I am often superstitious…


…afraid to say things out loud before they’ve happened, let alone celebrate achievements in advance. As if the uttering of gratification scares away good fortune. Like the vocal recognition of fulfillment prior to the physical fulfillment somehow makes that inevitability impossible.

This tendency is a consequence of genetics (Hi, Mom!) and 24 years in a field of inherent uncertainty. Nothing is “a given”. Every day could be my last day dancing. But then again, every day could be my last.

So what about the recognition of the gifts right here and now? What about appreciating the struggle? What if the hardship is the gift?

Yesterday morning, before my walk in to the studio, I felt called to stop in my tracks, open my eyes wider, and take in a few deep breaths. As the cold air swirled up through my nostrils and into my chest, I became aware of my own heartbeat. The complicated system of highways in my body streamed actively, my spine extended and my chin lifted to accept another breath. I suddenly felt grateful not only for the present moment, but for the future things I looked forward to but had since felt too afraid to let manifest in my mind firmly.

“Don’t count your nuts before they are cracked,” I heard myself tell me. “You’ll jinx it!” another part of me whined. And then something strange happened.

They stopped. They accepted. I recognized. I received.

This very physical act of  receiving all of the good- the simple, the complex, the already, the not yet- curved up the corners of my mouth. I was somehow simultaneously filled up with gratitude and emptied out with even more room for achieving.

If you can today, go outside. Take a deep breath. Thank your body. Welcome your self.


photo by Samantha Wong.

winter in providence





Hey, hi, hello. It’s been a while.

It’s full swing New England winter here, which means sunny single digit days, snowstorms, and random humid rain. January has been all counts and chairs, couches, coffee tables, and Chloe. Late night furniture rearranging with a bottle of wine and best friends, outfit repeating, eucalyptus sniffing, and old house snooping. Jaunts to trendy beer halls, cozy wine bars, and cat-themed trailer parks.

This morning (afternoon?) at brunch (we can’t seem to stay away from here lately), M and I huddled around a shared green smoothie and a scone, waiting in the busy Grange for a table to free. As we nibbled on ginger crumbles and sipped superfoods, a fellow bruncher stopped on her way past. “You two just look happy. Just so content,” she smiled as she nodded through the cafe. My ribcage filled with warm fuzzies and I felt the bottoms of my feet tingle. I love love.

This ruby red version of me keeps popping her head up all over PVD, taunting winter-hat-wearing-me with her fiery confidence. In 2 short weeks I will perform some of the best rep I’ve ever done while turning 26. So many things to celebrate!


If you are in the area and feel like cheers-ing with me, tickets are here.

hbd mr. b

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It’s Mr. B’s b-day and I’m celebrating with a little homework. Ballet homework, that is…

A week ago Balanchine repetiteur Sandy Jennings was in town setting Rubies for our February program and I’m feeling pretty dang honored to be rehearsing both Solo Girl (aka “Tall Girl”) and the Principal Pas De Deux. Eeep! So much excitement, so much responsibility, so many counts.

So here I am watching archival videos online, sipping on dandelion tea, and sitting on my NEW COUCH. If you’ve been following along for a while, you know how much I love arranging and rearranging my furniture, but it’s been a very long time since I’ve made such a major change in my space. Stay tuned for photos, it’s been a wild ride…

back at it


We are back in the studios after a one week holiday and boy are things busy!

This past week we brought Christopher Wheeldon’s The American and Boyko Dossev’s The Little Prince back into our bodies. Rehearsing both the principal and corps roles for The American has been a *special* sort of challenge, as the former is languid and smooth while the latter requires a bit more pep and pop, if you know what I mean.

We’ve been wearing layers upon layers in this single-digit January frost, but Thursday’s bomb cyclone snow day makes all of the frozen bones worth while. A thick smear of white frosting makes the whole world shine, and what’s better than a day full of home cooking, couch homework, and pajama yoga?

This week Sandy Jennings comes to town to set Balanchine’s electrified Rubies. I’ve been doing a little studying (nerd alert!), and can honestly say I have never danced anything like this before. It’s challenging and stylized in the most satisfyingly saucy way. Like Michele Gifford said, “You have to be red hot, baby.”

Bring it on.

it’s cold in Providence

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On the last day of December, 2017, we braved the cold.

We popped by the shop for liquid warmth. I learned the history of the americano and while my cocoa chai steeped.

We stomped down Wickenden for a walk around NAVA. I fluffed my mitts in fleecy goodness.

We checked out our favorite bridge and watched birds swim and fly. I breathed a cloudy breath.

We chased the sunset down Benefit and over to Brown. I bounced around the quad and got friendly with a lamp post.

We skeebled to Westminster and peeked at pretty architecture.

We Grange‘d with kale caesar and quinoa sally and pomme frites and green tea.

We warmed up and drank wine and couched it. I rearranged furniture, you rearranged clips of film, we popped corn and started E.T.

We paused and counted backwards, cheered and kissed.

MMM caught it all here, if you’d like to see.

two thousand eighteen


Ah, 2017 was a long year of change. I got rid of my big comfy couches, I stopped eating animal products, I turned 25. I cleaned out many things, drank much water, and traveled. A lot. I’ve lived on the East Side of Providence for nearly 7 years now, I’m in my 8th season with FBP, and I am nearing my 9th year of college (Eta Lamda woop!). Despite these apparent constants, it’s miraculous how much transformation has taken place in my life- sometimes subtle, sometimes not.

I heard a story recently about a chrysalis. A man walks by an insect’s cocoon and notices it is shaking. Assuming the inhabitant is struggling to break free, the man tears a small hole in the shell, allowing the butterfly to emerge. When it does escape though, the butterfly is unable to fly. Freed from the physical exertion necessary to break its cocoon, the butterfly’s wings are not strong enough to carry it. Without the work of overcoming its former state, the butterfly cannot flourish.

We must endure pressure to thrive.

Always one for a good butterfly metaphor, I found this little anecdote charming and useful. In the spirit of tradition, this year’s resolution:

Appreciate the struggle. 

I won’t go so far as to encourage myself to enjoy the struggle, but a reminder to embrace the necessity of difficulty is a welcome one this new year. Some things that happened in 2017…


spongy gingerbread and fox point strolls in January.


a 25th birthday and a weekend in the big apple with my best friends in February.


a quick stay in york in March.


the opportunity of a lifetime covering YAGP and connecting with stars in April.


a fairytale ballet and a quick trip across the world in May.


a performance at the Pillow and b&b tour of New England in June.


folk fest and a 2 year anniversary in July.


meeting and interviewing amazing people and reviewing dance in Vail, seeing a total eclipse in Wyoming, and bopping around Colorado for a month with my best friend in August.


breaking through and moving mountains in September.


becoming a widow in October.


premiering Wheeldon in November.


celebrating eighteen years of nutcrackering in December.


Thank you for hanging out with me this year, and sticking in through my quieter months. I am so grateful for the ability to share this little digital space with you. Happy 2018, friends.



a wintry wind whips

her wafting entrance in

sleek sleeted shoulders greet

forgien travelers like icy kin

full strings build and flow

like dancing wisps of cold

climbing rungs of frozen scales

great musical ladder to behold

a queen surrenders to the whirl

whisked by heaven and her king

crystals hover above her lover

dainty flakes float softly in

a single horn draws out their finish

waning whips with icicle toes

premiering in her snowy song

a memory forever froze.

—looking back on my first snow queen. thank you for always capturing special moments from the wings, jacob.