The Fountain of Youth Is In the Presence of Love

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror...no feeling is final (Rilke).

I have tapped into an overwhelming, abundant well of love, radiating from within me to the world around me.

I have never felt love so deeply in this way. And I get to love so much.

I get to love this new city, the places I explore on weekends, the friends I make at every turn, the communities I become a part of, the mentors who guide me, and the relationship that’s unfolding.

And who is at the top of my mind every time the excessive dopamine hits, the oxytocin is released? Oh, just little me.

I would like to talk to her, hug her, laugh with her, and wrap her in the warm embrace that says:You have no idea how much incomprehensible good is coming for you, little one.

Today, I caught a glimpse of her. While downloading photos from my study abroad university’s marketing team—capturing me dancing at David Campos (pinch me)—I unexpectedly stumbled upon a photo album from one of my first modeling shoots, dating back to 2019.

There she was—13-year-old me. Pre-braces, covered in makeup to look older, awkwardly posing, and definitely not yet grown into herself.

But so beautiful.

In the photos, I twirled along the Venice Canals in my flowy white dress filled with flowers, pretending to gaze at the leaves while I played with my straw hat prop.

I shared the photos with my mother, and she was instantly transported back, reflecting on how much she misses being able to drive me to photoshoots. 

Even my new Samantha was captured by them, reaching out to say: Hudson, the way you interact with the world has been healing me lately. You sending your inner child so much love is amazing. Thank you.

No—thank you, Samantha, and Mother. For taking a small reflective moment of mine and magnifying it in your own hearts for the healing of our world.

…

Last night, I watched La Sustancia with Mr. International. A movie about higher selves, beauty standards, dance, quantum theories—basically, just my shit right there. 

Amazing to be so deeply admired by someone that even their movie choice feels like a soul conversation.

My take on the film? It explored the fountain of youth conversation. A difficult one, for sure. 

The substance is basically a syringe that creates a clone of the user, the poor tortured soul who craves their highest self so badly they forget it’s accessible within them at all times. This clone is younger, hotter, more talented—but without the wisdom of age, it is deeply lost.

And the true kicker? These selves have to switch off every seven days, and if they wait longer, they damage each other, speeding up the aging process.

Of course, when I looked at those old photos, I had the fleeting thought: Look how teeny tiny I was. I didn’t have to worry about getting that daily workout in. My skin was effortlessly smooth. My mind was present without distractions.

But even writing that drained me.

What about the fact that in the six years since then, I have strengthened my body by learning to take care of it? I’ve discovered the incredible mental power of consistent exercise. I have a nightly skincare routine that builds trust with myself and helps me wind down. I have conquered the battle of my mind, knowing it can wander, but I am powerless in the energy of worry.

So when SZA says, half of us chasin’ fountains of youth and it’s in the present now, I couldn’t agree more.

…

Something I’ve been learning a lot about recently is the power of experience—that which only comes with being gifted more time to grow, to age—and balancing that with understanding how malleable we still are. Balancing the clones.

I accept that, in a way, the more we experience as we grow, the more selective we become—about what we pursue, who we love, and where we invest our energy.

But I also believe that true youth isn’t lost with age; it lives in our willingness to stay open—to learning, to risk, to the possibility of failing and trying again.

I know this feeling intimately.

For the 17 years I’ve been dancing, I have carried intense fear with me into ballet, the thing I love most. Fear about how my body would look in the mirror-filled room each day, what mood my teacher would be in, how judgmental the other dancers might be, and worst of all—how much I would disappoint myself when I inevitably fell out of my turns or repeated the same mistakes from the class before.

I held myself to the highest standard, thinking I would find my highest self there. Instead, I found an imbalanced self—one that demanded perfection but missed the mark every time because it set the bar at impossible.

As I’ve matured as a dancer, I’ve accomplished things I wouldn’t have dreamt of—going en pointe, attending exclusive summer intensives, choreographing and dancing in music videos, getting into college for dance, even going abroad for it. However, a huge holdback for me has been my turns. Every time I attempted a pirouette, fear would paralyze me.

My hometown dance teacher never understood this: Hudson, you will surf in the ocean with sharks, snowboard down black diamonds, jump off sea cliffs—but you won’t do a damn pirouette with your feet on the ground?

Girl, I know.

When I got to David Campos, I refused to bring this version of myself that couldn’t turn with me. It seemed daunting too, as we turn in just about every combination in class, even at the barre. 

But I thought to myself: This could either be an experience of disappointment at every turn, or accomplishment at every step. The latter sounded best.

So, I decided to become a new self—a clone—one that has never told herself she can’t turn. One that has never feared turning. One that actually loves to turn and is really good at it.

Operating in her has been amazing. I can now consistently do at least two pirouettes on flat and en pointe, in every position—from first, fifth, fourth, en dehors, and en dedans. Some days, I am even hitting three or more. 

If you’re not a dancer and you’re lost, I’m sorry. Just know: I am awesome now.

But what makes this version of me even stronger is that she’s not just defined by improvement—she’s fueled by it. She doesn’t measure herself against past fears or limitations. She doesn’t look back to see how far she’s come; she looks forward, excited for what’s next.

And this reminds me of what Mr. International said when we had our essential post-movie debrief. 

When I asked if he felt like he was his best self, he simply said, no. Before I could run out the door, he clarified—if I ever decided I was my best self, I wouldn’t push to get better every day.

And that’s the secret. The fountain of youth isn’t something we chase; it’s something we live. It’s in the present now. It’s in love, in growth, in the willingness to embrace every experience—not as something that defines us, but as something that shapes us.

A rhythm to keep dancing to, not a finish line to reach.