When I was five years old, I would visit my grandparents’ house, and my grandfather and I would sit in the kitchen and play “the feelings game”. The rules were simple. We would each take turns picking one emotion (or feeling), and the other would proceed to act it out. I would beg for the game over and over again whenever we visited. It was my first experience with theatre, and what eventually led to my career path, my biggest passion, and a huge part of my life. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time. All I knew was that it was so much fun.

As a theatre major, people tend to have a difficult time taking me seriously. If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me what I was expecting to do with a theatre major, complained about how “easy” my major is compared to theirs or asked about a backup plan, I would probably have enough money not to worry about career options at all. My own parents urged me to major in business instead, or another similar more “useful” major. As did countless others in my life.

Fortunately, I didn’t listen to them.

When I was in fourth grade, I was cast in my first show, Shakespeare’s The Tempest, a show which consequently holds a very special place in my heart. I had no lines, and played a little sprite, along with the other young girls in my class at the time. My grandfather was one of the directors for the play, and it was through his love and passion for Shakespeare, theatre, and the arts, that I grew to slowly understand just how much I loved it too. Only fitting, considering he was the one who first fostered my love for acting from before I can even vividly recall. That was my first show, but I knew instantly that it wouldn’t be my last.

I went to a very small private school. Our theatre budget was more or less nonexistent, giving me far less experience and opportunities as many of my peers. My skill set is slightly unconventional, having performed in six Shakespeares, a couple Jane Austen adaptions, and other classic stories. I knew nothing of light boards and sound boards and mic checks and elaborate sets and costume pieces. But I still learned so much. I learned that the magic of theatre is not always in the lights and the sound and the set, but in ourselves. It is in the hours of rehearsal, of staying up late to finish our homework, of crouching backstage until our legs fall asleep, of the inside jokes, the “you had to have been there” moments, the moments where we almost completely fell apart, and the moments when we managed to get it together. The quiet moments and the raucous moments, the moments of anger and joy and frustration and hurt and every other emotion I ever acted out as a five-year-old in my grandfather’s kitchen. And of course, in the moment when all of that somehow comes together into a show, that when performed in front of a live audience, creates something utterly breathtaking.

We are storytellers. I am a storyteller and have always been. I have been a writer as long as I can remember, and an actor is really just another kind of storyteller. Five years after I first set foot on stage as a sprite in The Tempest, I stepped into Beatrice, in Much Ado About Nothing and realized something else. I realized what it truly means to connect with a character, and to connect that character with an audience. How to take that character and tell their story. How even stories from so long ago, like Shakespeare, can still have such a profound impact on people today.

After all, there’s something about stories that capture people. And it isn’t just theatre. Books, film, stage, Broadway, it all is the same kind of magic. Whether I’m sitting in my room writing about people, or standing center stage in the spotlight being those people, it's the same principle. But it’s not just for me. It’s not about me, it has never been about me. Stories are for everyone. There is something about stories that take hold of people, that have the power to not only affect them in the moment but change them. Change how we view the world, how we view others around us, or how we view ourselves.

Theatre is about weaving a story, about embodying a character, stepping into someone else’s shoes, and impacting people in a profound way. Theatre is about exploring yourself, about trying new things, about thinking in a completely new way. Theatre is more than an imitation of life. Theatre is life.

I’m not a theatre major to make money. I’m not a theatre major because I want a steady perfect career and a solid life plan. I’m not in theatre so people can tell me how great I am, congratulate me (although that’s always nice). I’m not in theatre because my parents told me to be, because my friends pressured me into it, or even because I’m necessarily “good” at it.

I’m in theatre because I love it. And because I could never imagine doing anything else.