The Halo Effect: A Temporary Lens
In early acquaintance, we meet not the person but our own hopes; we don’t know each other, only our expectations. And while you may, consciously or not, caution yourself not to let me upend them, I won’t perform for your image; I’ll simply be myself, because truly knowing someone takes time.
Blog Entry: A Long Overdue Update
By Michael Frye
It’s been years—too many—since I last updated this space. Life has a way of sweeping us forward without pause, and I suppose I got caught in that current. But today, I feel the need to reflect—not as a declaration of accomplishment, and certainly not from any place of self-importance—but simply to tell the story as it unfolded. These are not highlights for their own sake, but rather markers along a path shaped by purpose, service, and human connection.
What follows is a quiet summary of a life lived with intention. Not out of arrogance, and never to center myself in the narrative, but to share how the choices I made brought me to where I am now. The story isn’t extraordinary—it’s just mine. A record of how I’ve moved through the world so far, and how I’m still learning what that movement means.
At twelve, I left my Chicago home with my dearest parents and our beloved Yorkshire Terrier, Tiffany, embarking on a car ride that remains one of the most treasured memories of my life.
We journeyed together across the vast expanse of Canada—through prairies and mountains, into Vancouver, and farther still to the northern town of Prince George in British Columbia.
My time at Sonia Fabian Dance Studios in Prince George was brief, yet it planted in me the first seeds of discipline and artistry.
Soon after, destiny carried me southward again, to Vancouver and the doors of the famous Goh Ballet Academy. There, living in homestay with dearest Mee-Ying-Lee, the accountant at the Academy who was and still is so very dear and good to me, and the Goh family, who are all nothing short of astonishing and represent the true salt of the Earth, I was gifted both independence and an immersion into Chinese culture—a world that quietly and profoundly began shaping the foundation of who I would become.
The Goh Ballet did more than train my body; it defined my very being in ways I could not have imagined then. Each rehearsal, each correction, each moment of discipline was not merely preparation for the stage, but the slow, unseen forging of identity.
What began as a child’s passion grew into a lifelong devotion, the art of ballet becoming both compass and language, guiding me toward a life I had not yet dared to dream.
Over the next fifteen years, I studied and performed in Vancouver and in China, developing not only my technical skills, but also a deep understanding of language and cultural nuance.
I often acted as interpreter and mediator involving cross cultural relations and sometimes language translation and interpretation, a quiet observer translating intention as much as speech.
Those years taught me that communication is more than words—it’s presence, patience, and the willingness to meet people where they are.
My time at the Beijing Dance Academy, just one year after the Tiananmen Square tragedy, showed me a generation awakening to change. Teaching there gave me access to the hearts of families caught between old and new. These moments pushed me toward academic work in Asian Studies and Chinese, which I pursued at the University of British Columbia while teaching and choreographing in Vancouver to make ends meet.
After the New York International Ballet Competition, I was invited to join the Shanghai Ballet Company—becoming their first Western Caucasian dancer. I toured with the company performing as a corps dancer in revolutionary ballets like The White Haired Girl, The Red Detachment of Women, and Dream of the Red Chamber. The roles were artistic, yes—but also deeply cultural, and forever humbling.
Eventually, I stepped away from dance and leaned into academics and public service.
At SUCCESS in Vancouver, I helped Chinese immigrants understand Canadian laws and societal structures. That experience opened the door to a deeper interest in justice—how systems work, and more importantly, how they often don’t for those with the least.
Taiwan became my next chapter. While pursuing graduate studies, I taught corporate English and communication across Taipei—in city government, global corporations, and banks. I also taught children and teens, learning patience and perspective through their eyes. These experiences cemented my belief in language not just as a tool, but as a bridge.
Then, the law came calling.
For the last eight years, I’ve worked with the San Francisco Public Defender’s Office—as a legal intern, a post-bar fellow, and ultimately as a provisionally licensed attorney (PL-442489).
I’ve written and argued motions to suppress, 995s, bail motions, diversion requests, and more. I’ve counseled clients in jail, second-chaired trials, helped draft strategy, and made over a dozen appearances in arraignments and preliminary hearings.
Some of the many treasured moments that have stayed with me:
Throughout, I’ve supported clients in whatever capacity I had, working with simply the greatest people I have ever known at the SFPD.
Both of my beloved parents and my ballet teachers also gave voice to those caught in silence. Their example as remarkable human beings and role models are humbling, and represent some of my most powerful sources of strength.
Now that I’m back in Taiwan—having returned in October 2024—I wanted to offer this update.
I’m currently working as a legal interpreter, lead instructor and curriculum writer at Chingshan Language Institute, where I’ve worked for many years and share a deep, mutual trust with the team.
This chapter is quieter, but no less meaningful.
Still, my long-term goal remains rooted in public defense.
I hope to return to California, pass the Bar, and resume the work that speaks to the core of who I am—most hopefully at the San Francisco Public Defender’s Office, where I found both purpose and home. There is no work I believe in more. Giving a voice to those who have none, standing up for dignity and fairness—that fight is the one I feel born for. It is, quite honestly, the clearest expression of my soul.
The California State Bar has renewed my moral character evaluation through 2027, allowing me to take the Bar exam before that date. I don’t take this lightly—it’s an opportunity I hold with reverence and humility. Nothing is promised, but the door is open, and I plan to walk through it.
Before I close, I want to share something I’ve haven’t spoken about very openly until now.
There is nothing I cherish more than my relationship with my parents. No matter where life took me, I always spoke to them—weekly, more often daily, sometimes multiple times a day. They understood me in ways I hadn’t yet discovered, and their guidance helped me answer questions about everything and everyone I knew, as well as new souls I encountered along the way.
On December 13, 2024, my mother—the dearest and most important person in the world to me—passed away.
I am grieving…
I’ve shared some of my thoughts on grieving with only a few people, the ones I truly love and trust deeply.
Grief is a strange animal. It comes in waves, unexpected and uniquely personal. It doesn’t follow rules, and it doesn’t ask permission. I’m simply dealing with it the best I can.
After my father’s passing years ago, I learned how healing it is to surround yourself with those who love you and whom you trust. That love helped me move forward in a healthy way then, and I am leaning on the same now. There is no guidebook for loss—but I’ve found light in connection, in purpose, and in the work.
So here I am. Between places, between chapters, still moving forward—grateful, grounded, and ready for whatever comes next.
Until next time,
Michael Frye
