I Dreamed a Dream

Four years ago, I was a sophomore in high school. I just broke up with my first boyfriend, I switched dance studios, and I was set on being a musical theatre major. In preparation for a Les Miserables audition, I cut off my waist-length hair into a short bob with bangs, trying to prove to the directors I would be willing to change if they granted me my dream role.

I wanted to pixie cut my hair to be Fantine. I would have done nearly anything to be Fantine.

Obviously, I did not get the part (I'm a dance major). Due to pride and politics, I quit musical theatre when I saw my name next to Town Girl #3. I spent years working through vocal stress, performance anxiety, and low confidence after that audition.

Yes, rejection is part of a career in the performing arts. Yes, the experience prepared me for getting cut from dance auditions. Yes, I see that my path as a dance major is more fulfilling than I could have ever dreamed.

Still, when I think back to that saga, I feel the pain as if it were fresh. When I quit, I lost a group of friends from musical theatre and my major extracurricular connection to my high school.

This year, my sophomore year in college, I experienced a similar loss of friends. With my friends spread across campus instead of in the same residence hall, I rarely see people that do not make the effort to be around me. It felt the same way my loss in high school did, if not worse because I spend so much time with the people on my campus.

I spent four years regrowing my hair and my pride. A few weeks ago, I could not sleep all night, and I realized I crave liberation.

Lately, I have been trying to accomplish little goals (see a short list here). I've gone to coffee shops and restaurants, dyed my hair, traveled by myself, shared poetry at open mic night, ridden a ferris wheel, danced in three shows, presented my research, and sang my heart out (vocal-stress-free) as a cantor and psalmist at LMU. It's not all rainbows and butterflies; I have gotten food poisoning, stressed out over a presentation at 2am, and spent hours doing tedious work to have a few fun moments.

To add to this list, I finally pixie cut my hair - not for directors, not for Fantine, not for fashion, not for catty high school girls - but for myself. I was able to donate 12 inches to locks of love, and my stylist said it was one of the largest donations they have ever had.

Four years ago, I dreamed a dream. Now, I am living it.