Angel Gauntlett – Writer

How do you define your limits, and would you ever try to surpass them? I have lived in a pusillanimous state of mind for most of my childhood, due to this, I have always limited myself to a subservient role — following orders and pleasing everyone seemed preferable to opposing them. Fear and submission chose the paths I would take; it was this way until I found my passion for music. I started performing in my high school’s choir and eventually joined their musical theater class. I often believed, even in that musical theater class, that my passion and ability to perform wasn’t good enough. I was fearful of being judged by people in such a vulnerable state, and so I believed I wasn’t capable of performing — I believed that I had found my limit. This is the story of my first full-length show, and how, despite of my self-doubt, I went beyond my perceived limits, and changed my life forever.

After a few seconds of silence, darkness, and dreadful anticipation, the violet lights struck my vision — we were beginning. I imagined hundreds of watchful orbs glaring at me and the rest of the cast behind that thick veil of darkness that obstructed the view of the audience. The dread I felt from being watched drained my spirit until I was left feeling hollow. I forgot myself. I forgot how to sing. My throat felt clogged, as if I was choking on my own inferiority. I could feel their gazes; it felt like hundreds of needles pierced through my skin from different angles. While I feared that they’d realize that I’m not a skilled actor, what I feared most of all was that people would notice the shame weighing me down, and notice my feelings of inferiority. This monumental amount of fear and self-doubt came barreling towards me. my ability to truly perform passionately was put into question, and I even believed that I knew the answer: that I wasn’t good enough. I set a limit for myself saying, “I cannot do this”. However, time came for that limit to be tested.

The music was cued in. Sweat no longer crawled down my back; it poured. Fear gripped and sealed my throat. The crowd almost seemed to grow infinitely large as I stood there in fear; then my fearful gaze turned into curiosity. The crowd seemed to form a mosaic of lives. Human beings formed that grand, dark mosaic. Colors filled the seating area — colors so diverse that your gaze could wander from place to place and notice a new color in each area. The mosaic represented a sea — an ocean of life. I got lost looking at it. I was a raindrop observing the ocean on my way down, but quickly I crashed into their waters, and the ocean swallowed me — I became that vast mosaic that I once felt separate from. I was envious of that mosaic, but now I wonder what ever made me feel unworthy, or different. Everyone was just as flawed as I was. I had nothing to fear. My passion broke free from the shackles of shame. I opened my throat as fear released its grip, and with a new confidence, I was able to perform the whole show.

The most beautiful experience I had that night did not come from the passion I felt during the performance, but instead from how that passion reached out and affected the people in the audience that night. I walked exuberantly backstage and then into the audience to go see some friends. I sought out praise or some type of compliment; I wanted to see if people were as proud of me as I was, yet what I found instead was better. I went to see my partner, who was working with the soundtrack during the show, but on my way to go see her, an older lady stopped me on my way. She politely said “hey”, I looked back at her and noticed her son; his gaze was stuck on the floor, almost as if they were weighed down by shame as mine had been for so long. He also seemed no older than 10, which reminded me of how I behaved just like he did; I also gave the same look of inferiority that he gave. The mother proceeded to say, “My son really looks up to you.” I thanked her and pensively walked away. The more I thought about those words, the more those words lightly danced around in my heart; this feeling was hope. The thought of how I could have a positive impact on the world just by leaving my comfort zone, stepping outside of my perceived limits, and having faith in myself really motivated me to keep being courageous.

Conclusion —

To be courageous is to test your limits; it shakes the very foundation of your perception of what you think is possible. Your courageous acts change your worldview, and they even inspire those who notice this courage as well. I wrote down my story to encourage you, the reader, to go outside of what you feel is comfortable, and not to fall into a pattern of living in comfort. I never thought it would be possible for me to even make a difference, or to be seen, but I still tried, because of this, I’ve grown stronger. You have the power to make a difference, to possibly even change someone’s life; you just need courage.