Words by Allyson

In the prologue to William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, the chorus declares:

It is interesting that the play begins with a spoiler, with the assurance that the love between Romeo and Juliet will certainly burn out and their fate is not the source of tension. We know from the very beginning that their deaths are the only thing that ends the conflict between their families. But even more so, the final statement about the things that are missed in the prologue is striking. The play does not work as just a summary. You need the details to truly make sense of it.

The criticisms of the play are easy and repeated frequently. Romeo is overdramatic. Juliet is just a child. They should have just told each other the plan. They're both narcissistic. They don't even know each other. They didn't need to die. They should just get over themselves. Watching (or reading) the play in this way is frustrating. A drawn out and exaggerated tragedy with little to admire.

But that’s not how Romeo and Juliet themselves experience the four days of the play.

When Juliet meets Romeo, she is thirteen years old. Romeo is assumed young, though his age is never actually stated, and licking his wounds from a fresh heartbreak. The attraction between Juliet and Romeo is immediate and all-consuming. They are secretly married within a day and die for their love within two more. For them, the time is both compressed and drawn out. Every moment they are together is breathless, every moment apart anguish. The juxtaposition of the violence between their families and the passion of their relationship heightens the stakes, forcing them to the extremes when Romeo kills Tybalt and is exiled, and Juliet is promised to Count Paris. Though short lived, it’s unfair to say their love is superficial. They love deeply enough that they are willing to give their lives for it.

The audience (or reader) that looks down their nose at Juliet and Romeo does not spare the lovers any grief. Instead, they spend the entire play being the villain. Denying the agency of the couple and failing to consider why they choose each other. Why they choose death rather than be parted. That audience that loses any chance to learn from the play.

Romeo and Juliet is not about mature love. It's not about how you make something last, and we are not supposed to think it is. The text clearly shows how these two lovers are making bad decisions. Instead, Romeo and Juliet doesn’t belittle falling in love and refuses to mock young lovers. It doesn’t argue that this is best or highest kind of love, and in fact explicitly argues against it. The play makes it very clear that this love is fickle, easily abandoned like Romeo's love for Rosaline, and that it has real potential to lead to disastrous outcomes if there aren't tempering forces. The play simply acknowledges that young love and obsession is real and can be deeply felt. And still as real and deeply felt even when people rush into it. Romeo and Juliet takes first love seriously, as seriously as those who are experiencing it.

And if we hope to understand our own young lovers, and avoid a tragic ending of our own, we ought to take it seriously as well.

image: Benjamin West, Romeo and Juliet, 1778

It was Valentine's Day and I woke up with a bout of rather violent food poisoning. I spent the day in bed, and by sundown I was feeling less poorly albeit a bit shaky on my feet. Against my better judgment, I put on a dress and my friend, Kirsten, picked me up for a drive into the District. American Ballet Theatre performed Giselle at the Kennedy Center, with Isabella Boylston, one of my favorite dancers, in the titular role.

I remember bumbling through the crowds waiting to be admitted in the hall. We had excellent seats and Kirsten was a literal angel the whole evening. She brought me a Vitamin Water that I sipped through the whole performance and I'm pretty sure I took a nap during the intermission. Kirsten even let me sleep on the car ride home.

But even in my ill fog, the evening was a night to remember. Maybe the most breathtaking ballet performance I've ever seen. I remember watching the variations with delight, and waiting in anticipation of my favorite parts. The music swelled and ebbed beautifully, and Myrta and the Wilis exceeded every expectation. The dance was spectacular and worth every bit of discomfort. It brought m to tears and warranted every second of its standing ovation.

In the year since, I've savored the memories of this performance, made more dear to me as the theatres closed a month later. I miss it desperately, and cannot wait to be in the audience once again.

It snowed on the last day of January.

I rose before the sun and peaked through the blinds to see the stillness, broken only by the steady stream of flurries floating past the glass. I tucked my hands to my sleeves and  before crawling back into bed. Pulled the blankets up over my ears and curled my knees to my chest and listened to myself breathe until I fell asleep. 

The proper morning came and I opened the blinds to watch the snow build on the branches. A bowl of cereal and slice of toast. A makeup-free face and fuzzy socks.

In the afternoon, my roommates and I walked along a trail, bundled up in hats and boots and gloves. Snowflakes caught in my hair and melted on my cheeks and crunched under my feet. We pulled the cheap sleds out of the garage and trekked up to the corner of the backyard before careening down, right into the fence at the bottom of the hill.

It snowed on the last day of January and it was perfect.