I knew this moment was coming. That moment that completely blindsides you with the stark reality that you are going to college. In a moment’s time, the consequences of growing up have become vividly clear and I am sitting in my room weeping. So, true to form, I am following up this realization with an obnoxiously long Facebook status. Mary Frances Candies. Matt Raetz. Ian McCarthy. Zoe Truly. Marissa Henson. Tyler Johnson. Bryce Dorand. Lily Madelynn. Rexton Laird. Molly Mueller. Genevieve Farbe. Elise OConnell. Andrea Gros. Reid Williams. Mariah Guillmette. Sivan Ambrose. Sarah Sanders. Payton Smith. Jimmeraz Johnson. Bethel Afework. These are the names of the actors in my ensemble who I have spent at least two and a half hours a day with, at least five days a week, every week for the past three years of my life. And who, now, I am saying goodbye to. In 2011, each of them was given the massively important duty of being my friend – and I want each of you to know: you have done a outstanding job. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for steadying my shaky hands as, for three years, I carefully stacked the building blocks of my identity. For making me laugh. For allowing me to cry. For being silent with me in times of awesome joy and overwhelming loss. For not only permitting me to be who I am, but for strictly forbidding me to be anyone else. For serving as each other’s mutual stepping stones to success. For enduring my two brief but explosive outbursts over the past three years (we all remember those). For gracefully absorbing my imperatively important discovery that doing chair pose is pointless when you’re already sitting in a chair. For gracing the stage with me. For being beautiful, dynamic, and accepting friends. For being yourselves and for nursing me. I can honestly say that another group of people does not exist with whom I have laughed and cried more than I have with you guys. Which leads me to my grandest, most bittersweet discovery of all, and which I only discovered just moments ago… I have expelled more tears at 2800 Chartres Street than I have anywhere else in the world. That may seem like a funny discovery to go out on, but I believe there’s something to it. Level One year, I wept in child-like awe at the bigness of the universe during Williamson’s. I cried again later that year when, sitting on the movement studio floor, I learned to love myself for the first time. At the end of the year, suddenly aware of the deep-rooted tethers connecting me to my ensemble, I lamented being deprived of my friends’ company for a season. Level Two year, I spat out tears of anger. I pitifully sobbed as I was tossed back and forth in the waves of an evolving department. Amidst it, though, tears of hysterical laughter flowed too (and I’m happy to report, continue to). Level Three year, the pressure of applying to college crushed tears out of me every week for five months. Then, they dripped softly when I received the call from my dream school informing me of my acceptance. Only two weeks ago, I teared up after my last annual dodgeball game. And now, I cry as I type, realizing that I will never cry at 2800 Chartres Street again. My tears of pain and hysterical laughter are to fall elsewhere from now on. For life is moving me forward. This past New Year’s, I wrote a creed to myself, putting into words the life lessons I hoped to abide by always, but in 2014 especially. And rereading it today, I found one that reads, “No matter where you go, don’t forget where you’ve come from.” And NOCCA friends, I never intend to. Wherever you go from here – each of you –, know that you have helped build a person, and that that makes you heroic. This is all I have: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. “Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.” Luke
Posted on: Thu, 05 Jun 2014 01:10:15 +0000