4 YouTube Videos That Will Change Your Life

2016-5-9 YouTube Videos Feature

For most of my “internet career” (by which I mean, the days I would just sit in front of my computer and fall down the rabbit hole), I’ve had the incredible ability to sit in front of YouTube and not move for hours.

It started with dancing videos. Then it moved onto beauty videos. I’ve devoured TED talks and seen some amazing spoken word poetry. And as lame as it sounds, some of these videos have really changed my life. From teaching me pretty important skills, to making me laugh and building inside inside jokes with my friends, to changing the way I look at the world, YouTube has had the ability to make me a whole new person over and over again. Here are some of the top YouTube videos that have changed my life, and will change yours, too:

Westmoore Pom’s 2009 Nationals Routine

Okay, so this isn’t a YouTube video, but that’s because this is old AF and has been taken down because of copyright issues (oops). This dance is what started my obsession with watching dance videos, which was not only an integral part of my adolescence, but as my development as an artist. Westmoore’s coach, Emily Shock, has been a huge inspiration to me as a dancer, writer, thinker, person. And this routine (which I originally saw as a rehearsal in their studio) was my first one. Nothing would ever be the same after this.

Kayley Melissa Halo Curls 

Not every YouTube video I’ve watched has been about inspiration – a lot of them have actually been about practicality! While I’ve poured over countless beauty videos and review/hauls (which have, in fairness, led to the purchase of some holy grail items), no video has enhanced my life more than Kayley Melissa’s Halo Curls video. I literally do this every time I wash my hair now. This method gives me the prettiest curls ever without having to use heat or spend a crazy amount of time. What. A. Life-changer.

Love Letters

It’s been nine years and this video still makes me cry-laugh every single time. Love Letters (a man’s love affair with carbs) is my go-to funny YouTube video, and I have shown it to all of my friends who need a laugh. While most viral videos have by now gotten pretty old and stale, this one is still priceless. It’s permeated all of my life, spicing up my friendships with some fantastically quotable moments.

Sarah Kay’s TED Talk, “If I Should Have A Daughter”

I’m definitely not the only person to obsess over this video. Sarah Kaye is absolutely mesmerizing and has you captivated from the get-go. Her message about having a daughter is beautiful. But what really gets me is just the skill with which she writes her poetry. As someone who really tapped into her love for writing by using poetry as a coping mechanism, that is ultimately what I’m going to take note of. Sarah Kay’s poetry has influenced me so much as an artist, and this is kind of the most well-known that she has on YouTube.

 

 

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These DIY Tassel Necklaces Are The Perfect Galentine’s Day Gift

DIY Tassel Necklaces

With Galentine’s Day just a few days away, it’s time that we all come up with the perfect DIY for our favorite ladies, and what better than these super easy tassel necklaces?

Tassel necklaces are pretty in vogue right now, which I’m a totally a fan of. Too bad I’d have to sell my first-born son to be able to afford one. Seriously, these necklaces are a waaay too expensive for something that you can so easily make yourself at home. I say make them in bulk and gift them to all of your favorite single (or not single!) gal pals this Galentine’s Day. Isn’t that what Leslie Knope would do?

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You’re going to need:

  • Embroidery thread. I used the kind of shiny thread, but any type is fine.
  • Long chain (I used gold). You can either buy chain and clasps at the craft store, or scrounge around for a cheap long necklace to steal the chain from.
  • Large and small jewelry rings matching the color of your chain.
  • Scissors.
  • Pliers.

Start off by taking the wrappings off of your embroidery thread and unrolling it.

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Then cut either looped end of the thread, and pull out 5-7 individual threads to set aside. You’ll use these laters to tie together your threads, making the tassel.

Next, fold all threads in half. You should end with one trimmed end and one end that’s like a loop.

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Using the looped end, pull your thread through your larger jewelry ring.

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Proceed by cutting all loops, so either end of your thread is trimmed. Then, take the 5-7 individual threads you put to the side earlier and wrap these around your threads to make the tassel.

Being totally honest, this is going to take a few tries — I even enlisted my mom for help. You want to make sure you have all of your threads pulled through the ring nice and smooth so to make this a pretty convincing designer dupe. You can either wrap the individual threads once around your tassel and then tie, or do it twice or even three times. It is totally your preference. I wrapped mine twice.

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At this point the hardest part is over; there are just two quick things you need to do to make your necklace dope as hell.

The first is to do a final trim of your tassel. The amount you trim off will completely depend on how long you like yours. I left mine probably three inches long. Pro tip: you know those individual threads you used to tie off your tassel? Trim those to the length of your tassel, not down to the knot. In the very upsetting and potential event that this knot comes untied, it’ll make things easier to have more thread to work with when you re-tie it.

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Now it’s time for that medium or small jewelry ring to come into play. This is what’s going to hook your tassel onto your chain. Using your pliers, wrangle that sucker open a little bit and slip it onto your bigger ring. I like to slide it onto my chain at this time, too, because I can’t fit it over the clasp of the chain. Don’t forget to close the ring. That’d be a really stupid thing to do.

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And there you have it! Whether you and your friends are going on romantic Valentine’s Day dates (lucky betches), or you’re spending a fantastic Galentine’s Day eating waffles with your hottest lady loves, I hope these tassel necklaces will do you some good. Happy holidays, everyone!

galentines day gif

On writing better & 2016 resolutions

red-hands-woman-creative

The other day I read a really interesting article on Vox about “reverse outrage.” Overall, what I’m going to write about here and what they wrote about there aren’t going to sound very similar, but the article spoke to me and led me here today.

In sum (although I truly urge you to read the article linked above): In 2015 there were numerous trending internet topics that got massively out of control. Between #BoycottStarWarsVII (a pretty racist movement born out of a total rando who thought the new Star Wars cast wasn’t whitewashed enough to his liking) and those damn Starbucks cups, the internet via social commentary has taken some super obscure social commentaries and blown them to massive proportions that they otherwise would not have reached.

This is a wee bit of an issue because it gives these really negative stories a ton of fame, fame that nobody wants them to have.

But here’s the conundrum: we media types love these inflammatory remarks. Inflammatory remarks increase clicking and sharing and commenting, and every website needs that kind of traffic to stay afloat. There is no mainstream media outlet that did not benefit from the red cup debacle, and I can tell you that with great certainty. There is no mainstream media outlet that is not benefitting from Donald Trump, none that is not benefitting from a random racist tweet against Muslims, none that is not benefitting from a scare tactic relative to immigrants.

And it’s perpetuating a nasty little cycle.

As an aspiring professional writer, I’ve been struggling with that cycle for a few months now. Maybe it’s because I got a little too into The Newsroom when I was funemployed this summer (watched the series three times in a row, Maggie and Jim #4ever), but I actually left a writing gig because I felt a little icky about the stuff I was writing, feeling like maybe exploiting some issues just to get traffic was kind of trashy.

I was writing articles with purposefully inflammatory headlines (ones that I sometimes didn’t agree with) all for the sake of getting enough shares to be picked up by the Huffington Post. I was successful numerous times, but still couldn’t shake that discomfort that came with knowing I was simply baiting people into sharing my story. I eventually stopped writing for this website because as a young writer, I don’t want to shape myself into someone who mass produces trash.

I can pat myself on the back all I want for that move, but the awkward truth is that most of the media isn’t a PBS endeavor. We get by on clicks. We discuss sharable topics. We highlight things other people want to talk about. As someone who’s quickly learning that money definitely matters (chat with your rent-collecting landlord next time you claim otherwise), I know that it is important to cover things that people want to hear about. The catch, however, is to do so with the utmost responsibility.

I’m still finding my voice as a writer. I’m 22 years old, have barely seen anything besides New England mountainscapes, and am only starting to think about scratching the surface of what it means to be a writer. But what I’m learning about, and what I hope to continue to explore, are ways to always be better. Right now, being better means being responsible. Right now, being better means knowing that creating false ire in your readers in the name of “discussion” is not journalism, even though talking about trending topics might be.

In all of this talk about being better, I want to call your attention to these closing remarks to that Vox article I talked about at the top of this piece:

We often don’t care about the fixing the wrong or adding to the conversation; all we see is an opportunity to affirm some version of ourselves by taking a side and making a scene. And in doing so, we’ve figured out a way to dismantle complex ideas into simplistic, easily digestible things that, in the end, are ultimately disposable – until the next fight comes around.

It’s New Years Eve today, and as I keep pushing to get new writing opportunities, new writing jobs, new people to read and help me with my writing, I’ve decided to start peddling a better product. In 2016…

I resolve to add more links when I write. Not links back to my own stuff, but to facts, to further reading, to people who definitely can explain a phenomenon way better than I can. Adding facts is the key to responsibility.

I resolve to be myself, because I think that’s what I’ve been looking to do all along. Being myself (as opposed to someone else) is definitely what I do best, and I know there is nobody who can do it quite like me.

I resolve to shelf long columns/personal essays for three days before publishing. I’m great with deadlines, but sometimes to a fault. I tell myself I’m going to post on a date, and I do, but that means I rarely reconsider what I’m going to say; it is one of the curses in disguise in this blogging world. I need to put my money where my mouth is and triple check I’m saying something I actually want to say.

I resolve to fix the wrong. There are two certain occasions I can specifically think of off the top of my head where I’ve started off saying, “I don’t know the answer to this problem, but I’m going to talk at you about it anyways.” I’m proud of what I said, and I do not fundamentally think it was trash, but I hate that I qualified it with “I don’t know the answer.” Clearly I thought I did. Clearly I thought I could help right the wrong, even if in a peripheral way. I resolve to write constructively about issues instead of retweeting news breaks. I resolve to do the best I can in acknowledging what people want to talk about, but to always make sure the energy I’m putting out there with my words helps fix something in some way.

Writing Love Letters, Because the World Needs More

Our mission is simple- make love famous.The More Love Letters movement, spearheaded by the talented Hannah Brencher, is something pretty close to my heart. You see, Hannah is a graduate from the same school as me (and pretty cool fact, she also held the same position as me on the school newspaper when she attended Assumption).

Hannah inspires the hell out of me because she’s managed to make a life out of something pretty important to me – writing. Her words are beautiful and careful and deliberate, and every time she posts something new to her blog I’m sucked in like a vacuum, like her words were something filling an empty space I didn’t really know I had.

She also inspires the hell out of me because she’s managed to do all of this on a purely optimistic platform. As someone so consumed by the news and the little bitty world of new media, I’m blown away by people who can write without cynicism or sarcasm and who choose to use their talent to build a positive space in this world.

I learned how to write by letting love letters spill out of my soul for a boy who I was never going to let read them. I let them stack up in notebooks next to my bed and a special Microsoft Word folder on my laptop. They kept me company when he’d be sleeping silently beside me and wrote themselves in my head when his antagonisms were the loudest words in the room. And even though I don’t write him letters anymore, I’m glad the More Love Letters movement exists so I can write some for someone.

more love letters

I wrote to Anistazia for MLL’s 12 Days of Letter Writing because she spoke to me. I felt her somewhere in my heart. There are so many deserving people on the 12 Days list, and someone will speak to anyone, but Anistazia’s story was brand new to me and felt familiar all at the same time.

Anistazia had a once in a lifetime romance. She was a slave in Germany during WWII and after immigrating to America she married her childhood sweetheart. They kept their vow of, “until death do us part” but when he died a part of her did as well. Since his passing she had to enter an assisted living home but she still, “chooses to find the beauty in everyday and shares that beauty with everyone she meets.” Let’s give Anistazia all the love she’s given to others over the years.

I think it’s easy during Christmas time to get wrapped up in so many different things. You’re trying to find the perfect present for your family members and loved ones, deciding which charity to donate to, trying to fit in every special featured on the 25 Days of Christmas. But I want to let you in on this: this letter took me 10 minutes to write. It cost me the price of a stamp. It took me the drive to the post office.

If you’re looking to do some good this holiday (and aren’t we all?) this is something to look into. This is something to consider. Drop by the More Love Letters site and try your hand at donating a smidgen of your time and stationary to make someone’s holiday.

It’s Not Enough To Just Be “Cool With Gay Marriage”

same-sex-lesbian-couple

We were all sitting in a bar, unwinding with a few vodka sodas after a ridiculous workweek, when in walks the sweetest couple. They were probably on one of their first dates, and one of them brought the other flowers. They seemed completely lost in each other.

We were all smiling at them, secretly wishing we could have a little romance in our lives like they did, when my friend scooted in a little closer to me. “They’re so cute,” she whispered. “Which one do you think is the girl and which do you think is the boy?”

I wish it was just an innocent slip-up, that she didn’t really mean it and that she wasn’t being malicious. But the truth is, whether she knew it or not, her question was full of ignorance and bigotry and the single mindedness that’s all too common in our heteronormative society.

You see, the two that were sharing the bar with us that night were lesbians (or at least two girls on a date with each other). And while none of my gal pals seemed at all bothered by the couple, I was certainly bothered by my friends.

What my friend didn’t really seem to understand was that neither of them was “the boy.” They both appeared to be girls, and that’s the point. If one of them wanted to be with a boy, she wouldn’t be a lesbian.

The thing is, this kind of question is not at all uncommon. You hear it all the time when you see a gay couple where one of the guys seems “a little more into his looks,” and people assume he’s “the girl,” or when a lesbian has a pixie cut and rocks a rad suit at her wedding. Like what the hell, guys? Are we so effing stuck in a heteronormative mindset that we have to assign these two individuals a gender role in a “traditional” straight couple?

And heteronormative culture is all over the place – not just in bigoted (or at least ignorant) comments about who’s who in same-sex couples. How many times have we read a dating advice article where the writer describes “how to get the perfect boyfriend/girlfriend?” Don’t we think it should say “how to get the perfect significant other?”

It’s time to stop assuming that everyone is straight.

What kills me is thinking about what’s taken away from same-sex couples when people ask “which one is the girl.” You’re not asking about how long they’ve been dating, or how they met, or any number of things that would let into their love story. Instead, you’re saying that they’re different, that their sexuality is something that you don’t understand, that it’s a source of your curiosity. You’re making it about you, when their relationship should be about them.

It isn’t enough to be “cool with gay marriage,” or to go support at the Pride festival every year. It’s time that we start accepting all sexual preferences – really accepting them – as the norm and a part of society.

Featured Image via We Heart It.

Why Ross and Rachel’s Love So Isn’t Romantic to Me

friends ross and rachel
source.

Today when I maybe shouldn’t have been doing so much Twittering and a little bit more working, I saw the most adorable Ross and Rachel graphic (you know Ross and Rachel—that couple on Friends who may or may not have been on a break?) It was a series of screenshots from the finale when – spoiler alert – Rachel got off the plane, and we got to see the two finally get their acts together. The Tweet got oodles and oodles of retweets, but all I could think was “ugh, I would never, ever, ever want that.

That’s right – me, the Friends-obsessed super-nerd, finds nothing romantic about the Ross and Rachel relationship.

friends shes your lobster

Don’t get me wrong. I’m an avid Friends fan who will always maintain that Ross is Rachel’s lobster, but I can’t in good conscience romanticize the relationship those two yahoos had, because I’m pretty sure when you look up the word “dysfunctional” in the dictionary, you see a photo of Jennifer Aniston and David Schwimmer as their iconic characters.

Because seriously, who wants to drag out a relationship with the supposed love of their life for ten whole years? Who wants someone as jealous as Ross, or as flighty as Rachel? Who wants to wait until their shared child is two years old before they actually get together for good? Who wants an entire relocation to France to be what makes you and your S.O. see that you were meant to be together?

It’s just nothing I could ever do, and I wouldn’t want to. When (if) I fall in love with someone, I don’t want it to be the juicy drug that I can’t kick; I want it to be like the sun. I want it to be the thing that keeps me warm, the thing that I know rises and sets the same, the thing that is in my life every day but never stops being beautiful.

friends i got off the plane

And I don’t want to get off the plane to show my S.O. how much I love him; I want to have something that makes me not want to get on it at all.

Wrangling the fear of graduation (there will be other joys, too.)

For the past day or so, I’ve been trying to scrounge together the words to part ways with my college dance team. In a way, saying bye to them and all of the experiences I’ve had with them is like saying bye to the entire college package; they were my first friends, and are certainly the best ones I’ve found in these wild, wild four years.

This past week we competed at NDA Collegiate Nationals in Daytona Beach, Florida, and despite the handful of practices we’re still going to run in these last fleeting weeks until I graduate, I can’t help but feel an aching sadness that things are coming to an end; things aren’t really going to be the same anymore.

But then today, when I returned to classes missed for my attendance at the competition, a feeling of closure fell over me like a cloud of grace.

My poetry professor, bless him, asked me how things went down at the competition. I smiled and thanked him for asking and told him that we ended in the middle of the pack; not our best showing at nationals, for damn sure, but still an experience that fills our hearts with gratitude. He smiled back.

“It must be so sad,” he said to me. “I know how much joy being on that team brings to you.”

I remembered my first class with him, back when I was small and a second-year student, when I handed in my first assignment about a specific day in my life. I chose to write about the breathless moments on stage with the dance team a few months prior, when we danced like champions and came home like some, too.

He really did know how much joy it brought me.

But there are going to be other joys, too,” he finished.

And suddenly I pieced things together; with humble and thankful fingers, I found not just the words about saying goodbye to my team, my first college friends, but words about saying goodbye to the last four years. To my identity as a student. To whatever river I’ve been coasting down for my whole life.

It’s frighteningly easy to fall into the fear of the future. I don’t have a job. I’m going to be living in my parent’s house (even though that’s a totally okay thing to do!). I don’t have any clue what I’m capable of, and I’m petrified that it’s nothing. I look at these joys that my time in college has brought me, and I want to white-knuckle cling to them.

But there will be other joys, too, and I want to do the challenging thing and face them with excitement and fearlessness.

I might be jobless right now, but there will be the joy of finding something to do and finding a spot in this busy, busy universe. I might be leaving the dimpling laughter of college friendships, but there will be joys of new friends and new relationships that will keep my hands light and full and good. There will be joys of knowing that the earth is spinning beneath my feet right now, and that if I keep sending love out there, it’s going to come back to me.

I can’t keep my feet planted in this place for too long. I’ve sucked it dry of all the nutrients, all of the love and peace, joy and lust for life that it’s given me, and I’m going to starve if I keep trying to feed myself here. I need to trust that every warm and loving vibe that I throw out into this world is going to come back to me some day. And I think now I’m starting to trust that there are going to be joys, bigger and smaller, coming my way; there will be other joys, too.

July Fourth and the cruelty of heartbeats (Revisited).

“Your heartbeat is mean,” he said.

“It’s too loud,” he said.

He was trying to sleep.
The smoke from the fireworks had long cleared our skies,
so he was going to sleep.

And I was going to think.

The blue lights from the TV licked the wall behind us and I looked down at his dark,
sleeping eyes,
his shiny, shiny eyes;
it was like our sadnesses were suddenly lining up against each other like
two sides of a magnet.

When we first met he found two scars on my hands
and he’d kiss them until he couldn’t breathe.
Now he’s found the scar on my heart (inflamed; ripped open; sewn again shut)
and he kisses it just the same, and then throws it in his closet.

Kid keeps me, not skeletons, in his closet.

“But it’s yours that’s cruel,” I said.
Sometimes it’s loud, like mine. Sometimes it’s loud
like the gunshots in Lexington, like the fireworks overhead tonight.
Like the tires screeching to a halt,
scarring the road in their wake.
And just when it has kept me company and sung me to sleep, it grows quiet.
It’s like my ear is pressed against nothing, like I’m burying my face against
air. And just when I’ve found my own background noise, my own steady rhythm,
it starts to beat again.

On Dancing, Love, and Other Drugs

dance blog realOn January 12, 2015, exactly eight days ago today, I published a post entitled, “5 Teams to Watch at UDA Nationals 2015.” It was literally exactly how it sounded—a list of five teams I was super amped to watch at UDA Collegiate Nationals. Now, eight days later, I’ve gotten 679 views on that post. 679. I hadn’t even gotten that many views on this entire blog until the start of 2015. Like what? Dang.

The really cool thing about it all is that I would’ve come up with my favorite teams heading into the competition whether I’d decided to post to my blog about it or not. I freaking love to dance and have obsessed over collegiate nationals for years and years and years, so doing my thang and being able to post it to the blog was rad because I didn’t need to come up with a blog post for the week.

Especially since making other blogger ‘friends’, I’ve been looking at other people’s blogs and being like, “oh, okay,I need to do this, this, and this.” By “this,” I think I’ve meant outfit reviews and DIY crap and recipes. And that’s really not who I am. You want me to post an outfit of the day? Why don’t you take a gander at my collection of plain white shirts and black leggings. You want me to post about DIY crap? I’d rather just buy a set of coasters rather than modpodge photos to some. You want me to post recipes? Well guess what—I may make a lot of baked goods from scratch, but I don’t know crap about actually making up a recipe.

Let me set the record straight: There is nothing wrong with the fact that I accept a free mascara to review, or hair conditioner, or whatever. Posts like that are fun. Posts about my day seeing the Nutcracker are fun. But this blog was supposed to be about my poetry, and although I can’t crank out a sonnet the way I used to, I feel like I’ve lost the purity of my intentions.

Which is why the “5 Teams to Watch” post came at the perfect time.

I have two great loves in this world. One of them is dancing. I love having it hurt when I inhale the day following at 7-hour practice. I love working through a dance and realizing that my mind truly will give up before my body does. I love the camaraderie and the way that this art has somehow become my space, my breathing room.

The other is writing. I love threading a sentence through the eye of a needle. I love taking a totally universal feeling or emotion and articulating it in a way that nobody would’ve thought of. I love recognizing this predictability amongst the human race, recognizing that we’re all sort of just writing the same story and that’s really beautiful.

And when I wrote “5 Teams to Watch,” I was, in the most natural and serendipitous way, just putting those two worlds together. It’s like, there are parts of dancing– the dance, the feeling, the photos of teams learning of their victories– that are in themselves poems that I am not conceited enough to think that I know how to write. But I still want to try.

I started the second semester of my senior year today, which pretty much just indicates one thing—I have to figure out what the fuck I want to do with the rest of my life. And I’m starting to kind of realize that whatever I do, I have to do it with love. Do it with love, and what will follow is the success.

I really hate when people wrap their words around old clichés, making them feel really dank and heavy. This is not Oz—not everything you write is some pulling away of the curtain which hides the universe’s secrets. Sometimes it’s just about a boy in your car or the cruelty of hearts beating or of the way two people holding hands can look like Mary Magdalene—a bunch of drugs that we get addicted to and breathe in like some intoxicating potion.

So I’m sorry that this was all incredibly heavy. I’m sorry that I’ve spent this last page just throwing my heart a cliché and hoping it will stick. But I hope you all know—I did it with love.

And then it hit me.

I talk a lot about my writing on here (I’m mean… I want to grow up someday and become a writer or do something with writing and media, so I guess it makes sense), but I’ve never really shared about dance. My first love ever. The way I first learned how to put my heart on display. My team.

acdt 1415

So here it is.

I grew up dancing. It was something my sister did, and I don’t even think I asked to sign up for it—my mom just threw me in there. I’m glad she did.

Dance was sort of just an activity for me until I was in sixth or seventh grade—that’s when the gross, intense love affair began. I poured myself over YouTube videos with amazing dancers, I danced in my yard and in the teeny tiny section of tile floor in my living room, I saw dances in my head as I listened to music. Somewhere along the way I stopped doing moves and started being moved.

And then I went to college, and started on this dance team that was nothing but DII Open eighth place at NDA nationals. We didn’t really have a ton of skills and w12e didn’t really have a ton of technique. But we had a lot of heart—we had a lot of girls who weren’t just doing moves, but being moved. At the end of that first year we were second place.

We became the kind of team that went to the gym together, that could run an eight-minute mile and had lines from muscle definition down the sides of our legs. We became the kind of team that never stopped pushing and that could do a lot of pirouettes and that had really high leaps. But maybe we’d lost our heart. I think somewhere on our journey that second year we started just doing moves again, and things started to unravel and I started to fall out of love.

At the end of that year our coach gave up. He left the school, he left (what was left of) us all alone with our hands shaking and our eyes closed and our stomachs in knots because we didn’t know how to lead a team alone. And so we stopped moving altogether.

This final year new people have joined us, and we’ve started moving again. People have come back to us. And we’ve learned that if we get knocked down the only thing that keeps us there is if we stop moving.

My team got the choreography for our nationals routine this weekend. For anyone who doesn’t compete at the national level in college (dance or cheer), I can tell you this: choreography is like trying to hold yourself up when just the tips of your fingers are gripping the ledge. What makes it is if you believe the tips of your fingers are enough.

A few counts of eight into the dance. Our formation changes. My favorite line of the song is coming, and I look to my right and to my left.

The three girls I started this journey with.

And then it hit me.

nda

And it hit them, too. I could feel my tears coming. Sophie started crying. Michaela’s eyes were red. Ericka was looking between us all.

I’m so thankful for them all, because this year I’m not doing moves—I’m being moved.