How my First Heartbreak Guided me to Lead With Love, Not Without it…And it Wasn’t Because of a Person.
Dear Reader,
I’ve been watching Bridgerton for the up-teenth time, so I would really appreciate it if you read the following as Lady Whistledown (aka Julie Andrews).
It is with great discomfort that I write this letter. Discomfort has a way of pushing us to do remarkable or unspeakable things.
Luckily for you, the discomfort is only an annoyance on my part. The tale you are about to read is one that I’ve gotten over, but have never let go of.
You see, dear Reader, this is the story of how I got my heart broken for the first time. Funny how it sticks with you, even after the tears are well shed.
Before your eyes widen with glossy anticipation, this is not your typical heart breaking story for an individual. No, it has nothing to do with being broken at the hands of another.
However, it has everything to do with being broken by things out of our control. Out of our doing. It has everything to do with the clutching forces of fate.
I hope you will not think too much less of me. For the one who broke my young fragile heart was Hope.
In my senior year of high school, my music theory teacher put a form for me to sign on my desk. You can stop the Lady Whistledown/Julie Andrews voice now. It’s me.
I was the secretary — I think I was the secretary — of the music department student board or whatever it was called. The music department was responsible for putting on the musicals at school.
That paper my teacher needed my signature on was a proposal. A proposal to do Hairspray the musical that year. If you know me, you know that I am in love with Hairspray.
I could write 2 more blog posts written about my relationship with the Broadway Musical, the 1988 original movie by John Waters, and the musical film.
My friends knew my love for it. My family — even my music theory teacher knew. When I saw that paper slide onto my desk ever so tentatively, I have never been more awake in first period.
I lost my breath. My best friend looked over at me to ask if I was okay. Soon, the whole class caught on, which was full of my high school musical friends. I forced myself to move my hand and signed the paper that would make me the happiest teenage girl in my high school’s world.
I handed it back to my teacher. My friends pried to find out what it was. My teacher let the cat out of the bag. It was too big of a deal now. I floated through the rest of the day, dreaming about the possibility of wearing a Tracy wig on stage.
The first time I got to wear the Tracy wig was for a tap routine in one of my dance recitals. We only wore them for the group photo. To respect my classmates, here’s an individual photo of me in the Hairspray costume doing a toe stand. Oh, how I love those and loved this tap routine!
Since I first discovered and saw Hairspray the musical on Broadway, I was obsessed with it. Why? Because I. Was. Tracy. Turnblad.
I was fat. I was one of the best dancers in my class. I valued equality for all and still do. I loved the music. I loved seeing my dreams of a Link Larkin heart-throb falling in love with a girl like me play out before my eyes (here’s looking at you, Nick Jonas 😉).
I yearned for it. I lived for it. I breathed for it. It was all I could think about. Hairspray the musical was my future. It was home.
Here it is, folks. The wig! Spirit Week during my senior year of high school was lit. Pretty sure the librarians got a kick out of this one.
That afternoon, I got a phone call from the Director. She spoke to me for almost 2 hours. I was almost late for dance class that night.
What did she tell me? She told me my wish was about to become a reality. My Fairy Godmother granted my wish of being Tracy Turnblad before we even had auditions.
High School was interesting. The musicals weren’t really a big thing to be in for the student body. The same group of kids joined every year, with a couple of newcomers.
It was the land of acceptance. The land where your skin color, your abilities, your ethnic background, your quirks, your differences were all accepted and celebrated.
There is no other place I would have rather had my high school musical experience. Even though we were worried about getting cut every year, we rallied together and fundraised our asses off. We sold so. much. chocolate.
We knew this was something special and worth keeping alive. And my senior year was going to be the year when I could make a difference. Leadership goes hand in hand with being a senior lead.
So the pressure was on. I knew in my heart that it was my mission to make my senior show one of just as much fun (if not, more) and acceptance as the years before.
My director gave me the play by play of her plans and what I would need to work on. This was a big new beautiful world I was about to enter.
Now I know what you’re thinking — she just handed you the role? Yes. Given our pool of musical theatre students and the greater student body, I was the only one who could play Tracy.
I was the only fat white girl who could dance, sing, and act. When I say I was the only one, I mean I was the only one.
Hairspray is a show about integration, and we were lucky enough to attend a diverse school where we could accurately represent and tell this important story.
If it went any other direction with casting, we would be doing Mark O’Donnell, Thomas Meehan, Marc Shaiman, Scott Whitman, and John Waters injustice. We would be doing the whole message of the show injustice.
A couple of weeks went by. Remember how I said I signed a proposal? Well the proposal was approved. The next step was getting the rights.
That next step was a brick wall. The rights were restricted. We got denied. Who broke the news to me? My Fairy Godmother, and she was the best one to do it.
This is where the heartbreak comes in, dear Reader. This is what Lady Whistledown/Julie Andrews was talking about. This was Hope breaking my heart into bits and pieces.
And it wasn’t just because I wouldn’t be having my first kiss (I was a late bloomer in the romance department. How I longed for my own Link Larkin). I was heartbroken because I wouldn’t get to be a part of telling this important story.
I wouldn’t get to be on stage with some of my best friends in the world showing the school community what happens with love at the forefront. That the world thrives on acceptance and love — not prejudice and hate.
I was sitting hand in hand with my sadness for days. My friends felt it too. First period Music Theory was less lively than one of our previous dead days. My teacher let me be with my emotions in the back of the room.
Even though I slumped around for a while, something new came out of this heartbreak. I found my mission. I declared I was going to make people feel seen, accepted, and loved in this world through the power of theatre. Of stories.
Dear Reader, this my first heartbreak story but it is more importantly my coming-of-age story. The lesson learned from this is one you’ve undoubtedly heard many times over.
Accept the things you cannot change, and Have the courage to change the things you can.
I found the courage in myself to make my senior show one of love, acceptance, and memories that will last me a lifetime. I knew I had to make lemonade out of lemons, not just for my sake, but for the future musical students at my high school.
There’s a reason my cast superlative award was “Musical Grandma: Wise and All-Knowing Yoda.” I still have it in my memory box. Shout out to the 2011 cast. I continue to love you all.
Change is the only constant thing in this world. It’s up to you how you move through it. The world is full of sweet madness, and my senior year musical was just that. I am thankful for this lesson.
What is “sweet madness” you ask? I tell you all about it in my podcast. Give a listen if you want to take a deeper dive.
My chances with Hairspray have not run slim. In fact, they just keep getting bigger. I ended up directing a production of Hairspray at my high school years later. Quite remarkable, indeed.
The full circle isn’t quite so full yet, as my dream of playing Tracy has not waned. But dear reader, there’s still time. I’m not going to give up hope.