Hamilton: 10 Years Later
Allow me to be cringe for a few minutes!
You’ll be back, time will tell, you’ll remember that I served you well
When I heard that the original Broadway cast of Hamilton was reuniting for their 10th anniversary performance at the 2025 Tony Awards, I rolled my eyes, while a beast that was under lock and key, much like in Edgar Allen Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart, started to thump loudly and far away from deep within. As Cynthia Erivo introduced the performance and Lin-Manuel Miranda and Leslie Odom Jr. walked out on stage to the opening beats of Non-Stop, the beast broke free of its cage. I metaphorically ripped my shirt off in the middle of my street on my knees as I succumbed back to the 2015 version of Caroline, who, like much of this nation, 73% of my identity was Hamilton.
I don’t need to tell you this, but the year of Hamilton was electric. I remember hearing bits about it here and there as the buzz continued to build for the show online. Once the original Broadway cast recording dropped, there was nothing that could keep me from listening to this soundtrack Non-Stop. A friend sent me all of the tracks on Google Drive, so I could have them on my phone to do my best to memorize every single word. In particular, I connected deeply to Hamilton’s drive and the lyrics: Why do you write like you’re running out of time? Write day and night like you’re running out of time? Everyday you fight like you’re running out of time? It hit me at my core as someone (who, like many of us, feels), I felt like I was years behind my peers and my dreams, and this internal need to double down on my work ethic to make what I wanted a reality.
It made Broadway cool to a vast portion of this nation that thought tap dancing was reserved for old Shirley Temple movies and only knew Victor Garber as Sidney’s Dad on Alias or from Titanic and not his many renowned Broadway originating roles (He is in freaking Sweeney Todd!!). And for a Broadway FREAK like me, this was huge. My nerdy culture was suddenly everyone’s culture. Hamilton was at the freaking White House! Not once (for when the original spark of the musical was debuted), but at least twice! Beyoncé told Jonathan that she was going to steal his walk! I was babysitting small children who could rap most of the soundtrack. This moment was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.
As I reflect on this era in 2015, it is hard not to think about how it also coincided with the last full year my Mom was alive. If we had had any hint of her being sick at this time, I would have changed everything that I did this year entirely. But we had no clue, and replaying the past and what you would do differently will only send you down a shame spiral that isn’t worth living in. This is our unfortunate reality.
Fortunately, though, Hamilton was one of the last big pieces of media that we were able to bond over. Music, movies, and TV were some of the major things that we could continue to share while I lived in Chicago and she was still in North Carolina. It transcended the distance between us and would easily take me back to the moments of us alone in the car listening to Carole King, watching TV in “the back room” together, or our Christmas Day movie tradition. The minute I discovered Hamilton and just how incredible it was, I had to share it with my Mom. And thankfully, she had TASTE, and was hooked quickly as well (And this made for a very easy Christmas gift, getting her the soundtrack for the car!).
In October of 2015, I traveled to New York to perform at the New York Music Improv Festival with my music improv team1, and I was thrilled. This was my first time returning to New York after my dreams of attending NYU were dashed in my senior year of high school, after not being accepted into the Tisch School of the Arts, where I had hoped to be a real New Yorker like my girls, Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen. And I was going to be performing on a New York Stage?! The name on everyone’s lips is going to be Caroline freaking Nash, y’all! My 26-year-old brain started working in overdrive as the trip approached, realizing that Hamilton would be officially open on Broadway during my trip.
I debated endlessly whether it was the smart financial decision to buy tickets with my credit card. I finally pulled the trigger and got them! How often was I in New York?! It was divine timing, and I’ve spent $300 on far, far, far worse things.2 There is something about being in the streets of New York, amongst the lights, Central Park, and taking the subway everywhere, which makes it feel like anything is possible. And this trip was no exception. (This is why I will forever be a city girl. It’s just who I am at my core!!)
Both shows I performed in were amazing (Mara Wilson, aka Matilda, was actually doing storytelling in one of the sets and told us we did well?!)! I had wonderful catch-ups with friends from college who lived there. And then came THEE main event: It was time to see Hamilton. I put on my finest and hoofed it to the Richard Rodgers Theatre. My stomach was flip-flopping as I climbed to my seat, which was in the rafters. Who cared where my seat was as long as I was in the room where it happens with the entire original Broadway Cast? I was nervous that the show that I had built up so much anticipation for wouldn’t live up to my expectations.
Clearly, this was not the case. Every inch of it was better than I could have imagined. I soared to the heavens, experiencing Satisfied performed by Renée Elise Goldsberry live, and held my breath as we soared through Guns and Ships and sobbed through It’s Quiet, Uptown. I honestly couldn’t believe I got to see it all, but to quote my girl Taylor: It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well.
Several other friends from Chicago, who were in town for the same festival, got tickets for the same performance, and we were all drawn to each other afterwards like members of a cult who had just found their new spiritual leader. By the looks on all of our faces, you could see that we had all experienced art that made us question our entire existence. And the only logical move you can make after a moment like that is to wait at the stage door to get your playbill autographed by the entire cast. They were all so incredibly kind and gracious as they slowly exited and chatted with us one by one. This took a bit of time and I had to be on a very early flight the next morning to make a rehearsal in Chicago (Something I would NEVER do now as someone who prefers to not fly before noon if she can help it), so my dear friend Katie Cutler promised to guard my playbill and get the rest of the signatures that I wanted as I gleefully took the Subway back to my friend’s apartment thinking about what an unbelievable trip that this had all been.
Returning to Chicago - my Hamilton obsession only intensified, but it was true! I attended an event at the Chicago Lyric Opera that Lin was speaking at, another with Alex Lacamoire, the director, and even attended multiple themed Hamilton Soulcycle rides - (if it wasn’t already clear enough that I was a millennial living in the prime of 2015-16). I was gifted so much Hamilton merch, I looked like a Founding Father. It was a sickness, and then Hamilton announced that they would be doing a multi-month residency in Chicago. It was on par with the Eras Tour for the insanity that we all experienced trying to get tickets. But I did it! I got my ticket for a performance months later. It felt like such a victory. But little did I know that this would be followed by the worst week of my life - losing my Mom just a little over a week later.
When I finally got to see Hamilton with those tickets, months later, so much had changed. The weight of seeing Hamilton without being able to tell my Mom about it felt so much heavier. Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story? hit in a completely different way, as I reflected on how I had to continue to tell my Mom’s story. I had to make sure that we didn’t forget her. That her essence continued on. This show took on new life and meaning as it became an important part of my grieving process as I figured out the person I would become moving forward.
As the years passed, there is part of me that unknowingly stopped listening to Hamilton, because I know that the soundtrack activates a part of me that no longer exists in most of my life. The person that I was before I lost the most important person in my life. The things that I loved and associated with her when she was still here feel like they have less color and life to them. How can I still enjoy them as much when I can’t text or call her about them? I’ll listen to it once in a while, but it’s not the same and never will be. Grief infects and changes every corner of your life, even the parts that you least suspect it will touch.
I know it feels CRINGE to wax poetic about this era. You know, the one of the “Great Before” when Obama was President? But I think if we were all honest about ourselves, there is a small part inside all of us that aches for this period where we were able to cringely lib out with our tits out with no true known horrors around us at every corner. Similar to the grief of losing my Mom, it feels difficult to think about the people that we all were before Trump. Life was just different then, and it feels painful to consume media from a time when everything seemed easier. But as we are all deeply aware, that wasn’t actually the case.
When the news broke that Mike Pence would be attending Hamilton in November 2016, weeks after Trump won the election, the internet speculated as to exactly how the show would respond. It was also noted far and wide the hypocrisy of Mike Pence attending a show that is largely built on the pride of immigrants and how much good they have done for this country, in contrast to his administration’s policies harming the many, many immigrants in this country. As expected, there were many boos heard from the audience. The cast took the stage at curtain call, where Brandon Victor Dixon (who was playing Aaron Burr) expressed the cast’s collective fear for what Trump’s administration had in store and did their best to appeal to Pence and get him to listen to even one bit of it.
I was reminded of this as Trump attended Les Misérables at the Kennedy Center last week. This was months after his controversial takeover as President of the Board at the Kennedy Center, denouncing many of the things the institution had stood for for decades. Many performances on the calendar for the year have since been canceled, while many people, including Shonda Rhimes, who was on the board, have stepped down from their roles. I’m not the first and won’t be the last to note that it seems odd that Trump would love Les Mis, but I guess he has convinced himself that the rich won the French Revolution? Which wouldn’t be shocking as someone who tends to reinvent history for his own personal gain.
There were drag queens bravely attending in protest who, amid Pride, showed that their presence can’t be ignored. It was a reminder of the show’s message that the collective power of the people will always triumph in horrific fascist times. Theatre has always and will forever be inherently political. We must return to Hamilton, Les Mis, or any art that reminds us of our collective power, and that immigrants are the foundation of this entire nation. Hamilton struck a chord with us all in 2015-16 for a reason, and we were reminded of its power at the Tony Awards. To quote Hamilton, History has its eyes on us and how we react in this moment. How we react to the art that we choose to consume and create is a protest to this entire administration. And with that, I will continue to be unabashedly cringe and let my beast out in response while listening to Guns and Ships. Hopefully, my Mom will also be proud, and she is enjoying Hamilton, wherever she is.
I know, there is nothing cooler than music improv!!!!
Little did I know that weeks after I bought my tickets that prices would shoot up to $10,000 a ticket and then some. So I basically made money on my purchase! Girl math!