I grew up in Hialeah, FL — think Miami’s neighbor. My parents loved movies and always had me watching with them. My first musical was Chicago, though I was too young to remember it. The one that stuck was Singin’ in the Rain — it became the catalyst for my passion for acting. I was hooked on the creative freedom theater offered, and I’ve chased it ever since.
I grew up singing and dancing to Michael Jackson, making short films in middle school, and performing in every high school play I could. When it came time for college, I took the leap of faith and moved to New York City to study the arts. My time at NYCDA (New York Conservatory of Dramatic Arts) were some of my best learning experiences — and after two years of training, I knew I still had a lot to learn — and full disclosure, I was very overwhelmed.
I felt stuck — unsure what my next move was going to be. It wasn’t until I returned home a few months later and had a heart-to-heart with my dad that I learned to find my own voice. It’s challenging to be in a competitive industry, surrounded by people who are just as talented as you, if not more. But I was reminded that it’s not about how talented someone else is — it’s about how you show off your own talent. Someone can have their own perspective on how a note, an action, or a feeling is “supposed” to be — but it will always be different, because we all live different lives. That’s the beauty of art, especially acting.
“Sure, someone can sing a note the same way you do,
but they’ll never sing it as you.”
So for the next couple of years, I did exactly that — built my own self-confidence and discovered what my voice actually sounds like. Eventually, I returned to New York City with a new perspective on the industry. To this day, I continue to learn more about my voice and how to improve my craft.
Not long after I got back, I landed my first real gig in the city — a small cabaret, maybe 20-30 people, mostly friends of the cast. But it didn’t matter how small the room was, this was it. It felt like everything I’d put in — the training, the networking, the waiting — had finally led somewhere real. Backstage, I was nervous, but not in the way of being anxious, just excitement. But as the show got closer, something shifted. I felt calm, focused, because I knew I’d earned the right to be there.
Waiting for my turn while someone else performed, I wasn’t thinking about whether I’d do well. All I felt was this hunger — a pure, restless need to get up there and just go. I didn’t want to think anymore. I wanted to perform. I wanted to create something. And once I started singing, that hunger turned into something else entirely — the crowd looked empty, the lights on stage became lights that appeared out of thin air, the stage became blurry and all I felt in that moment, was the music and my voice. I was in it, I enter that flow state, where everything and everyone around me is completely consumed by the music and nothing else.
“This moment is the moment I’ve been chasing,
a wonderful euphoric feeling that you just can’t describe in words.”
When I finished, my hands were shaking from pure adrenaline, and I couldn’t stop smiling and laughing for twenty minutes from just the biggest thing I’d accomplished so far. That night became my new peak and a new feeling to experience again, but on a grander scale.
After the cabaret, I’ll be honest — I felt a slight hint of imposter syndrome. That moment was something I genuinely worked for and accomplished, but I still had that looming feeling that maybe I got lucky, or that I was moving too fast and didn’t really know what I was doing compared to everyone else. Luckily, I had friends and family who reminded me how hard I work and that I truly was a professional — I was just still finding my way through what my version of a performer looked like. I mention this because I know there are people out there who struggle with this very feeling, and I just want you to know: you aren’t alone.
Eventually I stumbled upon an audition, and instead of going in to “get the role,” I went in with a different goal: to improve. To confront my insecurities, I decided to put light on them. I focused on staying grounded — something I’d been told I struggled to be consistent with — and on connecting genuinely with my scene partner, because that’s what acting is really about: human connection. On a deeper level, I believe people talk to each other for engagement, comfort, to be heard, and a genuine desire to tell their story. That was my mindset going in.
That audition became one of my proudest moments — not because of the outcome, but because of the growth I felt within myself. Little did I know, it would lead me to my first official play — and it taught me what casting directors are really looking for:
“Human connection.”
Being part of a real, original production was incredible — and funny enough, it reminded me of my high school shows, which blew my mind. I didn’t realize back then that I was already building the foundation of a professional. It was a genuine honor to perform at that level. My goal was simple: stay grounded and draw out that human connection with my castmates. I’d say I succeeded. I’m grateful for everyone I got to work with and proud of the progress I made.
The very next day, I found myself in another cabaret — but this time felt different. I walked in with joy and excitement, ready to share my voice. It was surreal to realize that what was once the biggest moment of my life had become an opportunity to learn and grow more consistent in the craft I love. It’s funny to think back and remember how all these teachers and fellow actors always told me how it’s just about the consistency of your craft that makes you improve — and you know what, they are right. I was also there to support my partner, Selise Henry, who was making their Broadway debut. I wanted it to be a moment worth remembering — and it was. Proud of you, Selise.
Now that I’ve lived through all of this, I understand why I love this path. There’s something incredible about freely expressing yourself and reaching people through your voice — I want to inspire others the way I was inspired growing up. You know, all these performances reminded me of a scene in Soul, where the main character stops thinking and just feels, and the music becomes something beautiful almost by accident. That’s my story — and that’s why I do this.