Before moving to New York, Broadway was never something that truly caught my attention. Not because I didn’t value it, but because I assumed it simply wasn’t for me. I’ve never been particularly drawn to classic musicals or large theatrical productions, and in my mind, Broadway belonged to a different kind of audience.
After living in the city for a while, however, I started feeling a quiet obligation to go. How could I live in New York and never experience Broadway at least once? It felt like one of those things you are supposed to do here, whether or not you think it fits your interests. So when I finally went to see The Book of Mormon, it was more out of curiosity and a sense of “I should” than genuine excitement.
I was completely wrong.
What surprised me wasn’t just how funny the show was, but how intelligent, self aware, and carefully constructed the entire experience felt. The performance balanced humor, critique, music, and storytelling in a way that felt contemporary rather than traditional. It didn’t rely on grandeur alone. It was intentional, confident, and sharp.
Walking out of the theater, I realized that my resistance hadn’t really been about Broadway itself, but about my own assumptions. Much like architecture, theater is often reduced to categories that limit our willingness to engage. We decide something is not for us before we ever experience it.
As an architect, I am constantly reminded that space, culture, and design cannot be fully understood from the outside. They require participation. That night, Broadway became another layer of New York that I had unintentionally closed myself off from.
Living in New York and being part of Architect-US has pushed me to reconsider not only my professional boundaries, but my personal ones as well. Sometimes, the experiences that end up shaping you the most are the ones you almost skip.
