It’s all going to end

Growing up in a small Canadian town where no one locked their doors, at a time when the Discman was cutting-edge technology, I was one of three laser-focused sisters who traded in childhood frivolity for hours at the dance studio.

I didn’t know any professional dancers at the time, but I dreamed of becoming one.

Oh, my understanding of a performance career wasn’t based in reality, no. It was largely shaped by Golden Age MGM movies that my mother had introduced me to, and later by a trip to New York City, where I saw my first Broadway show.

As I prepared to graduate from high school, the “career options” in dance felt… limited.

Professional ballerina (though being told my body wasn’t “classical” gently—and repeatedly—redirected that interest), a cruise ship dancer (which I became and am still grateful for), or a local studio teacher. That was the landscape I knew, and Broadway was a moonshot away.

Hovering over it all was the well-meaning but persistent chorus from adults: a dance career was HARD… and it inevitably WOULD END.

Not might end. WOULD END.

There were even stats to back it up—dancers in my province averaged about $10,000 a year. Yet, to my recollection, no one pulled me aside to say, “sweet bunny… that’s not a living wage.”

But when my two older sisters moved to Tokyo at 18 to dance for Disney, something shifted.

Suddenly, this wasn’t just a passion. It was a possibility.

Naturally, I decided I would follow in their footsteps.

There was just one small hiccup: I didn’t get the job.

So, like any rational, slightly panicked 17-year-old who had been told her career was on a ticking clock, I pivoted. I enrolled in a rigorous and condensed college conservatory Musical Theatre program—because obviously, I needed to get out there and start this very temporary career as quickly as possible, since it was GOING TO END.

A few plot twists and several “GOING TO END” moments later, I found myself once again following in the footsteps of my sisters, auditioning for the Radio City Rockettes.

And somehow—this time—I landed the job.

Making history at Radio City Music Hall as the first three sisters ever to dance with the Rockettes at the same time felt like stepping into an alternate universe where I was just beginning.

Still, I couldn’t shake the chorus reminding me that this was GOING TO END, so I pushed harder.

After moving to New York City, I was determined to make the most of whatever was left… since I had already outlived the expected career span.

I trained.
I auditioned.
I showed up to open calls.

I booked some, including my Broadway debut—more on that later. I was not hired for others.

Rejection became part of the journey—always a bit painful, motivating, and somewhat familiar.

Then, one unexpected phone call later, many months after my most recent audition, I received an offer for the Wicked 2nd National Tour.

Fast forward again—past a global pandemic, past grad school (yes, I picked up an MBA along the way, because well, the world was ending)—to 2026, where I find myself onstage at the Gershwin Theatre, playing the Witch’s Mother.

And here’s the thing: I know that I will eventually graduate from Shiz University. That’s the nature of this industry.

Roles change.
We evolve.

But the narrative I was handed—that it all just… ends?

Well, that feels overly simplistic and contrived.

Many years after what I thought was the end, I am still deeply rooted in my career as a performer—but I am no longer confined by a single definition of what that means.

I have expanded into roles: from associate to choreographer, actor, educator, creative director, and mentor.

My work is no longer just about the stage I stand on because my vision is more expansive than it has ever been. More than ever, I am conscious of the limiting beliefs that prevent us from investing in a process. It has been my experience that preparing for the end, for the worst-case scenario, baked the scarcity mindset right into my artistic journey.

And my work continues to be thinking like a creative entrepreneur and seeking opportunities around every corner. Because in an ever-evolving industry, maybe the goal has never been to outrun the ending.

Maybe it was an invitation— to grow wider, reach further, and step into roles I didn’t know I was capable of. And maybe the most powerful thing I could do… was trust that every “ending” was simply the moment I was ready for something greater.