That time I thought I was going to be famous

We all had those childhood dreams right?

You know the ones. The dreams that, looking back, were almost unattainable.

Mine was to be a world-famous actress. Shocking, right?

I knew it was a long shot. A classic one-in-a-million kind of dream. But for some reason, I was so sure I was going to be the exception. I think I was so set on it because I wasn't good at much else. I was no academic genius or gifted athlete. I couldn't solve a maths problem to save my life.

But put me on a stage? Different story.

I belonged in the performing arts.

I had the most wonderful drama teacher, Ms C. At school, we started doing drama in either Year 8 or Year 9. I honestly can't remember which. It feels like a lifetime ago now. What I do remember is loving it.

It inspired me to start taking drama classes outside of school as well. Nothing fancy. Just a small after-school class each week, in some random hall next to a church.

But I absolutely loved it.

After doing those classes for a while, I asked Mum if I could get an agent.

Naturally, she was hesitant.

I wasn't exactly known for sticking with hobbies. Like many kids, I'd enthusiastically start activities only to abandon them a few months later, but eventually she made me a deal.

If I stuck with drama classes for a certain amount of time, she'd seriously consider it.

From memory, I attended those classes for nearly two years. Then, for reasons I genuinely can't remember, I stopped going. I don't know what changed. Maybe I lost confidence in myself. Maybe being a teenager got in the way.

Whatever the reason, I stopped.

And ultimately, I never got the agent.

What I haven't mentioned yet is that not everyone was quite as supportive as Ms C.

When I told some of my friends that I wanted to be an actress, they were quick to remind me how unrealistic it was.

"It's impossible."

"Do you know how hard that is?"

And look, they weren't wrong. The odds of becoming a successful actor are ridiculously small, but when you're thirteen years old and you've just discovered something you genuinely love, hearing people dismiss it hurts more than you'd think.

I remember it really cutting me.

Not enough to make me quit drama altogether, but enough to make me stop talking about it.

Ms C, on the other hand, never did that.

She never treated my dream like something silly.

She just saw how passionate I was.

I still continued with drama at school, taking it all the way through to Year 12. And somewhere along the way, I found my love for drama again. I never told anyone, but I wanted to pursue it as a career again.

By Year 12, I had started thinking about acting for the first time in years, but I kept it completely to myself. I think after being told so many times how impossible it was, it felt easier to quietly enjoy it than openly dream about it.

One of my biggest regrets from Year 12 is not performing a monologue for my HSC.

I didn't do one because I was terrified. I remember sitting in drama class watching other students perform theirs and wondering whether I should have done one too.

The funny thing is that I've always loved performing.

It's the lead-up that gets me.

The racing heart, the sweaty palms, the feeling that you're about to completely embarrass yourself in front of everyone you've ever met.

But every single time, the same thing happens. The moment I say the first line, my nerves start to fade.

I've always loved that feeling.

And I think that's why not doing a monologue still bothers me all these years later. It wasn't really about the marks. It was about letting fear make the decision for me.

Maybe that's also why part of me has never completely let the dream go.

By the time school finished, reality started knocking on the door. As much as I loved drama, I wasn't quite brave enough to pursue it professionally.

Maybe part of me still remembered all those people telling me how impossible acting was.

Maybe I felt like I needed a "real" career.

Whatever the reason, when it came time to apply for university, I chose Speech Therapy.

Looking back, it actually makes a lot of sense. I like helping people, I like talking, and it was a job I could have for life.

The problem was that I absolutely hated it. Okay, maybe hate is a strong word.

But I quickly realised I was in the wrong place.

Needless to say, I didn't exactly thrive. In fact, I failed rather spectacularly (as was documented on this blog)

When figuring out what to do next, I just slowly realised there was one thing I kept coming back to.

Performing.

Not because I thought I was going to be famous. That dream had softened by then.

Somewhere between being thirteen and being twenty, my ambitions had quietly changed.

I no longer dreamed about red carpets or acceptance speeches. I wasn't convinced I was destined to become a household name.

I just wanted to do the thing I loved.

And honestly, I think that's when my relationship with performing became healthier.

Because when I was younger, performing was tied to an outcome. Success, recognition, proof that I was good enough.

By the time I returned to university to study Performing Arts, it wasn't about any of that.

It was about creativity.

It was about loving something enough to do it, even if nobody was watching.

I never became the world-famous actress I was convinced I'd be at thirteen, but I did end up getting an agent. I've spent time on film and television sets, worked as an extra, and seen a tiny glimpse of the industry I was so obsessed with growing up.

And honestly? That's enough.

Sez