New York City—this is it.

I stood in the middle of Times Square in utter bewilderment.

The bright lights, the bustling of people, the honking horns, the fluttering pigeons—it was all so mind-blowing. The movies definitely did not do the city justice, to say the least.

It was my first time really being out of the one-stoplight town I grew up in. I was completely out of my comfort zone, but it was now or never.

I made it.

Finally.

I’m actually here.

It was all an absolute dream come true, and I couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around how undeniably marvelous this new undertaking was going to be for me. Who would have thought a little girl with grand dreams of dancing across the stage in the Big Apple would actually see them come true? I surely doubted myself from time to time—frankly, all the time—but being hard on myself made me try harder, push longer, learn more. All the difficult work, all the blood, sweat, and tears—all of it was finally paying off.

Inhaling a deep breath of city air, I let myself take it all in. I was on the brink of a whole new life and this was day one, step one, the beginning. It was humbly astounding and I was going to take this city by storm if it was the last thing I did. I was determined to be the best of the best, and no one was going to stand in my way.

Walking around, I checked my map for the hundredth time. I knew I totally looked like a tourist with a large fanny pack and all, but I couldn’t care less. I had come into the city two weeks early to get my footing and actually have some time to explore—once I started training with the New York City Ballet, I would barely have time to breathe, let alone take in the sights. I had traveled a bit for different dance projects over the years, had danced on countless different stages. Even though this was the big time, I couldn’t let it feel too much different; I needed to channel my inner confidence.

This was the first time I had ever been so far away from home alone. Being barely nineteen, alone in the greatest city on Earth for the first time was as thrilling as it was unhinging, but I wasn’t going to let my nerves get the better of me. I’d made a promise to myself before I arrived that I was going to be a yes person and just let myself enjoy life to the fullest for once. Ballerinas didn’t usually have adventures outside the dancing world, but this was my time to really experience life.

My phone buzzed in my pocket with a text.

Mom: Hey honey, how’s it going? Are you enjoying it so far?

My mom was having a harder time with me being gone than I was. She was a single parent, and it had been us against the world for my entire life. If she could have, I think she would have packed up and moved with me. The only thing that was probably stopping her was the fact that she knew I needed to spread my wings on my own for once.

Me: I am on cloud nine. This place is magical.

Mom: I am so proud of you, baby! Can’t wait for pictures and to hear all the details!

Me: I will send the pics right when I get home and upload all of them to my computer.

Mom: Awesome! Looking forward to it. Love you, Nik.

Me: Love you too.

It was simple and quick, but those small moments when we knew we were thinking about each other made all the difference. It made me feel less homesick and so much more so, all at once. It was strange going to my apartment, so empty and lonely. It felt weird to not have my mom by my side for all of this.

After taking hundreds of pictures of pigeons, street signs, random buildings, and everything in between, it was time to get some caffeine in me. Thankfully, right as my feet were screaming for a break from all the walking I had done, I stumbled upon a hole-in-the-wall used book store. It looked absolutely charming and was attached to a coffee shop with a wooden sign that hung overhead and read The Bookstop.

“How adorable,” I mumbled to myself as the bell chimed overhead, announcing my entrance to the tattooed clerk. She was covered in gorgeous ink on most of her visible milky skin, and I was jealous of her artwork. Tattoos were something prima ballerinas typically didn’t get, but that didn’t stop me from being in awe of their beauty and rebellion.

“How’s it going?” she called over from behind an old wooden counter as she glanced up from a book.

I waved shyly. “Hi, this is a really cute place.” I twirled slowly, looking at all the old books on floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, taking it all in.

“Let me know if I can find anything for you. My name is Staci. The coffee shop is just through there.” She pointed at a small hallway through the bookcases near the back of the store.

“Thanks, I’m Nikki,” I stated, smiling as sweetly as possible at her.

She pursed her lips quickly into a half smile like I wasn’t really trying to be friends here, just doing my freaking job. I just let it roll off my back—nothing was going to take away from how thrilled I was to find this little slice of heaven tucked away in the heart Manhattan.

The smell of java and old pages consumed me, caressing my soul. Since I was a slave to my craft, there wasn’t a lot of time for a social life or dating. Books were my friends, my lovers, my heartbreak, and my adventure. I had been a resident of Huxley’s Brave New World, hunted the white whale aboard the Pequod, hid from the Nazis in an attic with Anne Frank, explored Wonderland with the white rabbit, and sailed a raft with Huck and Jim. I had grown up page after page. After dancing, reading was my passion, something that made my life complete.

After ordering a chai latte and finding a comfortable couch in the back of the coffee shop, I let myself get lost in a murderous tale, simple and perfectly woven together by the brilliant mystery queen, Agatha Christie. It was like revisiting old friends, and I was present on the remote island with no hope of escape as characters dwindled down in numbers.