20Something: Alexa

Her name is Alexa Knutzen and she’s in her F-it era.

Alexa is a beauty queen. Like, literally - she’s the current Miss Volunteer America. She pops onto my zoom screen, blonde hair cascading over her slim shoulders in perfect curls, just as it did when I first met her six years ago. She speaks in a cheerful Utah lilt, answering all of my questions with an effortless air that only someone well-versed in public speaking could muster.

When I met her, Alexa had a 10 year plan: she was going to get married in college, something not at all out of the ordinary in Utah. She was going to graduate with her degree in ballet, go straight into her professional dance career, take a break to have a kid or two, and then she was going to get famous. After all, she is Alexa Knutzen.

If the theme of this series has taught you anything so far, you should not be surprised to learn that Alexa’s life has not gone to that plan.

We haven’t caught up in a long time, so it takes me a minute to remember how similar our brains are. But as she answers more and more of my questions, I feel like I’m interviewing myself. Many of her answers are near-perfect mirrors to my inner thoughts. I’m reminded of how comforting it is to know that I am not alone in the uncertainty of my 20s.

Right out of the gate, I ask her whether her life is lining up with expectations she had set for herself when she was younger. I know she must have set high expectations because I, like her, am a recovering 10-year-planner and so she, like me, must have set the bar for herself at a nearly unattainable height. The answer to my question is no. No expectations were met. “Honestly,” she says, “I had a complete crisis.”

I know exactly what crisis she’s talking about, because I had the same one. The one where you realize that what you’ve been working toward your entire life (in our case, ballet) is no longer your passion. I’ll spare you the gory details for now, but put simply, you’re left feeling stranded, completely alone, and helpless. “That’s a scary thing to say out loud,” she admits. “Everyone has self doubt, but to say it out loud makes it real. When you actually have to vocalize to someone, ‘I don’t know if I want to do this.’” You have to decide if you’re stepping away for yourself, or because you feel like you’re not meeting the expectations of everyone around you.

For both of us, vocalizing our choice to no longer pursue ballet as a career became a way of validating it. “I had to vocalize it, and be like, ‘that’s okay,” she explains. “You don’t want to do this, and that’s okay.”

I don’t want to do this, and that’s okay. 

What a freeing statement. I’ll take “Healing Your Inner Child” for 500.

I ask her if she’s moved on to find a new passion, or if it’s a matter of re-shaping the way in which she’s passionate about dancing.

“I have had to break down and do a lot of internal searching about what I’m really passionate about. It’s been a lot, but I’ve realized, yes, I love dance. I love it. However, I think where my true passion and love really laid in dance was the performing aspect of it. And the being creative.”

Again, I’m holding up a mirror. 

Since stepping away from dance, she’s found creativity elsewhere: in her job as a speech/language pathologist’s assistant, in her weekly country line dancing classes, and in her latest career aspiration (acting). Sure, she’s scared of failing, but that doesn’t hinder her. “It doesn’t sit well with me to not pursue something because I’m afraid of failing, or because I’m afraid of being judged,” she says. “It’s my path, it’s nobody else’s.” It sounds so simple coming from someone else’s mouth.

Her confidence seeps through my screen, and it makes me wonder: how does she find the conviction and courage to compete in pageants? The thought alone terrifies me. When I ask, she laughs and admits that some of it is innate. “I have struggled with insecurities and things, but there’s a little voice in my head that’s like, ‘You’re Alexa Knutzen. Girl, get it.’” Okay, so I’m jealous of little Alexa’s confidence.

Pageants are not a new venture for Alexa; she’s been competing for most of her life. “As a kid, I was like, ‘Yes, look at me, I’m on a runway’... Now, it’s more of a symbol of strength and confidence.” That’s not to say she’s never experienced doubt, though - she turned down the invitation to compete for her current title twice for fear of people thinking she was chasing after a “ridiculous dream of being a national title holder.”

Enter: the wise motherly advice.

“Alexa,” her mom offered, “it’s gotta be somebody. Why wouldn’t it be you?” 

Turns out, it was her. “[When I competed] I was so at peace. I had this newfound confidence… One of my biggest takeaways so far from this title is that the sky’s the limit.” She smiles to herself. “I know it’s a cliché, but it’s a cliché for a reason.” She says she’s no longer limiting herself based on society’s idea of where she’s supposed to be. She decided that her fear of failure, of being judged, is not a good enough excuse to not do something. 

Also on her Not Letting Fear Stop Me List: moving across the country. Sound familiar? While I was trading Denver for Chicago, Alexa was making her way from Salt Lake City to Nashville. I ask her if her Big Move has taught her anything unexpected. (I know mine has.)

She rattles off the usual suspects: getting comfortable with being uncomfortable, finding community in a new environment, finding independence from your family. She tells me it’s made her ask herself why she cares so much about what other people think of her: “I think I put too much value on being liked. That’s something that I’ve had to look at… why I put that much value on being liked.”

And again, the mirror.

I think what she’s describing is a far more common worry than we all assume. Thoughts of, “did they like me?” or “was I enough?” trail us on our way out of parties, or after dates,  or following professional functions. Even as I watch Alexa speak, her perfectly manicured hands waving along to the cadence of her words, I wonder: “Is she enjoying this interview? Will she like what I write?” We fixate so heavily on others’ opinions of us that we forget to ask ourselves how we feel. If we felt comfortable with them. 

“[My move] has really pushed me to get to know me as a human being and be like, ‘do I like myself?’ Let’s put value on if I like myself, and how I use my time.

“I’ve also learned quality over quantity with friends,” she continues. “I’ll never take for granted, ever again, a good quality friendship.” We had a close knit group of friends in college. We danced together all day, every day, we lived together, we spent our free time together. But as time has gone on, we’ve all drifted. There are varying amounts of effort made to keep in touch, and the stretches of time between reunions grow exponentially longer.

We agree that the disintegration of friendships, for no reason other than time and distance, is a sad fact of post-grad life. “I think I took for granted seeing some of the best, most compassionate, creative, lovely, funny people everyday. And I think that I probably would have invested a little bit more of my time in those friendships. Especially post-grad.”

We’re on a more somber note now, so I ask her what the hardest year of her 20s has been. She pauses to consider, then tells me it was our junior year of college. Year 21. She was dealing with a broken heart and simultaneously grappling with her decision to quit ballet. She describes it as her “first crisis,” and yet, she’s found the silver lining: “Something that I like to say is that the lowest parts of our life propel us into the next phase.”

So what is the next phase for Alexa? Where does Miss Volunteer America go from here? 

She wants to try everything. Next up is acting, but she knows that more will follow. Maybe one day she’ll find her way back to ballet. When I ask her if she thinks she’ll achieve everything she wants to, she looks down for a moment before flipping her hair and flashing an effortless smile that holds all the affirmation my question needs. 

“I’m Alexa Knutzen, baby.”