This piece sent a barrage of arrows straight to my heart. It grabbed my insides, called my name, and brought me to tears. It rang the same bell that was already ringing inside me to the point I couldn't stand the clanging.

Whitney Jensen NAILED it, her timing impeccable, her long blonde hair so striking, her body both liquid and solid. What I would give to have her on video.

I went back as many times as I could, each time hoping to see her again. Here's another dancer whose interpretation has a different, dreamy quality. I prefer Whitney's authority over this fragility, but no matter how many times I've watched it, I'm still spellbound at moment 2:34. (Side note: I wish the camera had zoomed out; to me, the gestures detract from the larger piece and changed the focus from free to lost.) Given that this version is older, it may be closer to the choreographer's original intent, but I am partial to Whitney's fresh light and power.

Looking back at my ticket stub, March 2012, helps me retrace that was during the era when things felt relentlessly hard. I felt unbearably trapped. Painfully aware of time (life) lost, "at such a cost." Nightmares kept me from resting. Day and night felt like a perpetual no exit. I actually felt poisoned, like I needed a bloodletter or witchdoctor or ghostbuster. I was exhausting myself trying so hard to stop it. Yet every time I'd try to step out, I'd fall flat. Literally. 3 ankle sprains in 9 months. Splat on Mass Ave. Down the stairs at school. Barely out my front door. Hardly the dancer I am at heart!

Thank God for putting me back on my feet.