It’s easy to feel powerless with everything going on today. “I’m just one person,” we cry. “What can I possibly do?”

So, let me tell you about our high school production of Dames at Sea. I talked about this musical before, but there was one performance that I’ll always remember.

Let’s set the scene: In high school, I worked with very talented performers who went on to careers in stage, movies, and television. I wasn’t one of them. You can pick me out of the chorus line because I was the one whose choreography was off. It’s a good thing I became a writer because I wasn’t going to build a career on my musical theater chops.

However, I was good enough to get cast to play Hennesey, the struggling Broadway director/producer. In most productions of Dames at Sea, the person who plays Hennesey also plays the Captain. Fortunately, our choir director found a much better singer to play that role.

We were doing an evening performance. Our stars were doing their thing, singing their hearts out, and tap dancing like their lives depended on it. But the audience wasn’t getting it. Sure, this was the 1970s, and we were doing a show from the 1960s parodying musicals of the 1930s. But as high school kids, the crickets from the audience in our cavernous auditorium were disheartening. As Act I ended, I listened to the other performers vent off-stage their frustration about how dead the audience was.

Act II wasn’t any better, but something happened halfway through.

It was a scene where it looked like all hope was lost for our heroes. As Hennesey, I had to come out and tell everyone the show was canceled. Ruby, played by Catherine Fries Vaughn, gasped, “Do you mean?…”

I sadly replied, “Yeah, kid. Utah.”

A loud, heartfelt “Aw!” came from the audience. It was the first reaction we got all night. And after that, the audience was with us. They cheered our remaining numbers and gave us thunderous applause when the show ended.

I don’t know how much credit I should get for changing the mood of that performance. But as a shy and awkward 16-year-old, it felt empowering to have that much sway over an audience. It made me feel like I deserved to be on that stage with all those other talented performers. And no matter how small of a part I had, I can still make a big difference.

It’s a lesson I carry with me today.

Some of the biggest shifts in history were triggered by ordinary people who showed extraordinary courage. Rosa Parks. Ruby Bridges. Marsha P. Johnson. Cesar Chavez. The man who stood in front of a tank in Tiananmen Square. Bit players who stood up to power and gained the world’s attention. They didn’t wait for someone more powerful, famous, richer, or successful to save them. They took advantage of whatever circumstances they had and used them to take a stand. They remind us we are not powerless, and they inspire us to find the courage within ourselves.

One of those people might be you.

You don’t have to be the star to make a difference in the show. You step out on the stage and make the most of whatever part you have. Even if the audience isn’t responding, they are watching. And you may be the one who gets them on your side. The smallest sliver of the fulcrum is where the world can shift.