Isabella Boylston started dancing as a three-year-old girl in Sun Valley, Idaho, and, much to the delight of ballet aficionados everywhere, she hasn’t stopped since. One of her generation’s most accomplished talents, Boylston joined American Ballet Theatre’s Studio Company in 2005, and, after a steady series of promotions, was named a principal dancer in August 2014. This spring, she had planned to embark on A.B.T.’s cross-country tour, but instead, in these times of isolation, she has been teaching a daily ballet class called The Cindies on Instagram Live, along with her friend and colleague the choreographer James B. Whiteside. (Admission is free, but Boylston encourages participants to donate to A.B.T.’s Crisis Relief Fund, which supports dancers and staff.) As anyone who has witnessed her in action can attest, she has a strong sense of what makes something beautiful—including the key components of a well-lived life. —Ashley Baker
Airline: Emirates and also Delta—I’m a Platinum member.
Airport: Any major airport in Germany, where things run on time.
AppS: Instagram and Spotify.
Bag: My patent-leather mini Lady Dior, or any tiny bag that I can’t overload with heavy stuff.
Bike: A vintage Schwinn.
Birthday: Friday the 13th.
Breakfast, WEEKDAY: Egg and cheese on a roll.
Breakfast, weekend: Rice with fried eggs and kimchi.
Car: I don’t know how to drive! But if I did, I’d get a convertible.
Child: My goddaughter, Wilhelmina.
Cocktail: An Aperol spritz in the summer, and spicy margaritas year-round.
Cocktail appetizer: Green olives.
Couple: Margot Fonteyn and Rudolf Nureyev.
Date: Dinner and a movie.
Pasta with a side of pizza.
Dinner, weekday: Spaghetti.
Dinner, weekend: Japanese food.
Disguise: A fake ponytail hairpiece that I wear for special occasions.
Dress: Anything from Sandy Liang.
Drive: The road to Hana.
Escape: A good fantasy or sci-fi book!
excuse: “My train was held in the station.”
Family: My own!
First Lady: Michelle Obama.
Fit: High-waisted jeans.
Flaw: I don’t like any of my flaws, and try to improve myself constantly.
Friend: All of them! I can’t pick just one.
Hideaway: My apartment in Brooklyn.
Hotel: Idaho Rocky Mountain Ranch.
Insult: Calling someone out for being a curmudgeon.
Jacket: My long, burnt-orange Acne trench coat.
Bucatini all’Amatriciana with a side of French fries with mayonnaise.
Lunch, WEEKDAY: Salmon sashimi with ikura over rice with soba noodles.
Lunch, WEEKEND: No lunch—just a late breakfast.
Movie: The Red Shoes.
Name: Cornelia, my mom’s name.
Neighbor: Mr. Rogers.
Nonfiction bookS: Sapiens and Just Kids.
Novel: The Name of the Wind.
pants: Anything stretchy that I can kick a leg up in.
Pet: I want a golden retriever.
Piece of advice: “Be nice to everyone!”
PodcasT: Fresh Air, hosted by Terry Gross.
Restaurant: Rucola, in Brooklyn.
RidE: Being carried around onstage by a great partner.
Saying: A saying in Swedish that my mom always says, which roughly translates to “That’s nothing to hang on your Christmas tree.”
SHOES: Nike Air Max 95s.
SPOUSE: Daniel Shin.
Second spouse: James B. Whiteside.
Television series: Game of Thrones.
Theme song to your life: “Happy & Sad,” by Kacey Musgraves.
Time of day: Sunset.
Toast: “Cheers!” Preferably with good champagne.
Vacation: Hanalei Bay, Kauai.
View: The Sawtooth Mountains, in my home state of Idaho.
Wake-up time: Nine A.M.
Weekend bag: My A.B.T. duffel bag, which fits everything.
Work of art: The ballet Serenade, by George Balanchine.