By Jonathan Rosenbloom, an actor
For nearly twenty years, I have made it a point to dive into something new each year—usually in the literary or fine arts. Sometimes, this has resulted in success—like mastering the art of cacio e pepe (only three ingredients, but damn is it tough). Other times, the results have been more humbling—like my ongoing but largely unsuccessful attempts to learn French. Regardless of the outcome, the process itself has always been the real reward: the willingness to be pushed, to be challenged, and to learn in an environment where mistakes are not only expected but embraced.
This year’s grand experiment? Singing and dancing in a musical—for the very first time. I’ve acted before, but belting out a tune and keeping rhythm on stage? Uncharted territory. To put it mildly, I am terrified. But I’m also incredibly lucky to be surrounded by people I admire, people who create a space where it’s safe to take risks—much like the tight-knit ensemble in A Man of No Importance, the very show we’re performing. That kind of support is everything. It lets me embrace the awkwardness, laugh through the missteps, and discover just how much growth can come from stepping into the unknown.
During one of our recent rehearsals, I had a short solo—my first ever. Nerves, excitement, and adrenaline all swirled together as I stepped into the spotlight and sang. Shortly after, one of the incredibly talented singers in the cast approached me and asked if I would be interested in private lessons. Now, at first blush, that could have been a confidence-shattering moment. But I knew this offer was not a critique of my shortcomings (as big as they are); it was an invitation to improve, an acknowledgment that growth is always possible. It was a moment of generosity, a reminder that learning is a lifelong pursuit, and that the best learning happens in communities where people genuinely want to see each other succeed.
The experience of being in A Man of No Importance has also deepened my empathy for my students. Teaching climate law is no small task—for them or for me. The subject matter is complex, the legal doctrines intricate, and the stakes incredibly high. My students, much like me on that stage, often feel vulnerable. They are asked to grapple with difficult material, to take intellectual risks, to think critically, and to express ideas that may not yet be fully formed. It is my responsibility to foster the kind of space where they feel safe to do that—where they know that mistakes are stepping stones, not failures, and that learning is, at its core, an act of continual reaching.
Fittingly, by the end of the musical, A Man of No Importance, the protagonist realizes that the most meaningful and beautiful part of his life is not his ambitions or achievements (although also laudable), but the people with whom he shares his journey. That lesson resonates deeply. Whether in the theater, the classroom, or anywhere else in life, our greatest growth happens when we are surrounded by people who challenge us with kindness, who support us in our struggles, and who remind us that learning—and living—is always a work in progress.
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