When did you first encounter ballet?

It would be when I was 2 and I was given a tutu for Halloween. I think I was a ballerina for three consecutive years. I had never seen ballet. I had never heard classical music. But my mom loved telling that story that I was obsessed with being a ballerina even though I didn’t officially know what it was until I was 13. And it was at my Boys & Girls Club on a basketball court. It was part of a program offered to local students. And I didn’t like it at first. It was so outside of what I had been exposed to. I grew up listening to R&B and soul, and hearing classical music was a bit of a shock. And dancing in such a structured way was too. But I went to a real ballet studio; I received a scholarship to join the local ballet school. And once I was in a ballet studio and in front of a mirror and wearing the proper outfit, everything clicked. The music made sense to my body. And the classical dance technique was organic and natural. I don’t think many people would use those words to describe ballet technique, which can often feel so foreign to people’s bodies. It all made sense to me.

In your book, you say that ballet is a vocation.

I really think it calls people to be a part of it. Being part of such a disciplined art form is an amazing experience to have, but I don’t think everyone finds it. We start so young, and it’s hard to socialize and do anything outside of the studio. I think it takes a special person to give of their body, to sacrifice themselves.

You talked about being the only African American. Did you feel compelled to continue, even though you were often the only one?

This is part of the appeal part. There was something that drew me to this art form that was stronger than the lack of representation I saw in it. Classical ballet gave me something I didn’t get in my home life – coming from disadvantaged communities and growing up in a single parent family and not having a lot of money and not often a place to sleep. It gave me a sense of security and structure. And that, to me, was more important and it enriched my life so much, that being the only one in a room wasn’t going to stop me and wasn’t going to hold me back. At least at the start. That’s how I felt – it wasn’t something that was going to deter me.

When did you hear of Raven Wilkinson?

I was a professional dancer at the American Ballet Theatre. It’s such a shame that I was in the middle of my professional career before finding out who Raven Wilkinson was. It was through a documentary that I saw on the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, which is the first professional company for which she danced. And it was just breathtaking to watch that movie, not expecting or knowing that there was a black woman in that business in the 1950s. I was just watching it like, you know, a bunhead [laughs], as a dancer who wanted to know more about the history of ballet and the history of this company, which was the first successful American ballet company and which toured America. I was stunned to see Raven appear on screen. And I say it often, but my life has changed. My career has changed. I found purpose in such a rich way that I didn’t have before. Just by seeing her on this screen. It gave me a different understanding of how I fit in.

I came to a point in my professional career being the only black woman at ABT for over 10 years, where I said to myself: Is this really what I’m supposed to do? Does that make sense? Am I really moving the needle somehow? And connecting black history in America and how we got into so many different art forms and classical ballet connected me to my history and the history of ballet in a very different and more positive way .

And then meeting her in person for the first time was overwhelming, but it was that feeling of security, like meeting a family member that I had never met. Coming into contact with someone who looked like me was really moving. It was the feeling of coming home.

The book provides insight into the struggles of Raven Wilkinson’s career – being forced out of the South and later having to leave the country to perform. It’s a story of unrealized potential. But I didn’t feel any bitterness or negativity, just the joy Raven had about the art.

It’s Raven in a nutshell. There was never any bitterness or anger towards this art form. When you think about technique, the core of what ballet is, it’s not racist, it’s not exclusive. These are the people associated with it. It’s the guards. And Raven just had such a deep love for the craft and the art form. And I think that’s what kept her connected despite everything she’s been through – because of ballet.

And you and Raven were, at some point, encouraged to pursue a dance form more related to your background?

Yes. It happened to him in a very blatant way. In my experience, in a classical ballet company, we do a lot of modern contemporary work. And a lot of black dancers tend to be pushed down that path. And this has happened to me throughout my career. Probably not until I did “The Firebird” in 2012 – it was the first time in my career that I had the opportunity to be seen in a lead role in a classic work. During the early, I don’t know, 12 years of my career, I was pushed to do more contemporary works that aren’t so much about ballet technique. It happens to a lot of black and brown dancers.

Raven was the first person to tell you that you could be a swan. What was the meaning of that?

swan queen [in the ballet “Swan Lake”] is the ultimate classical role for a ballerina. The Swan Queen technique is not something you learn organically. You almost have to practice separately to imitate the arms to look like wings. All these things. Raven saw that potential in me when I took on the role of Firebird, which is a bird, it’s a creature, an ethereal character, and it meant so much to her to see the spirit of what I could be in as Swan Queen. As a black woman, you are never told that someone considers you the swan queen. So that was the stamp of approval from, you know, the Queen.

I was struck by a passage from the book that describes the bond between you two. After seeing you together, a friend described the way she looked at you as “you were running the last few miles of a marathon she started a long time ago.”

And it’s, you know, it’s Raven, but it’s so crowded before Raven. It’s so many of Raven’s peers at that time, those black women who started that race. And the fact that I had the opportunity to pick up where she left off and go where she wanted to go or where she should have gone is exactly what my experience has been. And it was so important for me to show the world that’s what happened. I didn’t just – poof – appear out of nowhere. It’s been generations and generations of these women who started this race for me and other black dancers of my generation.

I’m sure you’ve thought about what you mean for young black and brown ballerinas?

I feel like it’s something I’ve been so aware of – that there are black and brown girls and boys staring at me. I feel comfortable in this position because I know it’s part of the job I have to do. Because it’s so rare to be in a position like this, in a field like this, as a black person, and specifically as a black woman.

This interview has been edited and condensed. Robin Rose Parker is a writer in Maryland. For a longer version, visit wapo.st/magazine .