Dear Passion,
Since when did children lose the feeling of doing what they love?
Looking back on the end of my junior year of high school, I remember the dread: the constant, lingering pressure of thinking about my future. It wasn’t just about what I loved anymore. It became about what was practical, what was safe, what would lead me down the societally accepted “right” path. I wanted everything, every possibility, every version of my life. But slowly, I was told to narrow it down. To be realistic.
What job would allow me to put food on the table for my family? To send my children to a school like the one my parents provided for me? Somehow, at seventeen, I’m expected to plan the next twenty years of my life.
The career path is frightening, and more often than not, the adults around you tell you to move away from being an artist. The moment you gather the courage to say the idea out loud, the doubt follows: “It wouldn’t do you any good.” “You’re joking, right?” “Good luck paying rent.” It sounds like laughter that lingers a little too long, like voices layered over each other, like a door quietly closing before you even step through it. Curiosity is shut down, replaced with the harsh reality that you might never make it.
But all my life, I’ve been creative.
From a very young age, I remember the pride and sense of community I felt after performing in a show or finishing a dance number. Arts and crafts connected me to my family–the drawings I sent my dad while he was deployed, small pieces of me traveling across distance. Creativity has never been separate from who I am. It is who I am.
As I grew older, I became more serious about the arts, and my love for theatre only deepened. My favorite part of performing wasn’t just seeing the audience, it was feeling them. The hush before the lights came up, the warmth of the stage lights against my skin, the faint sound of laughter or a sharp inhale from the crowd at just the right moment. It was knowing that something I created reached someone else.
And behind those moments were the hours no one sees: the late-night rehearsals, running lines until the words felt like second nature, breaking down a character until I understood not just what they said, but why they said it. Interpreting lyrics, finding intention in every movement, every pause. Becoming someone else, while somehow understanding myself more.
Yet society often fails to acknowledge the dedication artists put into their craft. Instead, the message is repeated in quieter, more practical ways: choose stability, choose certainty, choose something else. It’s heartbreaking how many talented people are guided away from what they love, encouraged to turn their passion into something smaller, something safer.
Expectations begin to overshadow the real meaning behind life.
Some artists do choose to follow their gifts, but even then, there’s always that quiet voice in the back of our minds, whispering that one wrong move could mean failure. That fear never fully disappears.
I’m not writing this to change society’s view on artists. I’m writing so people understand how much courage and dedication it takes to be one.
Sincerely,
An artist going through with her dreams
