The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center, 2009.Last night, I had the chance to see The Nutcracker put on by the New York City Ballet. When I was in the fourth grade, a close friend of mine starred as Clara in the Boston Ballet’s version of the show. I remember going with my family to see it — I got dressed up in my holiday best, and sat, completely mesmerized by my friend’s performance. Afterwards, I met her backstage and begged her to autograph my program (she wrote, "I hope we dance together someday!" haha). I was so proud/impressed/awestruck of her accomplishment. To me, she was a superstar. ::: Maybe that's why, for me, seeing The Nutcracker never gets old. It reminds me of that night as a kid when I saw all my friend's dreams come true. My friend is no longer dancing — in fact, she gave it up a while ago — but every time the curtain opens and I see Clara appear on the stage, I think of her and that moment. In the eyes of a fourth grader, it was as close as life could get to being purely magical.
(image courtesy of artspace.blogspot.com)
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