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I just posted a super difficult blog post that I’ve been trying to write for a few months. I also thought about waiting until the summer to post it, but feel that now is the best time. The details are there, but essentially this is my last year teaching. I also won’t be active on this account anymore. It’ll remain live, as will my blog, but I won’t be checking in on it. This has been an extremely difficult decision to have to come to, but it’s one I can’t avoid anymore. If you’d like to keep up with me, please feel free to follow my personal account @emileeayers or my poetry account @forthestranger (or my “nerd” account if you’re into that, @thenerdjacket ) I love y’all so much and am super grateful for the friends I’ve made over the years through ballet. Super proud of y’all and everything you’re accomplishing every day. (Thanks to Mrs Gigi for this picture from nutcracker this year. It’s super special to me.)
I’ll have a proper post after the trip when I can blog. I’m the meantime, please enjoy this photo of @ballerinakay that I am properly obsessed with. ❤️
Two years ago today, I met @allie_on_pointe in person! In NINE DAYS we’re going to London together! I truly cherish the friends being in the dance world as an adult has given me. ❤️
Caught the train, heading back to hogwarts. See you witches (and wizards) there!
The dance season started up this week! My classes started today, and I wrote a blog post about it. Now I’m gonna go sleep. Link in bio
I was at a Harry Potter convention this weekend with my best friend and had an unexpected ballet encounter. I wrote about it if that’s your sort of thing. Link in the bio. 💛🖤

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It seems that every time I find a picture to post on Instagram, I go to write the description, but it becomes such a novel that I backspace as I remember, “I have a blog for that.”

Instead of leaving you with a super long description, have a new post!

I had written about how hurricane Harvey knocked down the building where my first recital costume resided in a dresser, and how the dresser was burned and everything in it, including the costume. I had written about how I stood on the pile of building remains and cried as the reality of everything hit me. How I also had to pull myself together rather quickly as I didn’t have time into fall apart, and how this seems to be the story of my life. (And honestly probably why I’m so sick, let’s be real.)

Mom said she knows there were pictures of that recital somewhere, but we hadn’t found them yet, and honestly at this point I was too afraid to be hopeful. I had seen what happened to important pictures that were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and my heart had shattered knowing they were gone, irreplaceable.

While going through one of the boxes from the building, I found this

A picture of me and my friend Kayla on stage during our first ballet recital. It was 1995. I was 7.

I smile knowing that there is at least something remaining of my first year of ballet. Of the time that the ballet bug bit me and never left me alone. I laugh as I remember asking how to do first position since when I did it, my knees couldn’t straighten, and how you can see it in this picture.

There’s another picture stuck to the back of this one, and I carefully peel it apart and find this

It’s Kayla and me, after our recital, you can see my slight pigeon-toed tendencies and how Kayla always walked turned out, the writing from the  back of the first picture having bled over onto this one.

And it just makes me so happy.

It’s messed up. There’s water damage around the edges, pieces of the picture missing, there’s writing all across us, it’s warped. But it exists.

It’s me. It’s me and my best friend after our first recital, beaming at the camera, my moms hand writing sprawled across us, now a tattoo of resilience inked upon the photos surface.

I think I love the picture even more in its imperfection. I feel more of a draw to it. My life is nothing like perfection; it’s painful and complicated. There’s scars sprawled across my skin and more ahead for me. But it’s the hopenin this little girl’s eyes that has pushed me through all that. It’s the dreams in her mind that keep me going. It’s the comfort I find in knowing she would look at me with eyes full of wonder and be proud.

Life sucks. It’s hard. It hurts. And there’s no end in sight.

But life is still beautiful.

This entry was posted in dance.
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