Different ballet schools are distinctive. I spent my first few years in adult ballet at a school where we were never allowed to talk, chew gum or bring drinks in (including water) and if you were late you were locked out.

Trying to get reacclimatized to living in a large city and hustling for money. It’s quite difficult to “make it” and “make it happen.” Only the hungry survive.

If you want to make it in this city, pick two of these three things to have: money, your sanity, or less stress. It's impossible to have all three, and if you have less than two, you can't make it here.

There is this girl who always puts on lotion and red lipstick during class and drinks coffee out of straws. She also brings muscle milk and leaves it in the middle of the floor while we are doing center work!!! “I know George Balanchine would have a panic attack if we were in his class!” I thought to myself as I stood as far away from her as possible.

I sat in my car breathing hard, borderline anxiety attack, thinking about ditching class. I called a bunch of people, knowing no one would answer, because no one would have the answer  I was looking for. “I have to go to class,” I thought shutting my door in slow motion. I walked into class, quiet today, just trying to clear my head. My teacher’s favorite student arrived, smelling of coffee and cigarettes, and my teacher beamed at her, extra wide and her teeth were extra white and gummy.

I slipped behind them in worn out black flats, a messy mane, cedar parfume and a black dress. I entered the orchestra section and slid into the Kaufman scarlet seat, nervously fanning through the program. I tried to pretend I was one of them. I snuck a handful of almonds out of my backpack, I know NOT classy but I was starving and running late, in my defense. I held my breath. The curtains drew upwards and my heart leaped inside of me.