When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. But what happens when you don’t know the recipe?

We’ve all been there before, caught in a difficult situation without any favorable options. For me, those options were committing to something I hated or quitting something I loved.
First things first: I’m an actress, a passionate one, and I’ve stuck with the same company for so long, everyone in it feels like family to me. The wicker box with a slit for checks and dollar bills, the strip of red that runs along the top of the walls, the lingering smell of lavender and coffee in every room…for the longest time, it’s seemed like my second home.

For the past few years, though, there’s been some unfairness in our production casting, and this year was no different. The director’s daughter had snagged the lead role yet again, and I had been matched with a character I wanted nothing to do with. Of course, I wasn’t too happy about that. My parents gave me two options: either continue with the role I hated or quit the company. Desperate, I searched for another way out, a way that I could stay with the company but let the director know how I felt.

One day, I came across a link to an online quiz that promised a wish come true. Normally I would have ignored these things (it had come in a flood of chain mail), but in this situation a “wish come true” sounded like the best way to turn life’s lemons into lemonade.

The link took me too a very plain-looking quiz that just barely continued beyond the bottom of the screen. I filled out the questions. At the end of the quiz, I was asked for my favorite day of the week.

“Sunday.”

I typed in the first answer that came into mind, then clicked, “submit.”

I was faced with a long list that interpreted my answers as parts of my personality, friendships, morals, etc. At the end of the list I was told that my deepest desire, my one, true wish, would be granted on that upcoming Sunday. Satisfied, I closed the quiz, already anticipating the weekend. What would happen? Would the director send me an email apologizing? Would the roles be switched around? I was giddy with excitement.

In the days leading up to that monumental Sunday, I decided to research some of the songs in the musical. I picked one, a solo sung by the character I had hoped to get, printed it out, and committed it to memory. It would be the sugar in my lemonade; an assurance that Sunday wouldn’t fail me.
When Sunday finally rolled around, I had memorized the song front-to-back and back-to-front. It played through my head on loop, cheering me on. “You’re so close,” it seemed to say.
I checked the casting email again and again, every time greeted with the same solid, black font, every time taunted by the steely rows of names and characters. The role in juxtaposition to my name seemed to vibrate with enough energy to jump off the screen, stuck in my eyes’ furious grip.

As the day wore on, the lemons grew bitter and inedible. I wanted to hurl them back at life. Nothing in this situation had improved, no matter how hard I wished or how much lemonade I tried to make.

The next day, I realized my mistake. I had gotten lemonade, just not in the form I wanted it. All that research, all that singing? they meant something. Although I didn’t get the role I wanted, that hadn’t stopped me from singing the lead’s lines with confidence. Just because this year hadn’t recognized my talent didn’t mean I had none, and the role I got?the role I hated?didn’t define me as an actress. As long as I kept moving forwards, I could transform even the sourest lemons into sweeter things. And for that, Sunday, I thank you.