldn’t have changed. Is it even worth it to audition? I decided to show up to auditions last minute, and I am so glad I did. The camaraderie was truly inspiring. I vividly remember the day something switched in me. I finally had a break during rehearsal and got to watch our dancers rehearse and I realized that nobody was doing it perfectly. I watched a pair of dancers laughing together as they stumbled across the stage, a line being and overall, pure joy emanating from every person on stage. To work with a team of fellow artists is to be unified by something unique. A cast knows that whether the product of your work is good or bad, you had fun creating it and it evoked something in the souls of those who interact with it, including you. From then on, I vowed that while I would continue being a social sponge, I’d make an effort to “wring myself out” into other people and make them feel welcome in ways I wished I was. In my career, I sing out the most important thing art provides: pure joy.

For as long as I can remember, performing has been my dream. Stepping into baby ballet, I would race to my favorite spot on the studio floor and give myself a gap-toothed smile in the mirror. It was truly everything to me, and just when I thought I couldn't be more in love with something, I was cast in my school's production of The Aristocats. From the second grade onward, I was set on becoming a titan of the stage. I made my big debut as Jazz Cat, and although to the audience of parents and grandparents, it was a 30 minute performance where my classmates and I got to dress as cats, to me, it was something else entirely. To get to move through the whole rehearsal process where I got to learn something new every second, a line, lyric, or step, opened up a whole new world for me. Telling that story brought me so much joy, and everything in me wanted to continue that feeling, and share it with others. Ten years later, I’m still performing. I still carry the desire to tell a story and sing a song, only now with the extra hope to create a welcoming environment for all. Theatre has given me so much confidence, pride, and joy, and because of it, I will always greet the little girl in the studio mirror looking back at me with a now gapless (thanks, braces) smile.

I consider myself to be a social sponge. Not a butterfly, but a sponge. If I’m surrounded by highly motivated performers, I become highly motivated, and vice versa. I learned this about myself the hard way. In junior year of high school, I was given the opportunity to understudy the role of Velma Kelly. I was over the moon to be given the chance to even sniff at this role and to return to the enriching environment I knew. I found something I was made fun of during rehearsals, told I wasn’t allowed to rehearse with the “real leads,” and directors often refused to even call me by my name. The environment became draining, and it wasn’t just me that was affected by this, it was our whole cast. Members new and old of our program felt isolated and it became hard for us to work as a unit. After closing, I had no motivation to continue performing. How could I have any after spending a year being beaten down not only by my peers but my teachers too? If this is just what high school is like, what is the professional world like? Am I cut out for this? Why even bother auditioning for colleges? Eventually, my senior show, Hello, Dolly!, was announced. To say I was reluctant would be an understatement. I feared that the things that nearly pushed me out of the program a year ago wouldn’t have changed. What do I do to make sure I don’t get treated the way I was last year? Is it even worth it to audition? I decided to show up to auditions last minute, and I am so glad I did. As honored as I was to play the one and only Mrs. Dolly Levi herself, it was the camaraderie that truly inspired me. As we began rehearsals, I felt very stuck in my own head. Haunted by past experiences, I felt like I had something to prove. I didn’t think I could afford to mess up because it showed a weakness I feared others would take advantage of. I vividly remember the day something switched in me. I finally had a break during rehearsal and got to watch our dancers rehearse and I realized that nobody was doing it perfectly. I watched a pair of dancers laughing together as they stumbled across the stage, a line being completely fumbled and giggled through, and overall, pure joy emanating from every person on stage. It was then that I learned a value I cherish deeply. To work with a team of your peers is to be unified by a general idea or goal. To work with a team of fellow artists, however, is to be unified by something different. The “one beat” of the “one heart” that a cast shares rings out with the knowledge that whether the product of your work is good or bad, you had fun creating it and it evoked something in the souls of those who interact with it, including you. Your connection to the art is what allows the rest of the world to connect to it as well, and the process of making that art is extremely important to that connection.. From then on, I vowed that while I would continue being a social sponge, I’d make an effort to “wring myself out” into other people and make them feel welcome in ways I wished I was. In my career, I will work to instill the feeling of having “one heart” singing “one beat” of the true gift of art: pure joy.

I consider myself to be a social sponge. Not a butterfly, but a sponge. If I’m surrounded by highly motivated performers, I become highly motivated, and vice versa. I learned this about myself the hard way. In junior year of high school, I was given the opportunity to understudy the role of Velma Kelly. I was over the moon to be given the chance to even sniff at this role and to return to the enriching environment I knew. I found something I was made fun of during rehearsals, told I wasn’t allowed to rehearse with the “real leads,” and directors often refused to even call me by my name. The environment became draining, and it wasn’t just me that was affected by this, it was our whole cast. Members new and old of our program felt isolated and it became hard for us to work as a unit. After closing, I had no motivation to continue performing. How could I have any after spending a year being beaten down not only by my peers but my teachers too? If this is just what high school is like, what is the professional world like? Am I cut out for this? Why even bother auditioning for colleges? Eventually, my senior show, Hello, Dolly!, was announced. To say I was reluctant would be an understatement. I feared that the things that nearly pushed me out of the program a year ago wouldn’t have changed. What do I do to make sure I don’t get treated the way I was last year? Is it even worth it to audition? I decided to show up to auditions last minute, and I am so glad I did. As honored as I was to play the one and only Mrs. Dolly Levi herself, it was the camaraderie that truly inspired me. As we began rehearsals, I felt very stuck in my own head. Haunted by past experiences, I felt like I had something to prove. I didn’t think I could afford to mess up because it showed a weakness I feared others would take advantage of. I vividly remember the day something switched in me. I finally had a break during rehearsal and got to watch our dancers rehearse and I realized that nobody was doing it perfectly. I watched a pair of dancers laughing together as they stumbled across the stage, a line being completely fumbled and giggled through, and overall, pure joy emanating from every person on stage. It was then that I learned a value I cherish deeply. To work with a team of your peers is to be unified by a general idea or goal. To work with a team of fellow artists, however, is to be unified by something different. The “one beat” of the “one heart” that a cast shares rings out with the knowledge that whether the product of your work is good or bad, you had fun creating it and it evoked something in the souls of those who interact with it, including you. Your connection to the art is what allows the rest of the world to connect to it as well, and the process of making that art is extremely important to that connection.. From then on, I vowed that while I would continue being a social sponge, I’d make an effort to “wring myself out” into other people and make them feel welcome in ways I wished I was. In my career, I will work to instill the feeling of having “one heart” singing “one beat” of the true gift of art: pure joy.

I consider myself to be a social sponge. Not a butterfly, but a sponge. If I’m surrounded by highly motivated performers, I become highly motivated, and vice versa. I learned this about myself the hard way. In junior year of high school, I was given the opportunity to understudy the role of Velma Kelly. I was over the moon to be given the chance to even sniff at this role and to return to the enriching environment I knew. I found something I was made fun of during rehearsals, told I wasn’t allowed to rehearse with the “real leads,” and directors often refused to even call me by my name. The environment became draining, and it wasn’t just me that was affected by this, it was our whole cast. Members new and old of our program felt isolated and it became hard for us to work as a unit. After closing, I had no motivation to continue performing. How could I have any after spending a year being beaten down not only by my peers but my teachers too? If this is just what high school is like, what is the professional world like? Am I cut out for this? Why even bother auditioning for colleges? Eventually, my senior show, "Hello, Dolly!", was announced. To say I was reluctant would be an understatement. I feared that the things that nearly pushed me out of the program a year ago wouldn’t have changed. What do I do to make sure I don’t get treated the way I was last year? Is it even worth it to audition? I decided to show up to auditions last minute, and I am so glad I did. As honored as I was to play the one and only Mrs. Dolly Levi herself, it was the camaraderie that truly inspired me. As we began rehearsals, I felt very stuck in my own head. Haunted by past experiences, I felt like I had something to prove. I didn’t think I could afford to mess up because it showed a weakness I feared others would take advantage of. I vividly remember the day something switched in me. I finally had a break during rehearsal and got to watch our dancers rehearse and I realized that nobody was doing it perfectly. I watched a pair of dancers laughing together as they stumbled across the stage, a line being completely fumbled and giggled through, and overall, pure joy emanating from every person on stage. It was then that I learned a value I cherish deeply. To work with a team of your peers is to be unified by a general idea or goal. To work with a team of fellow artists, however, is to be unified by something different. The “one beat” of the “one heart” that a cast shares rings out with the knowledge that whether the product of your work is good or bad, you had fun creating it and it evoked something in the souls of those who interact with it, including you. Your connection to the art is what allows the rest of the world to connect to it as well, and the process of making that art is extremely important to that connection.. From then on, I vowed that while I would continue being a social sponge, I’d make an effort to “wring myself out” into other people and make them feel welcome in ways I wished I was. In my career, I will work to instill the feeling of having “one heart” singing “one beat” of the true gift of art: pure joy.

I consider myself to be a social sponge. Not a butterfly, but a sponge. If I’m surrounded by highly motivated performers, I become highly motivated, and vice versa. I learned this about myself the hard way. In junior year of high school, I was given the opportunity to understudy the role of Velma Kelly. I was over the moon to be given the chance to even sniff at this role and to return to the enriching environment I knew. I found something I was made fun of during rehearsals, told I wasn’t allowed to rehearse with the “real leads,” and directors often refused to even call me by my name. The environment became draining, and it wasn’t just me that was affected by this, it was our whole cast. Members new and old of our program felt isolated and it became hard for us to work as a unit. After closing, I had no motivation to continue performing. How could I have any after spending a year being beaten down not only by my peers but my teachers too? If this is just what high school is like, what is the professional world like? Am I cut out for this? Why even bother auditioning for colleges? Eventually, my senior show, "Hello, Dolly!", was announced. To say I was reluctant would be an understatement. I feared that the things that nearly pushed me out of the program a year ago wouldn’t have changed. What do I do to make sure I don’t get treated the way I was last year? Is it even worth it to audition? I decided to show up to auditions last minute, and I am so glad I did. As honored as I was to play the one and only Mrs. Dolly Levi herself, it was the camaraderie that truly inspired me. As we began rehearsals, I felt very stuck in my head. Haunted by past experiences, I felt like I had something to prove. I didn’t think I could afford to mess up because it showed a weakness I feared others would take advantage of. I vividly remember the day something switched in me. I finally had a break during rehearsal and got to watch our dancers rehearse and I realized that nobody was doing it perfectly. I watched a pair of dancers laughing together as they stumbled across the stage, a line being completely fumbled and giggled through, and overall, pure joy emanating from every person on stage. It was then that I learned a value I cherish deeply. To work with a team of your peers is to be unified by a general idea or goal. To work with a team of fellow artists, however, is to be unified by something different. The “one beat” of the “one heart” that a cast shares rings out with the knowledge that whether the product of your work is good or bad, you had fun creating it and it evoked something in the souls of those who interact with it, including you. Your connection to the art is what allows the rest of the world to connect to it as well, and the process of making that art is extremely important to that connection. From then on, I vowed that while I would continue being a social sponge, I’d make an effort to “wring myself out” into other people and make them feel welcome in ways I wished I was. In my career, I will work to instill the feeling of having “one heart” singing “one beat” of the true gift of art: pure joy.