Student Blog: Break A Leg

As they say in the beloved musical Funny Girl, “people who need people are the luckiest people in the world.” I have always believed that being bitten by the theater bug is one of the greatest gifts I could ever receive. But just as powerful as my love for the art itself are the people theater brings into my life. They are more than friends or castmates. They become my family. They become a part of who I am.

As a theater major in high school, my class spends every single day together for four years, sharing moments of joy, frustration, exhaustion, and triumph. We learn one another’s strengths and fears. We see each other at our most confident and our most unsure. We pour our hearts into countless productions, and somewhere between late rehearsals and opening nights, theater stops being something we do and becomes something we live.

In one of the most beloved musicals of all time, Fiddler on the Roof, the opening number is fittingly titled “Tradition.” Tradition is what binds families together, and in the same way, the traditions we build in theater turn a group of students into a true family, one rooted in trust, passion, and a shared love for storytelling.

Every show begins the same way. We gather in a circle for our shake down. Standing shoulder to shoulder, we count down from ten, our bodies loosening as the nerves shake free. Circles connect people in the most human way. They close the distance between us, allowing us to see one another fully and reminding us that we belong together, equal and united at the heart of something shared. By the time we reach one, the fear has somewhere to go, and the excitement takes its place.

We stay in that circle, hands linked tightly together, creating a heartbeat. One squeeze moves from hand to hand, slow and steady, traveling through the circle like a pulse. I feel it reach me, and I pass it on, knowing that my nerves are no longer just mine to carry. In that moment, our breathing syncs, our shoulders soften, and our doubts quiet. We are no longer standing alone. We are held by each other.

The heartbeat melts into a group hug. Arms wrap tightly around backs and shoulders, and for a few seconds the world outside that circle disappears. It is a silent promise that no matter what happens onstage, none of us stands alone. We step away from that hug not just as a cast, but as a family, ready to trust one another with every line, every movement, and every emotion.

Then we scream, “Break a leg.” It echoes with laughter, nerves, and love all at once. It is not just a superstition or a tradition. It is a wish for courage when the lights come up, for strength when the scene feels heavy, and for faith in one another when we step into the story together.

In the end, the performances bring us immense joy, but it is the traditions that stay with us long after the curtain falls. And every time we say “Break a leg,” we are really saying that we are ready, we are together, and we will carry each other onto the stage and beyond.