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Dedication

For my siblings. Love yous.

PART 1

Rediscovering

1. Angst

SIRI

August 26, Wednesday

New Jersey

I’m almost done living on pause.

Mom and I aren’t pause people. We’re a 1.5-speed household on our least productive day. We’re always moving.

Productivity is an itch, one that most likely stems from Mom and her fervor for the keys to success. She doesn’t reference them in our current day-to-day, but she spouted them incessantly through my preteen years. The keys to success include but are not limited to: goal setting, passion, preparation, discipline, perseverance, and luck. I’ve taken them all to heart. Preparation is my favorite key. The rest are fine. They’re respectable, but preparation soothes my soul. If you don’t regularly prepare to utilize your time efficiently, your goals just get further and further away.

I’ve been preparing for a ballet career my entire life. I’m always en route to the next practice, getting ready for the next performance, training harder, honing my craft. I crave the chasse prep before a leap. I like to be over the floor, not on it. I live for moments of perfect weightlessness—where I’m propelled into flight by nothing but my own strength and will.

I’ve spent the last twelve weeks shackled by gravity. This injury has been an unexpected hiccup. But it’s a hiccup that’s almost over.

I’m restless as the doctor brings us into his office. I stare at a small clock set in a marbled piece of stone on the man’s desk and try not to squirm in his burgundy fabric-covered chairs. It’s slightly painful to squirm.

I’ve written down all the questions I have for him. There’s only one that really matters: When can I get back to work? I need to unpause.

Ballet and I have been in a committed relationship since I could speak in full sentences. She’s been my rock for as long as I can remember. We’ve never spent this much time apart. I’m tired of abstract healing timelines. I need an exact back-to-dance date I can circle on the calendar. I’m counting on it.

Mom sits in the chair next to me with her hands folded carefully over her crossed legs. Watching her continue to run on 1.5 speed while I’ve been stuck on pause has made this experience exponentially more frustrating.