The Dreamer's Pen

Last night I attended a historic performance at Tacoma’s Pantages Theater; The first part of Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen – Das Rheingold. It was a night filled with music, history, and emotion.

But what made it truly special wasn’t just the performance. It was what I decided to wear.

I pulled out my old homecoming gown, the same one my mom and I picked out 24 years ago. I still remember that day. We searched for weeks to find something special. She scraped and saved to help me buy it and I remember how proud she was when I walked out of the fitting room. It wasn’t just a dress, it was a moment between us, a symbol of love, effort, and excitement for the future.

I hadn’t worn it since then. It had been carefully tucked away all these years like a little piece of the past preserved. When I slipped it on again, it fit like a dream! And just like that, all those memories came rushing back.

To complete the look, I wore my mom’s pair of Tahitian pearl earrings. Simple. Elegant. Timeless.

At the theater, the gown drew attention in a way I never expected. From the moment I walked in, people stopped me with compliments: “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” “Stunning.” “Regal.” “Glamorous.” “Show-Stopping.” “Goddess.” A few people even asked to take photos of me. It was flattering, surreal, and kind of grounding at the same time.

I couldn’t help but think of my mom with every compliment. How she’d insisted that this was the dress. How she made sure I had something beautiful when we didn’t have much. And there I was, two decades later, standing in that same gown, surrounded by music and art and strangers calling it beautiful all over again.

It struck me that this night wasn’t about nostalgia, it was about continuity. About how some things last, and how the people who love us leave their fingerprints on the choices we make, even years later.

The opera itself was monumental; The kind of performance that fills a room with fire and sound and feeling. But beneath all of that, I kept thinking about something quiet and human like this simple dress, chosen with care so long ago, could still carry so much meaning.

Wearing it again didn’t make me miss who I was back then, it made me appreciate who I am now. The same gown still fits feels symbolic, not of size or my teenage years, but of connection to my mom and to that moment. To the idea that beauty can endure, and that love, once given, keeps showing up in unexpected places.

The gown still fits. And so does the life that grew around it.