“What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.” ~Richard Bach
I’ve always wanted to start a family.
As a young girl, I loved taking care of my dolls. When I was a teenager, I also fell in love with my college boyfriend. Kneeling before me with a ring, he said, “I want you to be the mother of our children.” I swooned as we walked down the aisle at the tender age of twenty-two, convinced I was set for life. I was able to have my husband and the family.
With the certainty and expectation of security, I entered our marriage. We had promised to be together forever, so I believed that it was true.
However, I also had another love than my husband.
I fell in love with the act of performing.
After a childhood of classes in the arts, I was accepted into the BFA Musical Theater Program’s inaugural year at Penn State University. I took in every minute of the experience and graduated with summer work booked, and the plans to move to New York City and start my career.
You could put off creating a family. Broadway called.
Except that I hit a ceiling. Broadway was elusive, despite me working hard as a professional. Except for two Broadway shows, I was unable to join the company.