I used to draw all the time. Sketchbooks upon sketchbooks. I lived to peruse the aisle of the craft store for new supplies and mediums to explore. If there was an art elective, I took it. I loved sketching, illustrating, painting… All of it, so, so much.

But eventually, I stopped. It was a mix of having too much on my plate slowing down my personal improvement and the beast of comparison that whispered discouragement to me — I was never going to be satisfied with what I made. The artists in my life were all so much further along than I was. I couldn’t keep up. It wasn’t something that made anyone’s life better. It wasn’t something people enjoyed.

The whispers became screams that petrified me from taking pencil to paper until I eventually stopped altogether. Besides, it was never going to be something I did in my career, so… what’s another dream?

I used to write stories and poetry all the time. Notebooks upon notebooks. And I shared everything. Scratching out in handwriting only legible to myself on sheets of loose paper while riding the bus that I could type up late that night. Tapping away on a keyboard into the early hours of the morning to drop a new document in my friends’ messengers for us to discuss with my newest ideas once we got back from school that day.

Eventually, those friends and I drifted apart. I couldn’t stop writing, but it became more and more private. The same voice in my head that tore apart my art reminded me that my writing was no different — that no one liked or cared or benefited from these stories and characters I cared about. And besides, I had loved ones who had their own ideas that I loved just as much and was privileged to support, so… what’s another dream?

I loved theatre. I wanted to be an actor for as long as I could remember. It encapsulated everything I loved about art and humanity and being alive — stories and the human condition. And the best part of all, it was communal. Even one-man shows were never solitary. The audience was always just as much part of the collaboration as any cast member on stage. It was everything to me.

But acting makes you vulnerable. If you’re truly there in the moment, actively listening and leaving yourself open… you experience a thousand heartbreaks a night. And a bad scene partner will utterly destroy you as you’re exposed.

It’s not easy to leave it on the stage. You fall in love. It’s not romantic or sexual or based in any attraction. It’s heavier than that. Like gravity. You can’t escape the orbit of the ones you give yourself to. You make friends that you think will last forever… You made a connection, after all! You tore the skin from your chest, unlocked the cage in your ribs, and handed them your heart…

But it’s hard to tell the difference between the lamb and the wolf in its clothes. Unguarded and unprotected, you are made audience to the performance of your heart being crushed, dropped on the dirty ground and stepped upon to reach the ladder above. And as you fall to your knees to pick the pieces back up, you find the ladder is gone and the planet you orbited is nowhere to be seen.

So I left the stage. It wasn’t safe. And besides, I didn’t have to be in theatre or film to act. I had a voice. It was the very reason I wanted this in the first place, so… what’s another dream?

I’ve always loved voice acting. Animation was the reason I drew. It was the thing I wanted to write. It was why I wanted to act. It was theatre that was safe. It couldn’t be made alone, and you never had to experience looking your abuser in the eye.

But it is lonely…

So you find yourself in new orbits again. You fall in love thinking that you’ve found your people. You share interests… You share experiences… You understand each other! And you learn to trust.

But you also learn about the person that buys directors nice gifts as a “thank you” for each role. Or the one who sees friendships as “networking.” Or the one whose spousal abuse is ignored. Or the one who weaponizes their mental health to harm another. Or the one who can’t help being racist by calling a Black actor a witch or wishing immigrant actors get deported. Or the one who takes advantage of the vulnerable who have no other choice…

These people are everywhere. It’s not just in this industry or in theatre… It’s impossible to avoid.

But the thing I’ve learned about myself over the years is that I’m not an artist for myself. I do these things because I want to connect. I’m desperate to share. I may love all of these things, but what I love most of all is people.

So… if I find myself in a place where I don’t love the people anymore… I can only wonder one thing.

I’ve given up on so many of my dreams. So… what’s another?