“Everyone deserves a chance to fly.” Elphaba’s words from Wicked have stayed with me for as long as I can remember. Having watched it with my family since childhood, she was never only a character — she was a friend I could return to whenever I needed comfort.

As I grew older, my attention drifted past the performers and into everything happening behind the curtain: the lighting, the sound, the scenic transitions, the coordination that lets a performance appear seamless.

Looking back, that way of paying attention didn’t begin with theatre. Clay taught me patience with imperfection — a shape only arrives after many small adjustments. Boxing, over ten years, taught me to stay composed under pressure and to trust timing over force. Photography trained my eye to notice what belongs inside a frame, and what should be left out.

Each of these was quietly preparing me to see a production the way a stage manager does: as something built piece by piece, held together by attention and care.