A love letter to our future.
Summer is nearly behind us now; the leaves are beginning to turn and nights have taken on a chill.
We have entered the time in-between. We are in transition.
It’s a funny thing about transitions; from the outside, they often look smooth and seamless. But it’s a tremendous amount of work to make them that way. In dance—or better yet, in theatre—it takes all of our strength and talent behind the scenes to make those transitions look effortless. It takes work, and practice. It takes doing it over and over, screwing up and trying again until we get it right.
It’s no coincidence that the most difficult and painful part of childbirth is referred to as transition. And to be honest, it isn’t really the physical pain that makes it so hard. It’s the overwhelming feeling of not knowing when it will end, and you will be safely on the other side.
I’ve talked to many friends this week who are in transition, many in multiple areas of their life, and I am as well. It’s a funny thing about all of those inspirational quotes and photos we look to for encouragement. “Leap and the net will appear,” “She took a leap and built her wings on the way down,” “If not now, than when?” We need those pushes out of the nest, or we’d never go, but what they neglect to tell us is that the time between leaping and landing is often longer than we expect.
It’s long enough at times that we start to wonder if we’ve done the right thing.
It’s long enough that I have time to write a love letter—to you and me. To our future that has not yet arrived.
Because we dare to believe in something more than what was handed to us upon graduation, because we believed that the dreary sitcom, Starbucks, nine-to-five life was not for us, because we believed that there must be something more, we are here.
We are in-between.
We have packed our things and set out for somewhere unknown, despite the obstacles that seem to fight us at every turn.
We have thrown away the maps drawn for us by others, reached in our chests and grabbed our own compasses for this journey.
We have risked everything, everything because we believe that maybe there’s a better way and maybe our leaps will inspire others to do the same.
And now, we are in-between.
This is not the end.
When we hit a wall and don’t know which way to turn, we start climbing.
When we feel beaten and tired of waiting for it all to come together, we unfold the letters we’ve written, the cocktail napkin manifestos and Moleskines full of grand plans and read them to each other, that we might be buoyed by them and carry on.
When we are here, in the in between, we write a love letter to our unwritten future. We remind each other:
Because you are alive, everything is possible.
Here’s to our future, with all the love in my heart,
Kate Bartolotta, Editor-in-Chief
September 1, 2013