I sat down and drafted the letter that is printed below on February 1, 2024. I wanted to test the waters, after reflecting on the invitation, as I was not confident if I had anything to say. Unclear of my audience or of my direction, I addressed the blank word doc, “To my performance students, to myself, and to any folks out there that this makes sense to.” As ideas formed on the page, it became clear whom I was speaking to. It came as no surprise, as she was someone I have written letters and postcards to – for years before and in the months that followed. Like all of our mentors, I am always writing to Kristin, in some ways. Dr. V. is, always, part of my ideal and imagined audience, with her questioning stares, her generous presence, and her warm vocal recognitions – “Hmmm” and “Ahhhhh.” After that one writing session, I closed the file and did not touch it until months later, on August 2024, after being told that Kristin, that Dr. V, had passed. The force of her life, her teaching, her friendship, her energy, and her brilliance touched so many people. If anyone was going to live forever, it was Kristin, right? As we processed the news, I went back and read decades of her letters and cards. I, then, remembered and reread that letter printed below. What was a messy and meandering rough draft suddenly felt extremely precious. I did not want to touch it or alter it. It felt wrong to try and “fix” it, edit its initial flow, even when it was muddled and imprecise. Although Dr. V. was all about precision, I think she would forgive me, though probably not agree. So, I have submitted it as it is, as it was, tracing and circling that moment. Perhaps it is a futile effort to hold onto a then, the experience of being present in that moment in time. “Hmmm.” “Ahhhhh.” – Dustin Goltz, Sept 5, 2024.