The unwise dancers blame them; “He didn’t like me, she was unfair, I should’ve had that part.” The smart ones know where to look when things get rough.
It isn’t there. (Lays hand on barre) It’s here.
No matter what happened in class, in performance, last week, five minutes ago. If you come back here, you’ll be home."
And so I came home, to my barre, by which I mean my writing. I've written 8 pages today on the newest book, a YA quasi-dystopian. Writing is my escape, my comfort, my drug. When I'm making up stories, I'm not worrying or overthinking or feeling sorry for myself. I'm being the root of who I am, and it feels good.
I'll never be a ballerina, but I can dance with words.