Blinding lights can mean many things.

An interrogation. An ophthalmologist appointment. A nighttime drive. A surgeon’s table.

For me, blinding lights mean home.

They mean nerve-wracking auditions. Months of rehearsal. Hours of memorization. Gallons of tea with honey. Opening nights. Standing ovations. Laughter, tears, and everything in between.

Home.

I can confidently say that a decision I made when I was seven years old has shaped my entire life. You wouldn’t know it from looking at my high school schedule, which promises night after night of ceaseless studying, or from my weekend plans, which consist of essay-writing and textbook-reading in my favorite room in my house. You would know it, however, by taking one step into that room, the walls of which are covered with playbills, posters, ticket stubs, photographs, and assorted memories from every show I’ve ever seen or been involved in. Every way you turn, you are assaulted by yet another piece of my theatrical past.

My mother often recalls my interesting renditions of classic songs as a three-year old, passionately singing the wrong words to “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” and “Part of Your World,” and my nightly performances of scenes from Beauty and the Beast for my family. It’s as if I knew even then how big a role theatre would play in my life.

When I was seven years old, I enrolled in my first acting class at Stage Left Children’s Theater and proceeded to audition for my first ever musical. From January to May, every Saturday was spent at the Ritterhausen Theater in Nyack learning songs, blocking scenes, and choreographing numbers. I distinctly remember sitting in the car with my mother after that show was over when she asked, “Do you want to do Stage Left again next year?” I could not possibly have known the impact that “Yes!” would have on who I am today.

I have now spent the past ten years with Stage Left Children’s Theater, moving from the chorus to gradually more prominent roles, and all the while learning valuable life skills both onstage and backstage. For the past three summers I have had the opportunity and privilege of introducing children to the same magic I experienced for the first time when I was their age. Seeing these children’s faces light up with excitement as the curtain opened on their summer workshop made working at Stage Left by far one of the most fulfilling experiences of my entire life.

Theatre is my passion, but, more importantly, it is my haven. It is a rare opportunity to escape from the stresses of school and relationships and become someone else. It is a place where weirdness is embraced, not shunned. It is a place where popularity is defined by kindness and hard work, not by beauty and material possessions.

It is home.