"Purpose" (the broadway play)

Actor: Jon Michael Hill

I Felt God and Purpose All Over Me

Last night, I was inspired.

I sat in a theater—crammed up against a wall, in a seat so damn uncomfortable I almost turned around and went home. My knees were in someone’s back. My shoulder pressed up against cold concrete. I was annoyed. Until the older Black couple beside me turned to me with warmth that melted the evening. They offered me mints. Spoke with the kind of grace that can’t be taught—only inherited. I forgot about the tightness of the space and began wondering about them. Where are they from? What have they seen? What did they do when they were my age, chasing dreams in shoes less shiny than mine?

Then the lights dimmed. The show began. And something inside me shifted.

This play was long, so I braced myself. But five minutes in and I had already left my body. I forgot about my seat. Forgot about the world. Forgot about the ache in my back. Forgot they were acting. I was transported.

These weren’t performers. These were mirrors. I saw my cousins in them. My aunties. My brothers. I saw the parts of myself I try to tuck away and the parts I scream out loud. These actors were telling the truth—and doing it with such skill, such honesty, that it felt like they cracked open the ceiling and let God peek in.

The crammed seat didn’t feel tight anymore. It felt sacred.I wasn’t stuck—I was held. Held by the story.Held by the audience.Held by something bigger than all of us.

And when those actors opened their mouths, something holy came out. They did what I always pray to do when I perform: they reached into themselves and pulled their souls out of this weary world. This world where I beg for auditions. Where I scroll for hope. Where anxiety plays chess with my confidence. They lifted me out of it—all of it—and said, come here. And I did.

I was in their kitchen.In their joy.In their heartbreak.I was on that stage with them.I was in their home.I was them.

Every word they spoke punched me in the gut in a way that felt deeply familiar—like I’d heard these conversations whispered in my own living room. Like someone had been eavesdropping on my life and turned it into a sacred text. OKAY I don't have a super-hero black legend dad, so that part wasn't familiar, but I am not being literal here…. or am I?

A story of asexuality. Of bipolar disorder. Of queerness. Of family and how love shows up in broken ways.A story about purpose—and what it means when you lose it, and what it means when you fight to find it again.

It was about us.Black. Beautiful. Unapologetic. Messy and layered and real.

And the thing is—I haven’t seen us like that before.Not like this.

I looked around and wished more of us were in the room. Because this story—this testimony—belonged to all of us. And I thought about how many times we sit in seats like that, tucked away in the corners, watching the world be reflected without our features. But not this time.

This time, I was seen.

I was moved.I was inspired.I was lowkey wrecked.Inspired because I want to be that good.Wrecked because I want to be on a stage right now. Like now. Not next year. Not in some audition room. Now.

The play was called “Purpose.” Written by the brilliant Brandon Jacobs-Jenkins. If you hear anything I’m saying—go. Run. Witness it.

And when that Black couple stood to leave, I watched them with a full heart. I watched them walk into the New York City night like royalty. Their heads high. Their eyes still shining from what they’d seen. I saw their pride. I saw their history. I saw their legacy. And I silently thanked them for sitting beside me.

As I stepped out into the cold, I felt it all over me—God.Art.Purpose.

I fight for the unseen—for the queer, the Black, the brilliant souls who’ve had to be ten times better just to be half as noticed—because our stories aren’t just worthy…they are divine.