BWW Blog: An Open Love Letter to Broadway

Dear Broadway,

Almost a year has slipped by since we last spoke.

I've been thinking about you more and more as the days pass. And, you know, I've realized something - maybe, even after all this time, we've been taking you for granted.

It's hard for me to find the words. With so many to choose from, it's a daunting task to cobble together the perfect chain to describe what I hold in my heart.

Looking at you all at once, you're magnificent on your own. There's nothing quite like seeing your signature lights shimmer, listening to the excited chatter of people strolling by. You may be the only place in the world where we can watch artists breathe life into witches, waitresses, and everything in between - and then exit the theatre and behold a rat on the subway stairs enjoying some street pizza. (I've heard whispers that there may be a rat on the stage soon, but that's a letter for another time.)

People see you as charming, exciting, one of a kind. A precious gem set in the greatest city in the world.

There's something wonderful about the mingling of dialogue and music. On its own, it seems to be a short-lived rush.

But oh, Broadway - you're so much more than that.

You gave me - and countless others like me - a dream.

Picture this: the year is 2015. My grandparents insist on taking me with them to this show. It's at a local theatre near our house. I have no interest in the arts at this point, because my middle school self cannot understand how sitting in a large room for two and a half hours can quite possibly be enjoyable. But still, I say yes.

And, Broadway... I'm oh, so glad I did.

"As beautiful as you feel" she sings. Her long curls glow under the spotlight; the blue "Carnegie Hall" dress flows onto the stage as she slams octaves on the piano like a pro.

For the first time in a long while, I feel what I think is relief. I couldn't quite describe it then, but when I look back now I realize that it was hope. Her story made me feel like I wasn't alone.

It started with a dream; more specifically, a blue dress. For others, it's a blue polo and an arm cast, or a sky blue waitress outfit with white trim, or maybe the idea of wiping green paint off your face mere moments after flawlessly hitting a high F (while suspended in midair, no less).

I had to see for myself what the Broadway fuss was all about. Serendipitously, it just so happened that the closing night of Beautiful was right around the time of my 18th birthday.

This trip was planned so far in advance, and funded by yours truly. On the day of, I had my yellow dress with a black and white collar that I specifically picked out so I would match the marquee. I began to become nervous as I was walking in. Unmet expectations are the culprit of diminishing joy - and I was afraid I had put too much pressure on a simple show to be what I wanted - no, needed - it to be.

As fate would have it, when I booked the tickets, there were two seats left in the whole theatre - one for me and one for my plus one - in the orchestra. The theatre was filled with animated chatter, and I became overwhelmed. I made my way to my seat, but the director, Marc Bruni, was standing right in front of the seats, talking to others around him.

I went over to thank him for his part of making the show a reality, of course fraught with many "ums" and pauses as I sifted through the word bank in my brain. Although he was a complete stranger, I felt compelled to tell him that this show truly saved my life. Those around him, and he himself, seemed a bit shocked by such a bold statement. In all honesty, I would have been, too, had I been in their shoes.

Another man - I never got his name - asked me what I meant by that. I did my best to explain on the spot, and sat down after the small crowd broke up, hoping that they wouldn't dismiss what I said as so much sycophantic hyperbole. I vaguely remember saying "it's just so great" at one point and I really hope I'm remembering that incorrectly; that doesn't fit in a soliloquy! Sometimes, it's hard to genuinely thank someone when there are so many ways you can say it.

In a moment that I can only describe as "Broadway magic", the people that I happened to be sitting next to were Marc Bruni's parents. They were kind, gracious, and were interested in what I had said moments ago. It was so touching to me to listen to them talk about the importance of the arts and their pride in their son's work. I was inspired by their own stories, as well as their son's journey to achieving his dream of becoming a Broadway director.

Without you, Broadway, we would have never met.

The performance, of course, wildly exceeded my expectations. But what happened after the show itself was what made me realize why Broadway is so special.

As Marc Bruni finished his closing remarks, his father looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, "I hope all of your dreams come true." And then, the audience and the cast sang "You've Got a Friend" together.

It was everything I needed, and more.

Stories bring us together. We all have different beliefs, ideals, likes, and dislikes - but what we all have in common is that we want, at our very core, to be loved and understood.

Someone needs to hear the story you have to tell. Whether it be the reluctant middle schooler, or the anxious 18-year old, Broadway is about bringing hope to the lives of others who need it the most.

For many people, it's hard to express how we feel or what we need. My darling Broadway, you give us the tools we need to help others understand us.

Though you may be dark right now, this does not change what you are, and the impact you make on people every day.

In reality, there is only one story, told an infinite amount of ways. The main theme is always human resilience in even the most difficult times.

For those of us who have a hard time expressing themselves, need comfort from the hardships of life, and everything in between.

Broadway, because we need you, we know you will be shining again when the time is right.

It may be another complete turn around the sun before you're fully awake and bright eyed. Until then, we're saving our stories for you, and thinking about how thankful we are for you. Expect my thanks to come your way one day in the revival of Beautiful, in the words of a Carole King song, and of course, a blue dress.