The crowd starts to hush as we all turn our attention to the stage. A flash of fiery red hair, an equally fiery woman sporting the look as she skips on stage and strikes a pose.

I’ve seen more shows than I can count. I’m in theater, so when I’m not on stage, I’m in the audience. A simple pop musical about Romeo & Juliet should not have hypnotized me the way this did. From the second that woman came on stage, I was transfixed. Why? Because she was like me. A woman, a bigger woman, with round arms and strong thighs that, for once, weren’t covered by her stylish costume. I felt like a little kid again. I wanted to turn and whisper, “She’s like me!” to the person next to me. I had seen fat women on stage before, of course. Though, never like this. They’re always portrayed as matronly, in modest costumes that try to make you forget they’re big. They don’t get to dance like their smaller peers. They aren’t allowed to be cool, loud or confident.

She was confident. She demanded you look at her with no remorse for what you saw. I know firsthand that it’s not easy having a different body in theater, but here is this woman in a real live Broadway show that helped confirm that I could do that, too. That I can dance and show my arms and not apologize for it. That I can be just as talented a performer even with my size and my disability.

There’s something so oddly comforting about visiting New York. I know that sounds contradictory, given most peoples’ view of the city’s dark, dangerous, dirty streets. It’s so vast, with so many sights and people and stories. There truly is something for everyone.

It was my second time visiting the city and I had gone for a college short-term study abroad trip.

Everywhere I looked became a mirror, reflecting myself back to me. I saw people with canes and wheelchairs going about their days, navigating the busy streets. I saw ads with all kinds of diverse messages and models. Queer folks, just like me, stopping for a quick coffee before their day truly can start. I saw sculptures and museum paintings of women, just like me, years ago.

I saw myself even in the little things: a whole shop full of my nephew’s latest obsession, comics that my mom loved as a little girl, a Barbie doll that reminded me of one of my college professors. I even stumbled across a script of a play about one of my ancestors in a small bookshop. Naturally, I had to bring it home with me, it’s about my 10th great-grandmother!

I wasn’t the only one who noticed fragments of myself everywhere. My friends made similar remarks. “It’s nice to not be the only person like me in a 10-mile radius,” one of them said within mere hours of landing in NYC. Another giddily pointed out every pride flag they saw. We all traveled across the country and still felt right at home. We even got to meet with two Broadway actors who were former students of my professor, one of whom is a Utah native, just like me.

It’s easy to get lost in the mundane of your hometown. To stick to the familiar. Sometimes, we get so used to what is comfortable that we get plain stuck, and our dreams seem to fade away into the “someday” graveyard. What better way to learn to take that trembling first step toward who you want to be than to go find other people already doing what you dream of?

I’ve always wanted to be an actor. I’ve always wanted to live in New York. Taking the plunge to go out there, even for a week … Submerging myself in the life I dreamed of makes the unknown that much more comfortable.