In a world where actors face 96 percent unemployment, I ask myself daily, “Why do I do it?” Why do I have such a need to perform? And why in the world am I majoring in musical theatre?

Yes, someday I’ll need to perform in order to eat, but I could have majored in pharmacy or advertising if that was my only goal. And so I’ve realized there’s something greater behind my desire. Something bigger.

One reason behind my craving is that theater performers wish to tell a story. We have the need and want to transfix or affect an audience through storytelling. Sometimes we want to tell a happy story, and therefore hope to entertain our audiences. Other times we tell a terrifying story, hoping either to scare or alert our audience. And it’s not just actors who enjoy telling stories. Tribes have passed down stories from generation to generation. At its roots, even gossip is storytelling.

Actors simply tell their stories a little differently — through music, acting, and movement. And the reason I think theater is here to stay is because combining those elements can be one of the most impacting forms of storytelling in the world. Music can touch the very strings in our heart. Movement entertains and sometimes challenges our eyes. Acting is able to fool our minds (if the audience opens themselves to it).

So what’s so cool about all this impact that a production can have? Performers know they can use that impact to their advantage. It sounds cliché and wildly fanciful, but when you are telling a story on stage you really can cause tears in an audience. Performers can put smiles on faces and ideas in audience members’ heads. Having that much impact on an audience is simply irresistible to so many theatre performers. We all want our chance to have an impact on an audience. We all want our chance to tell a story the way only theater can do it.

Let me give you an example. During my American Musical Theatre final this past week we were given the opportunity to perform a song or scene for our final project. One girl, a business major, performed “The Circle of Life” from Disney’s “The Lion King.” By most standards her performance was absolutely atrocious, but it was without a doubt the best performance of the day. She may not have been able to hit the notes or even remember the words, but she put smiles on our faces and caused tears to appear on many a check. It was a moment I’m sure she and many in our class will remember forever — it was live storytelling at its best. There is no other feeling quite like it.

Another reason that fuels my hunger to perform is theater’s elusiveness. I offer you another example. Every year the crabapple trees tease me. They bloom overnight and announce their presence to all. But practically before I’ve even had the chance to notice their arrival, a rainstorm usually takes the beauty away. Just when you think it’s finally here, the blossoms disappear. Like the crabapple tree, theater blossoms on opening night, but must close soon after — leaving performers and their audience with the simple memory. In a way, most good things in life have the same elusive quality. When you finally earn your paycheck it’s already been spent. You have a child, and next thing you know they’ve grown up. You dig into a slice of French silk pie, and in a matter of seconds you’re on your last bite. If only we had a pause button.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the theater, it’s that life must be savored when the opportunity arises; because that beauty, wonderful taste, excellent connection or great moment will come to an end. The show must go on, but it will also close. The moment will not last forever — in fact, it’s usually so short, you’ll probably miss it