5/28/24
“I have nothing to prove to you.” The words escaped my mouth but never resided in my heart. I was convinced that the more I recited that mantra, that someday I would believe it. That, tragically, was not the case.
Instead, I perfectly crafted my costume. A precise and intricate mask designed to portray what everyone wanted to see – what I wanted them to see.
I awoke at 5am every morning to prepare my mask. Hairstyles and smokey eyes birthed from YouTube tutorials and meticulous outfits selected weeks before. I was in the green room painting my mask long before the tech crew arrived. A small price to pay for perfection.
It was all strategic. I found a muse and did everything in power to become them. For my body to contort to match theirs. Then, and only then, could I be happy.
My pre-show rituals evolved over time as I was cast in a new ensemble for each production. Poodle skirts swapped for 18th century gowns. I was a brilliant chameleon. I believed that if I stayed in the queue and never sang sharply that I would someday shine through. That someone would notice me, allowing me to take my final bow and retire to pure bliss and comfort. My mask discarded in the wastebasket.
It turns out that no one goes to Broadway to visit the munchkins, or Alexander Hamilton’s allies, or for the dancing plates and wardrobes in the Beast’s castle. It’s not that they lack importance, but they are not the star. I wanted to be under the spotlight, wary of what my castemates would whisper backstage.
I won’t lie and preach that I stopped caring about the notes they passed in rehearsal. I longed to be seen by them, completely ignorant to the cheering audience before me.
I don’t know when it happened exactly, but I likely began to inch further and further downstage when I finally saw my castmates under the house lights. The exhaustion, hunger, and loneliness flooded their bodies. Their efforts to blend together slowly ate away at them.
Some found their way out, joining the circus, or dedicating their life to mastering the art of email, but many continued on, a minnow remaining with their school.
I continued my journey downstage and eventually found myself under that single spotlight. I began to sing, dance, and act until the night became dawn. I repeated this routine on Saturday at 11am, and then again at 7pm.
Weeks went on until one day I found myself centerstage, under that single spotlight again. Completely alone. Free. Free from the cage I had locked myself in. The curtains rose, and I began act 1 of my one-woman show.
