Category: dance

As I visited my sister, brother-in-law, and their new born son in the hospital yesterday, I was in tears.

I had just left the chiropractor, which I go to every other week at this point, having been in the worst back pain I’ve had since it really began three years ago. I told him this. He expressed concern. He’s sending me for a steroid shot to help until I can get an MRI done to hopefully see what is causing me to get worse instead of better.

While I’m grateful for the action being taken, I’m overwhelmed.

 

I don’t have “real insurance.” I can’t afford it. I am part of a co-op that helps with the big things, but most of the little things are left to me. I guess if you think about it, the difference might all come out in the wash for the rates I’d pay for actual insurance versus what I pay for the help I get. But I also don’t have a deductible to meet, so I don’t have to pay $6,000-$8,000 before expensive insurance even kicks in, and I don’t have to worry about being in network. I at least have enough connections to get me referrals to places I need to go. For that, I am grateful.

As I sat on the pull out bed my brother-in-law has been sleeping on and told my sister about my appointment, my brother-in-law asked me, “What did he say about you dancing?”

I laughed.

I laughed, and it broke my heart when I realized that was my reaction.

After the split second, I told him, “I can’t dance anymore. Not full classes. Teaching is okay, but I can’t make it through classes. And he’s okay with that.”

I’ve made an appointment for next Thursday to get the shot of steroids. My chiropractor was concerned when I told him that I’ve been getting worse, not better, and immediately suggested the referral to see what’s going on. I’m going to speak to my rhuematologist to see about an orthopedic specialist like she had originally suggested, but this way I’ll already have the MRI done and can bring them with me.

I put it off initially, thinking maybe it was just because I hadn’t been dancing. That I went from dancing so much to practically nothing so fast that maybe it caused the pain I was feeling. After all, it was around the same time. But then, going to dance didn’t help. The pain didn’t go away. So now I’m going to bite the bullet. Maybe it’ll be an expensive way of telling myself that I’m fine, but maybe it’s not. And if it’s not, if there really is something wrong, I should find out sooner rather than later. Especially since the pain is now starting to impinge on my every day life, making it harder to just ignore.

I cried when I left the chiropractor, knowing that this would be expensive, that things are getting worse. I cried when I called about the steroids to hopefully help, hearing the amount she quoted me as a self-pay patient. I’m sure I’ll cry when I get the call for the MRI referral.

I try my best to stay positive. Not because I’m this person that craps rainbows and sunshine, but really because of the opposite. I know if I let it all get to me, I’ll end up in a dark place I don’t need to be. I know it’s easier to take a moment to make myself pick out positives than it is to come back from being in a dark place. I know what I’m prone to, and I try to avoid it. But I also know the importance of embracing reality–I am sick. I am not getting better right now. Avoiding it will only make things worse later. My credit cards aren’t maxed out yet, I have some side income coming to me in the fall, I do have a co-op that should be able to help with the big MRI expense.

I try not to replay the fear I felt making that call to get the steroids. A fear that is difficult to explain unless you’ve experienced it. The unknown of how the call will turn out and if you’ll get shut down before you can even make the appointment. How I tried to convince myself I can do without it to save some money. I’m prone to reliving difficult situations, but letting myself do that won’t help the situation. I have to focus on getting through the next 8 days until I can even get the shot. Of telling myself that I can cancel up to Wednesday if I need to. That I see the chiropractor again on Tuesday. That things improving isn’t yet out of the question, and if they don’t I do have an appointment that will help me.

The whole time, I just hear this little voice in my head saying, “It’ll get worse before it gets better.” And if this is the “getting worse” then I just have to look for the “gets better” bit and hold to that with an iron grip.

Until then, I think of friends I have made through being sick. Friends that can’t walk, friends that pay thousands for each dose of medication they have to take just to stay alive, people who’s bodies are rejecting treatment. I think of the things I’m losing as paling in comparison. If they can do this, if they can endure, if they can find a way to wake up in the morning, then so can I.

If I can do it, so can you.

Ballet has a unique was of bringing people together–across generations and oceans and any other divide you can think of. It’s one of my favorite things about the art form, and I’m grateful to have such a great group of people I have met via Instagram that also share this love, specifically coming into it as adults.

One of these friends, Joanna Marsh, actually wrote a great novel called Cantique, inspired in part by coming into ballet as an adult beginner and the subtle ways it draws one in to itself.

Joanna has a blog she also runs that features the stories of different ballet dancers that began as adults.

While the blog is such a wonderful look into the lives of different people joined together by this common love, I take an extra, personal interest in it now. Not too long ago, Joanna asked me if I would be willing to be a part of her blog series and if she could interview me.

Oh-my-gosh-yes-are-you-serious-holy-crap-this-is-the-coolest
That’s about how it went in my head, no punctuation at all, and I’m sure actually more long-winded than I’m letting on. I was honored to be thought of, to say the least, especially in this time in my life where I can find myself feeling like I don’t really have much to offer since my life is so starkly different now with being sick and trying to navigate that. Yet, smack dab in the middle of that, comes this message asking if she could tell part of my story.

It’s something God has been teaching me recently, that being sick isn’t the end of my story but rather a part of it. And that can be the same for you, whether it’s moving or switching jobs, or family problems, or extreme loss, or whatever it is you might be facing. That doesn’t mean your story is over, it doesn’t mean that your finer days are done, it doesn’t mean you’ve done all the good you were born to do. It just means that you story is starting another chapter, for lack of less-cheesy words, and that with this you’ll see the point of all the complications. You’ll meet people you never would have otherwise and find fulfillment in life you wouldn’t have known otherwise.

I also saw a video this week of a woman diagnosed with a condition that gives her a very short life expectancy, and how she keeps proving them wrong. And how she realized her diagnosis isn’t an end all, be all. It doesn’t mean you can’t do all the things you dream or hope, but rather it’s just another way to do it all, another mode of transportation to get to your destination.

I’m grateful. Truly  grateful.

Days will come that will suck and I’ll be frustrated and feel like crap, but these days in between make it worth it.

(Reminds me of super old blog posts from the beginning of this blog that have similar sentiments about beginning ballet. Oh, life. How you come full circle.)

 

You can buy Joanna’s book here

You can check the post here

 

Thanks again, Joanna. I truly appreciate your friendship!

I actually made it to a class yesterday.

First time in, like, a month.

There were days I felt well enough to go before, but I was a bit nervous not knowing who the teacher is. Not that any of them could necessarily not be good teachers, but I realize that I am currently in a very fragile state and having something familiar in a place that I associate with safety is dire. It could easily sap me of any bit of optimism I have, or it could remind me that I’m going to be okay.

Summer classes start earlier since we don’t have to worry about a school schedule, so I knew if I left straight from work, I’d only be there about 15 minutes early. (Y’all may scoff at the “only,” but being that I live pretty far out it typically puts me about 30 minutes early. Which is too early in this sense. Fifteen minutes was going to be perfect.) I left the office at 5:04, class starts at 6.

I had driven the same route yesterday for my chiropractor appointment with no problem, but not even 15 minutes into the 45 minute drive, the traffic was already insane. I’m not sure if it’s due to the city’s potential and imminent growth coming early or if it’s something with summer or what, but I was tense and concerned that I wouldn’t get there on time. (The drive is a 35 minute drive that takes 47 during 5 o’clock traffic.) I looked at the clock when I was supposed to be 10 minutes away and noticed I wasn’t even half way there. I was stressed. My hair was still down, I’m not sure where in the depths of the car my shoes are, and I haven’t seen anyone in at least a month. I need those 15 minutes to center myself.

I walked in the door right as class was starting. Full of younger ones whom I love so dearly, I wanted to just hug them all and ask how their summer is going, but I had to get my hair up and they were already walking into the studio. One of the mom’s hugged me as I was half-ready, walking into the studio anyway, and said, “I love seeing you when you get to come to class.” And I knew she meant that genuinely from the depths of her heart. It made my stress melt away and air to fill my lungs again.

Thankfully I walked in to see one of my favorite teachers. She’s also one I don’t have often, but the classes of hers I have taken are ones that always left me feeling great. She challenges enough to push us past what we think we’re capable enough, while also not making it so hard we give up. I was excited.

I said hi to some of the dancers I was able to, and hugged the closest few before we got started. Barre was the challenge I expected and hoped for, and left me feeling so good. I was aware of my limitations, but also still able to do most of what I could before. I did do something to my left hip, but that used to be the norm so I wasn’t all too concerned. (And it doesn’t hurt me today.) The class is an hour and a half long, and barre was about 45 minutes. When we finished, I pulled my hand away and noticed it shaking. More than just a subtle movement, but full-on shaking. I did some quick calculating of how I felt versus the time we had left and knowing center would probably have some challenges and decided I–unfortunately–probably shouldn’t push myself. I went and told my teacher, as I didn’t want her to think I was just leaving because it was her. Turns out I hadn’t seen her or gotten to talk to her since I had gotten diagnosed (I used to see her every Wednesday between when my class ended and hers began and also at rehearsals) so I filled her in, but she has seen and known of many of my struggles, especially during Snow White rehearsals.

I didn’t think I could drive home the whole way without the threat of spacing out, so I waited in the foyer. Thankfully, two of the mom’s were still there, including the one who had hugged me before. We talked about the upcoming year and classes, my trip to Florida next month, and they gave me tips on things to make sure I see and do. As I was about to leave, another mom came in and my diagnosis came up. Turns out one of the mom’s there also has CFS and was telling me about things she tried that worked for her and ways it affects her. It was so great to have another someone there who understood it and even mentioned, “everyone is different. What works for me may not work for you, but it might be worth a shot.” It was simple and she didn’t have to say anything, but her doing so made me feel so much better.

Reality is my reality is changing. Substantially. By the looks of it, I may not be able to stay for classes, even on “good days.” I’m exhausted today and having to push through the work day anyway, which thankfully is full of things I understand, but unfortunately something I’m having to take more slowly to factor in my brain’s lag time and how heavy my chest feels. I do have Friday’s off right now, which is everything. Navigating the Fall will be something to adjust to, as well. I just have to leave myself room to be human and understand that my life isn’t what it was. I also have to give myself the time it will take to accept that in all of it’s layers.

My next doctor’s appointment is at the end of August. I’m hopeful that maybe we can figure out further depths to this thing, or even just note that it’s declining rather rapidly, and see where to go from here.

Thankfully, I write, which means most things are pretty heavily documented.

I hope to still be as active here as I can, though regrettably it will be quite a bit less from normal being that I can’t do as much. I’ll have my baby classes to keep me in the loop of the dance world, still, which means more than I have words for.

Thank you, friends, for staying along for this ride. You guys mean everything to me.

I haven’t been to a class in a while. I honestly don’t remember when, but I’m sure I could look back on blogs and find out. 😂 

In my online silence, I feel I have learned much:

I’ve learned that even when I’m unable to get to class, ballet is still very much a part of my life. I may be in bed most moments I’m not at work, but what ballet has taught me finds it’s ways of helping me in most areas of my life. Most recently, it’s been in the area of communication. I remembered something a teacher had told me with a correction, “reach your arm out longer. Longer than you think it needs to go. If it’s too much, I’ll tell you.” But she never had to tell me, because what I thought was too much ended up being the perfect amount. I applied this concept to communication, and found that what I thought was a dramatic overkill was actually what was needed and helped immensely. 

I’ve learned the importance of learning my limits, and that also pushing them is equally important at times. While talking with a dear friend of mine, she mentioned making sure that I didn’t use my diagnosis as an excuse to give up. That it’s important to listen to my body and what it needs, but whenever able to make sure I push those limits. Without that, I’ll lose the very thing that makes me who I am. She’s right. So while I have to throw in the towel way more than I ever wanted or thought I would have to, I will not be defeated. There’s much that is unknown, but all hope is not lost. 

I’ve learned that even when I’m feeling my worst, even when I’m unable to to do what’s required of me, let alone anything extra, even when I feel like my life has lost its luster and everything I worked for is slipping from my fingers, like I’ve lost every bit of influence I had or any point that made me enjoy living and helped me get through the hard days, even when trying to explain the depths of what it is im trying to relay to you ends in the most run-on of run-on sentences, still people find this blog, people read my stories, people connect and find something in it that speaks to them. It shows me that even when I’m feeling my worst, I am not pointless. I am not too far gone. I am not lost for all hope. 

I’ve learned that I have some of the greatest friends one could ever hope for. Ones that help me, ones that keep up with and check in on me. Ones that still follow my Instagram account, even when I’m silent for weeks with no explanation. I’ve found friends in similar predicaments, lending their own silent waves of understanding, showing me that I’m not alone. 

I haven’t written as much because I don’t want to just be all about the illness, but I have also come to realize that the illness is part of it. Classes start again next month, where I will be teaching and at least in the studio weekly if for nothing more than that. I hope to get into some interim classes, but so far haven’t been able to yet, sadly. But still, ballet has not left me. Everything it is and brings to the dancer still lives inside of me, still encourages me to keep believing, to keep dreaming, to keep pushing myself. 

It’s funny to think of how different life is now from last year, or even six months ago. The things I could do with minimal effort that now I can’t even consider because it’s too much. But even in thinking back on what I used to be able to do, I smile. Because I did it. I didn’t wait and wish and hope that one day I might dance, I got out there and fumbled around like a baby giraffe until it started to make sense. I chased my crazy dream until it came true. And it did. Just in time, it did. And no matter what happens, no matter if I ever get well or stay sick the rest of my life, no matter if sickness comes in and takes more from me, I will always have that. I will always know I dared to dream and my dreams came true. 

And that, my friends, is more than I could ever ask for. 

What makes me any different from you? Nothing. You just have to decide in yourself that you want whatever it is more than you’re afraid of it, and remind yourself of that feeling of euphoria whenever things get difficult. Because they will. Show up anyway. Try anyway. Push your limits anyway. 

Your future self will thank you. 

As I walked into the studio this morning, I found myself comforted by the familiar smell. I tried to describe it to myself, but it’s a hard one to explain. A mix of many things, including the age of the pier and beam building, the floors, the ac unit, and everything else that goes into it all. It’s only been a week since I was last there, but it felt like a bit of peace and security in my life at a time where nothing really seems certain, even the things that should. 

As I went through the classes, I found myself noticing things I wish I could capture; little moments I wish I could remember forever. This blog post is going to be a list of those little things. You may not care, but these are the things I love to look back on. 

• M’s immesnse ability to pick up on the finer details of moves and being able to do complex things with the different arm positions almost flawlessly. 
• S’s brother joining in for the warm up of class and actually loving it. 
• K asking where my assistants are, showing how much they impact the girls lives in a positive way. 
• E being so excited about ballet that it makes you excited. 
• The way they all insist on giving me hugs and high fives after class. 
• A being super cuddly in the beginning circle, always leaning her little arm on my knee. And the way she says her name is stinking adorable. 
• I always holding up three fingers and closing one eye and looking through them to show me how old she is. 
• The twins. Oh, the twins. 
• K not being able to say her s’s, being slightly pigeon toed, but really getting the concept of her heels being together in first position. 
• R being brand new last week, too afraid to do anything except for freeze dance with Maddie at the end last week, but this week doing everything and focusing really well. The way she’d go on releve to the very tips of her toes, completely extending through every inch of her body. 
• V noticing the little things like arm placement and straight knees and working on implementing them without even being corrected. 
• K giving me a glass figure of a dragonfly and flower and naming it rainbow. Also, her brother is super man and always gives me high fives. 

This brings me the greatest joy. Even on the days that are long and I’m exhausted and struggling, they remind me why this is worth fighting for. They remind me that my life is more than just fighting to get through every day. That I have a purpose and am doing something good in the world. They teach me as much, if not more, than I teach them. I don’t think they’ll even know what they mean to me. 

I’m hoping to have a bunch of them in class next year. They were all really dedicated and focused.  It’s a good group. I’m excited for their futures. 

The studio is closed for the month of July, except for a few interim classes for the older levels and adults. Hopefully I can make a few. 

I’m excited for fall. 

Recently a friend asked if posting on his Facebook wall about his cancer diagnosis was selfish. 

To which I replied that it’s his wall and something he is going through. How in the world was that selfish? 

Yet, I find myself doing it with my blog. I tell myself not to write about being sick so much because people don’t want to read about that. They want to read about ballet, about my journey with it, about all the cool things I get to do and the things I learn through this medium of expression. 

And then I realized that they are one in the same. 

I see my chiropractor every to every other week. I’ve been seeing him about two years now, and he is also an RN and rather invested in my whole health story. On Tuesday he asked me about some updates, then looked me in the eye and asked, “are you depressed?” 

It was a rather direct question, which would have really thrown me coming from my father. My dad and my chiropractor are friends, and I sort of view him as a father figure, but it wasn’t something I found invasive, just not what I expected. I responded, “definitely.” Then he asked, “are you beginning the grieving process? For your diagnosis? You were so active in dance and always doing something. This has put the brakes on.” 

It’s summer. Official summer classes end tomorrow, the last adult class was Wednesday. Out of the 8 potential classes, I made it to two. I was hoping to make it this past week, but I ended up too sick. 

From what? What could have possibly made me too sick to power through? I don’t get “normal people” sick very often at all. But apparently, I pushed myself too hard in cleaning my house on Friday, and that mixed with life stress kicked my butt even through the next week. A week later, I’m still struggling. 

I miss it. I miss class. I miss dance. 

I miss having time to get everything done that life requires. I miss being able to be busy, which makes me forget about all the hard things in life I can’t change. 

I miss seeing my friends and challenging myself. I miss learning new things and striving to perfect things I know. 

I wish I was able to tell you about all the cool stuff I’m learning and working on. That I could fill my blog with all the ballet things all the time. I wish I had weekly updates like I used to, trying to hold myself back on all the things I wanted to say to not make too many posts at once. 

But reality is, life is a thief that’s stealing the things I love. And I have to find ways to handle that. Thankfully, ballet isn’t out of the question entirely, and I am at a wonderful studio that will let me make a class schedule to whatever I can manage. If it’s making it to adult class, wonderful. But if it’s making it to a leveled class barre here and there, that’s okay too. 

I’m grateful to know that all hope isn’t lost. That I can still dance when I’m able, and there’s no pressure to do more than that. I’m extremely grateful that I can still teach, which helps me stay motivated to make the drive to the studio and fight for the thing I love. Not to mention the kids jump start my heart to remember why life is still beautiful, even when things are so very ugly. 

Dance has given me so many things I have in life that I treasure. Most of them are people, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. Even if it has slowed down, I’m so very glad that I get to be a part of this ballet world. Even more so that I decided to take those first terrifying steps to pursuing this crazy dream. 

Keep dreaming. Keep fighting. Do the things that scare you. Find the thing that makes you feel alive and chase it with everything you have. 

Thank you so much for being patient with me. For sticking around, even when my life isn’t as “glamorous” as it used to be. Y’all are part of my heart. 

There are some days that are simple and light and could be described as “pleasant.”

And then there are days that are complicated and dark and can be described using expletives that make your mom angry to hear them, causing you even more frustration.

(No? Just me? Okay.)

Sometimes those days turn in to weeks, or longer, and it can wear pretty rough on your soul.

Sometimes it piles on top of everything else you already deal with every day, making it feel hard to breathe.

So you debate even going to ballet, although it’s been a while and having days where you actually don’t feel exhausted are way fewer and farther between than they used to be and in spite of everything you’re still semi-alive enough to go.

You get in your car, get caught in traffic, cut off more times to count.

You finally get there right when your favorite song comes on the radio, so you wait it out before going inside.

The familiarity of the place begins to seep into your pores, saturating your skin, making it’s way deeper until it hits your blood stream.

You change into your ballet clothes, realizing your tights are still in your car. You get said tights, then finish actually getting dressed. Then realize your shoes are in your car, too, so you go back out and get your shoes, thankful that you haven’t cleaned out your car yet and that you check these things before class, and also that you get here early enough to take all these things into account.

You find the studio full, half with new faces. It’s a bit intimidating, until class begins, and one of your favorite teachers leads you through combinations that challenge your brain and body and you help the new girl next to you know which direction to turn in a soutenu.

And for that glorious hour, all your mind can allow to take in is ballet; the steps, the execution, the timing, the corrections. There’s no room for the stress you walked in with, the pending whatevers that leave you anxious or the fear of the unknown.

For the first time in what seems like forever, you’re finally in a place that’s familiar, a place that feels like home.

All those fears and anxieties and stresses will be there when you leave, but you leave a little lighter, knowing that you had an entire hour where you could leave it and just breathe.

This is why you dance.

This is why you fight.

This is why you refuse to give up.

 

Never quit fighting.

At our studio, we have a month we’re we do summer intensive classes. The levels aren’t broken up so extensively, due to the smaller size, but the kids who attend take classes for a greater part of the day, having a variety of different types of classes, special teachers brought in, and really good hands on instruction. 

For the younger ones, we have continuing classes, depending on size and median age range for each level, some are able to get intense in their own right. 

I teach two of the classes on Saturday: 3-5 year old ballet and 6-8 year old ballet. 

The classes only last one month, which we are halfway through, and it seems to be the freaking summer of prodigies, at least for my classes. There’s a couple in each class, it seems, and even then the rest seem way above their peers for the most part. 

It’s an exciting thing for a teacher. To have kids in class that are excited to learn and grow. To teach them things a bit above where they should be and for them to soak it up and blow your mind. 

My favorite class is the 6-8 ballet. They’re all around the same age, though a few are technically 5 1/2, but none are older than 6. And they’re all doing things that I would give to the 8 year olds, and they’re doing really well with it. It’s exciting to be able to introduce things to them that are a bit complex and really get to work with them on it, knowing that in the gal they’ll be so very prepared to handle anything that comes their way. 

The 3-5 ballet is good, too. The struggle there is the class is split, 3 year olds and 5 year olds. Some of the 3 year olds are brand new and struggle to focus a little. Some of them do just fine and work really hard. It’s still a good class, especially considering 3 year olds are just that–three. years. old. 

I love these ages so much. The kids are so happy and so excited. They’re full of dreams and light. They remind me that life is worth fighting for and that there are good things in the world, even when so much is bad. 

There’s one girl I had last week who was brand new to our studio. I gave her complex explanations of things and she just jumped right to it with incredible technique. She is a natural, in every sense of the word. She takes it slow if she needs to to make sure she’s doing it exactly right, which even at 5 1/2 can be hard to come by. So often they just want to get through the work to the “fun stuff.” When you find one who finds the work fun, it’s a recipe for immense success. She’s so happy and excited and loves hugs. 

Her mom told me that she’s never seen her like this. That usually she is a reserved child. That she’s never been so excited about a class or a teacher or an activity like this. Her schedule is sort of complicated, as they live out of town and she’s pretty active in different things, but hopefully we can work with her and have her stay with us in the fall. 

I’ve heard of students you see and as soon as you meet them they’re excited about them and their potential. She’s one of them. And then this past week another one walked in the door. It’s blowing my mind. 

I get to be a part of these kids lives. How cool is that? Every single one of these kids I teach, I have a part in who they become, even if they forget me and who I am completely. 

I try not to take that lightly. 

And, for sure, their impact on my life will resound for years to come. 

*but really this time. 

If you’ve been following for a while, you remember the first time I tried to see the Houston Ballet.

This time, we went as sort of a make-shift studio field trip. There were over 20 of us all together, and we all found people to drive and ride with, got directions on how to get there, and what time we wanted to meet at the theatre. 

My car had the potential of being full, but ended up being only me and one other girl. I was just grateful to have someone to go with me. From where I live, Houston is about a 3 hour drive, (used to be 4 before the speed limit went to 75-80 half the way there) and I knew, especially coming home, that it would be a bit of a risk for me to make that solo. This weekend was packed already and my body was pretty pooped, but I was super pumped and it all worked out pretty well. Kara was great company, which made the journey to and from half the fun! 

If you’re not from Texas, you may not know what Buc-ee’s is, or understand our obsession with a certain beaver, but here it’s a sort of tradition that we must stop at the gas station with the cleanest bathrooms in the land and stock up on beaver nuggets. (Which sadly hurt my teeth now, but we stop just the same.) 

My arms weren’t long enough, so his nose just got in it. 

We got to the theatre early, found parking, and followed a sweet couple, who were ballet aficionados, into the theatre as the husband cracked jokes with kara and they talked about school districts. (He’s a teacher.) 

We got to the theatre, picked up our tickets at will call, (“there’s about 10 of your people up there already!”) and got our tickets scanned. 

That was the part I never got to before. 

Kara and I rode the escalator up (she, in an arabesque, me putting everything on my Instagram story) and took in the wonder of the lobby, all decorated in larger-than-life portraits of dancers and videos projected onto high walls. 

Our seats were up in the balcony, which, for La Bayadère, i was actually quite excited for. I don’t know much about the different classical ballets, (yet) but I did know Shades was in this one, and I was excited to be able to see the shapes and lines. 

I was also super excited, because the principal dancer dancing Nikiya was one of the first dancers I ever learned of when I first got into ballet and started learning all about this world. I didn’t know she would be dancing this part that day until we got our programs, when I obviously freaked out. 

We took the elevator to our seats, which Ms Munro pointed out the elevators actually worked here. She has stories of having to take elevators to the stage and one getting stuck between floors while she was in it and she could hear her music playing, and another when all the floors were in German, so she couldn’t figure out which one meant “stage.” (Though now she can still tell you.)

The stairs to your seats were steep, making for great, unobstructed viewing. I also loved that you could see the Orchestra from where we were. There’s something about a live, professional orchestra that just does something to my soul. 

The set design and costumes were absolutely divine. It’s also cool to know that some of the costumes we use now were once used by the Houston Ballet. 

Ms Munro had a pair of binoculars we passed around, where you could really see their faces and the articulation of their feet. 

Plus the set design. Don’t worry, I took this during intermission. 

I was blown away by how into it every person was. From the young dancers that were brought in for certain scenes, to the side characters, everyone was 100% on, 100% of the time. Plus, you could really see how each and every one of them pointed through their feet any dang time they moved them, something that comes with loads of training and hard work. 

The men overall were insanely impressive, with their flawless and complex jumps and turns. To say I was in awe would be an understatement. 

Sarah Webb was a brilliant Nikiya, so fluid and light in all of her movements. Like there wasn’t a possibility at all that this took an effort, or could possibly go differently than planned or rehearsed. It was artistry like I’d never seen. 

The chemistry between her and Charles-Louis Yoshiyama was quite convincing and very well done. I was shocked to learn later that this was his premier as Solor. 

Gamzatti, Soo Youn Cho, was also absolutely incredible. There was this moment where she held this balance so long that I didn’t even know I would want to count but I was mad I didn’t cause she was there forever. 

Also of note was Ajah, who freaking killed (pun intended) her role, which was danced by Jessica Collado. 

I was really impressed with how well the story came across to someone who knew nothing of the story line before walking into the theatre that day. I want to write more about how impressive it all was, but I truly just can’t find the words. 

Shades was absolutely enchanting. Their formations and lines were near flawless, and that first girl who came down that slanted part of the stage and had to do the same combination so many times to allow for the other girls to all get on stage in succession, (24 of them) and also to keep the path so perfectly as it weaved across the stage–ah! It was a sight to behold. 

If someone asked me what my favorite part was, I think it was Shades, because it is the one I relate to the most. Obviously, I could never be Houston Ballet corps caliber, that’s just not in the cards for me, but I was Corpus Christi Ballet corps caliber, so I brought to mind the struggles of putting on Swan Lake and how difficult it can be to learn to get the timing right and all that goes into it. I appreciated how much these 24 girls work their butts off, especially there three with the added solos (shout out Tyler Donatelli) for how much really goes into being able to make a corps role look good as a whole. They all knocked it out of the park. The straight lines and the different shapes and the transitions were all so incredible that my mind couldn’t keep up with trying to figure it all out, which is how it should be. 

The endurance all of the dancers in this production have is something that should definitely be noted. The hard work and training and time and energy that goes into putting on a production like this is not something to be taken lightly or scoffed at. 

The ending scene was also so impressive. The gods were so freaking still before (spoiler alert) the temple comes crashing down that had I not read the cast list, I would have thought they were actual statues. The stabbings were well done to look as realistic as possible without actually shoving a dagger into a dancer. Like. Woah. 

I had the binoculars during moments with each of the principals, as well as the shades and some of the Gamzatti sisters, and I found it hard to believe that Sara Webb and Soo Youn Cho weren’t actually their characters. That they weren’t angry like the parts I saw of their faces, hardened towards each other. The acting was as impressive as the dancing. 

Some of my favorite moments I want to remember: 

• The way the pointe shoes sound when they hit the stage floor just right–so light
• The way it sounded when the guys all landed huge jumps in perfect synchronization. 
• The live snakes. 
• The way the girls next to me were marking with their hands the variation of shades they had just learned in class the week before. 
• The way the orchestra played and how it seemed to transport me to another moment in time. 

Watching the dancers and realizing that I knew the names for each step they were doing was an indescribable feeling. Knowing that we are all part of the same world, though very different levels of it. It’s cool to know that the same things I do in class are the same things they’re doing on stage, just in a different order and with was better technique and execution. Knowing, also, that these are the same things that generations of dancers have done before us is one of my favorite things about ballet. 

After the show, we got to go into the green room and meet a few of the dancers. We got there kind of late and I was bummed I didn’t get to meet Tyler Donatelli who was in there but slipped out before I could meet her. I have followed her on Instagram for quite some time and posted a comment afterwards that’s slightly awkward and embarrassing because I’m slightly fangirling but seriously I loved Shades and she killed her solo. 

I did get to meet Sara Webb. We took a group picture and got her autograph and I am proud to say that she is so very nice and not as tall as I imagined, which is actually good because it means her dancing makes her appear taller and her limbs longer which is what we all strive for. I can officially die happy now, though I hope I don’t actually die soon. Even still, this is a moment i won’t soon forget. 

I’m the awkwardly tall one, hi. 

We also got to meet Soo Youn Cho and Charles-Louis Yoshiyama right as they were starting to kick us out. They were also so very kind and didn’t hate the fact that there were a bajillion of us. 

I swear, I was on cloud nine. I know I’m freaking almost 30, but still. This was a dream come true. More than I ever imagined when I set out to follow this silly dream of dancing ballet that had planted in my heart as a young girl and was denied me for so many years. 

I snuck up to Charles to get the third autograph because we were supposed to be leaving, but I have no regrets. 

Here are a few more pictures 

The couple we followed 

Complete creeper shot of Sara Webb’s tutu

(In case she ever sees this blog, i included this picture of her and her friend. Excited post-show hugs are the best)

This is an experience I’ll never forget. 

Sometimes I go back on super old blog posts, just to see where I’ve been. To remember. 

I would catch myself walking backstage during shows, costume swishing as I walked, pointe shoes off my heels causing me to walk awkwardly, and a thought would pop into my head: 

“This is your reality. This is right now. It’s not a dream or some distant hope. This is you; your life. Soak up every detail while you have it.”

I’m well aware of how life can change in an instant, but even so I’m prone to take things for granted. To get caught up in the drama or emotions of a moment and forget to step back and realize the gifts the day gives me. 

This October will be six years since I started ballet. I’ve written about it before and reflected different times throughout, but passing that number five seems to be hitting me. 

I was a different person then. Not completely, but in many ways. There were decisions I made then that could have completely changed my path of life, causing me to never pursue dance in the slightest. 

Looking back, this blows my mind, because most of everything I do is based on dance in  some way. 

I remember the beginning days. Being absolutely terrified, but being more afraid of regret. I remember the panic. I remember the kindness shown me by other dancers. And looking back now, I’m so glad I started this thing, to have the stories and pictures and memories to look back on. 

Sometimes I wonder why I every started a blog. I mean, having a “legit” blog was on my bucket list, though I don’t really know why now. I mean, obviously writing is my jam, but I’m not really sure what the draw of a blog was. Maybe it was an 2010’s thing. (Is that what we call this decade? Ugh this is hard.) 

But I think of the things I’ve learned, having this. The people I’ve met. (Some from the blog, some just from dance.) it’s been a year since I began my ballet Instagram, and since then I’ve gained over 1,500 followers and countless dear friends to boot. Cherished friends from all over the world. I’ve met people that have reached out to me and helped me with my health, helped me with my technique, helped me with learning bits of other languages, so many incredible things. 

Ballet has introduced me to some of my very most cherished friends. Thosetypes that   you know you could call if it’s 3am and you’re stranded on the highway, or need help moving, or–in recent days–organizing your tiny house that seems to be freaking Mary Poppins carpet bag because how can it hold so much?! 

They’re the people you call or text when life gives you more than you know what to do with. The ones that encourage you on your dark days and remind you of the light inside of you and the future you still have ahead. 

They’re the friends that go to movies with you, or freaking fly to Florida for a Harry Potter day of perfection. 

These are the people living out my many-faceted dreams with me. They encourage me in ways I didn’t know people could. They teach me so much about life and people and kindness. They show me how to treat people. They make me better. 

Without them, I wouldn’t be half the person I’ve grown to be in the past 6 years. 

So this ones for you, my friends. 

You know who you are. 

And you’ll never be able to know how much you truly mean to me. There just aren’t words. 

Thank you, truly.