Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup...

When I was in second grade and struggling with my math workbook, my teacher confidently declared that I would never be a math whiz, but that English and language would be my forte. Her declaration was keenly accurate and I often reflected on it as I made my way through academia. Math was a chore--endless hours of forcing my left brain into submission while my right brain yearned for a text to decipher, a paper to write, a speech to present. Now, several years after my exit from the scholastic world, I see her insight on a more philosophical level. Somewhere, entwined within my DNA, I was given the soul of an artist. It has taken me years to understand its shape and nurture its needs, but I am slowly learning how.

In 2004, I left the job that was ceaselessly depleting my happiness and inner peace and finally accepted what my insides had known for so long. I easily walked away from the corporate world and followed my heart to the stage--a place where it has been struggling to go for years, reigned in by practical thought, fear and self consciousness. Mere days after I made this leap of faith, I was contacted by a director friend of mine in New Jersey. An actress that was slated to play the role of May in "See Rock City" was unable to take on the project, and he wanted me to tackle the part. I accepted with gratitude--this little smile from heaven that said, "see, this is the path for you." I can remember reading that script--the words washing over me, feeling drawn to May; her character seeping into my limbs. She will always remain dear to me, as portraying her was what finally brought me out of myself, but at the same time, brought me to who I really am.

What I have come to realize in my journey as an artist is that there are the tremendous highs that leave you breathless, but also the lows that you must navigate carefully. Aside from the tangible disappointments--never hearing back after an audition, getting a bad review--there is a deeper sort of melancholy that affects me. Perhaps the term "tortured artist" is a bit extreme, but there is an element of truth to it. Often, I find myself hopelessly afflicted with a yearning to be talented in every "art" there is. Sadly, I am not what one would call "a triple threat". I act--but I do not sing, or dance. Many times, I can state this fact with aplomb, and continue to focus on my niche. But other times, it is accompanied with a heartache that traces its way back to my days in tiny tutus, and to that one afternoon in eight grade when I discovered I could carry a tune. Why, oh why did I not stay on that path and graduate from slippers to toe shoes, from group recitals to solo routines? Why did we just blindly believe that my family's consistent atonal history was a foregone conclusion, and not explore my vocal chords while they were still young and adaptable?

Looking backwards is a futile exercise that drains the present of all positive energy--of this I am fully aware. Yet there are times when I cannot help sitting in a Broadway audience and being overcome with yearning to be able to open my mouth and produce the clear, sweet sounds or the powerful, house shaking belts that so many actresses astound me with. I watch dance numbers and actually feel my muscles ache to be able to move so effortlessly and beautifully, to create a story and a moving picture with my body. There is inside me a never ending need to create, and it frustrates me that I don't necessarily have all the tools that I want to create something in full.

I sometimes wonder if my teacher's words were a bit detrimental to me--that her prophecy somehow trapped me in a world of words and put me on a shortsighted path. But then I remember that this is the path that put me in the place I am today--where I met my friends, my fiance along the way, where I enriched my mind and fed my need for learning at an amazing university. There is no denying that my teacher was right--words are my thing and always have been. I find such joy in writing, such a deep fulfillment when I can use the beauty of language to express myself. And there is to me no greater high than taking words on a page and bringing them to life on stage. To breathe a story into being by one's ever so delicate treatment of what an author has asked you to say--to find every nuance, every accompanying gesture, to find your voice breaking with emotion elicited by these very words you have been trusted with.

For me, a world of words is a pretty one indeed.