teenage dreams

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I imagine you are engaged, it’s an excitingly expectant time. Still young, but with big plans.

You take the train into the beantown, you fall asleep next to him on the way. You get off at Ruggles.

You #shoplocal. Fancy chocolate has been procured for later that evening.

You check into a spaceship yotel. There is a convenient rooftop bar. It happens to be sunset. Red wine and tortilla chips are had.

Your favorite band- the one with lyrics that made you want to become a writer- is playing just a few blocks away in a beautiful historic theater. You have tickets in row D.

The lead singer gets behind the piano, he’s about to play your favorite song. The one that makes you cry when you’re not sad, not happy.

They rock. You dance. They close the concert with your boo song. Everyone sings. I need you so much closer…

Back at the yotel, there are fun lights to play with. There is popcorn and seltzer. There is The Parent Trap on TV.

You are complete in the simplest, yet most cosmic of ways.

cozy home stuff, woodsy walks, and foods shot from above

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The air is getting crispier, the leaves are burning up the last of their fuel to light the quickly darkening sky, and our house is feeling cozier every day. Every room seems to be progressing at once now- we hung a mirror on the landing! put a rug by the porch doors! stacked figgy up on a stool (thanks mom!)- but that also means every room has a new project all at once, too- more lights in the living room! and the dining room! and the office, for that matter! But ah, the bliss of cohabiting with my bff…

Pumpkin bread, pumpkin pancakes, tiny pumpkins by the fireplace. Movie nights and warm beverage mornings, bike rides on the boulevard. Neighborhood walks, new neighbor talks, carrot-ginger muffins and rainbow-colored zinnias welcoming us in. Bristol beehive snackin’, mini-botanical stackin’, moody reds outfit trackin’.

October, you’re a fine thing.

we bought a house


on a windy monday

at the end of september

we all shook hands

and signed legal tender


with shiny new keys

and dusty cake toppers

turning box after box

into cardboard door stoppers


surrounded by trees

and a block all our own

in a little blue place

called fourteen gorton


we’re hanging our shirts

and stacking our glasses

making plans to stay home

while this autumn rain passes


gooey pumpkin loaf

in our fancy new oven

and a purring dishwasher

keeping all of the suds in


we’re warming the hearth

and decorating the rest

two birds flew the coop

now we have our own nest.

life on mars

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It’s starting to feel like fall around here! We are into Week 2 at the ballet, and I even when apple-picking with M’s family over the weekend…

After sweating through the sweet early season apple harvest, M took me to a place unlike any in other in Rhode Island. The sky was burning red and it felt like we were looking back at the sun from another planet…our own green rock somewhere in space. A quiet, breathing range to reflect on this new season of dancing and of life.

I’m spending my days in a soft-shoed Plotnikov-Douglass-Yanowksy-Kozadayev shuffle, connecting the dots between slack-legged lifts and angular pirouettes. Winding around Beethoven and plucky piano with the familiar and foreign feeling of palms on my body.

I’m spending my nights counting down the hours before our BIG MOVE. Just 5 minutes down the road, but hurling into a whole new chapter. It’s one I am just itching to write.

here comes the bride

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Lace on the ceiling, lace on the floor. My, oh my, I hear wedding bells for sure.

The planning is well underway- venue, florist, caterer, photographer, band, dress, check, check, check, check, check, and check! My Type A personality has even picked out the china, chairs, and napkins. The blank canvas of July 27, 2019 has quickly filled with color running towards every edge. I’ve never so clearly been able to see, taste, hear, feel a single day so far in the future.

And so the countdown begins.

tchaikovsky dreams


The other night I dreamt I was rehearsing Tchai Pas.

It was very clear: In the Grand Studio on Hope Street, the romantic music of the Adagio softly sang and I skittered across the room on my toes, fingers seeming to sprout from the hand of my attentive partner. I was wearing the blue silk rehearsal skirt that Ruth made for me. The one with the “magic in the fabric,” so she said with a wink.

I woke up with the corners of my mouth curled and Tchaikovsky purring in my ears.

I thought about ending this post on a sweet gushy note, but instead I’ll write about what happened when the clock struck seven and the dream dust cleared from my eyes. I felt anxious. Every day as a professional dancer can bring its own brand of nerves, but the return to a new season (after 4 long months off) is always particularly daunting. What if I can’t pick up the choreography? How do we usually learn contemporary movements? Am I really supposed to do all of that en pointe?


This year’s preseason jitters have been especially active, bouncing from my belly to my lungs like winged daggers. For a career that requires such immense physical preparation, the mental readiness becomes a quiet killer, lulling you into Balanchine dreams before yanking the wool from over your eyes. It’s a battle between dark and light, this tug-of-war to keep your thoughts as happy ones. But being your own cheerleader can be hard in a world so depreciating. Mental health struggles abound and sometimes it feels really good to just give in.

But instead I’ll choose the light. I’ll bask in the goodness of ballet. I’ll cherish the jitters and enjoy the glow of being a fiancé and soon-to-be-homeowner (eeeep, stay tuned!). I’ll pierce the sky with my winged daggers, cutting through clouds until I reach the sun.

Will you join me?



photos by Samantha Wong.