Waltz Time - Entry 3: The Fall That Rewrote My Dream

It was the 1980s—big hair, MTV, and a cultural revolution pulsing through every club, radio, and alleyway. Studio 54 and The Red Parrot were at their peak. Michael Jackson dazzled, Madonna pushed boundaries, Springsteen made blue-collar beauty an anthem, and Whitney’s voice could stop time. Disco faded almost overnight, and the rhythm of the city shifted.

In 1981, I was 21, wide-eyed, just out of college, and newly arrived in New York City. I found a roommate through a classifieds service, landed a waitressing job on the Upper East Side, and set my sights on a dream I’d nurtured since I was a little girl: modern dance. I had earned a scholarship to the Alvin Ailey School, a place of discipline, brilliance, and relentless artistry.

Each morning began in darkness. A subway ride, a crosstown bus, and a quiet prayer that I could keep up. My instructors—now icons in the dance world—expected everything. Perfection, presence, vulnerability. I pushed hard, never fully believing I was good enough, even as I gave it everything I had.

One morning in Horton technique class, during a difficult sequence—flat back turns into a tummy-up twist—my body gave out. My knee collapsed and locked. The pain was immediate, blinding. Just like that, I was out. Of the class. Of the program. Of the future I had worked so hard to build.

But dreams don’t die—they transform. And in the silence that followed my injury, I began to listen to something else. A quieter desire. A different rhythm.

After recovery, I made a choice: I wouldn’t give up dancing. I would just dance differently. I shifted to theater dance—musical theater—a form that allowed me to blend movement with story, character, and voice. I trained, studied, and auditioned, gradually rebuilding not only my body but my belief in myself.

Two years later, that path brought me to an audition at Minskoff Studios—and to our first meeting.

We were paired without a word. I looked up... and there you were. Our bodies did the talking. The timing. The waltz, in three-quarter time, created an unspoken connection—a romance in synchronicity.  It was just one audition. One moment. But it stayed with me. 

What I couldn’t have known then was that this new version of my dream—the one I fought for after everything had fallen apart—would lead me not only back to the studio, but toward something far deeper. Something unexpected.

Because even when plans collapse and identities unravel, there are threads we can’t see—holding, guiding, waiting.

And sometimes, just when you think you’ve lost everything, you’re actually being led to the most meaningful chapter of your story. 

And about that walk to the subway? Well, that really changed everything.

💖Anna

Location: New Jersey, USA

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