Prior to college, the extent of my dance experience was about two weeks in ballet when I was seven (when I quit the day before our recital) and public school musical theatre, which basically just included a series of incorrect jazz squares and simple step-touch moves that I could not even master after four years. I always was intrigued by the art of dance, especially because I was involved in so many music-based clubs, but for some reason, my internal sense of rhythm could never transfer to my feet. Fist-bumping at prom was hard enough in itself, so I knew that dancing would never be a part of my future.

Unfortunately, after choosing my desired school, I came to the harsh realization that my university required physical education classes as a requirement. Of course, as someone who barely passed high school gym class (why do they continue to test how many push-ups I can do when the result is always exactly the same: zero?), I wanted to get these courses over with as quickly as possible.

After looking into potential courses, I discovered an introductory modern dance class that emphasized no prior experience was needed. I was skeptical since I did not know if "no prior experience" meant "you can look like a flailing animal while you're dancing and you can still make it through," since that was really what I needed it to mean in order to pass the course. Without thinking, I decided to enroll and simply hope for the best. If it was truly awful, I knew that withdrawing was always an option.

On the first day, I finally learned what the term "modern" dance actually meant. It wasn't as much about learning a fixed routine, but about understanding how the human body moves and how we can freely connect with our inner selves through movement. The professor gathered us in a circle and requested that we "introduced ourselves through any movement." I hesitantly observed the other students who all looked so graceful, spinning and moving their bodies in a way that I did not physically think I could. They didn't think, they just expressed themselves in whatever way they felt at that moment. I, on the other hand, swung my arms in the air and hoped she wouldn't ask me to repeat myself.

Although the first class made me highly consider leaving, I decided to push through and stick with it. I wanted to learn how to dance, and I wanted to understand what the modern form of dance truly entailed. I wanted to stop thinking about dance in terms of only ballet, of hip-hop, of strictly choreographed movement, but instead as something broader.

As I routinely attended classes, I began to understand the true power of the art form. Not only did I actually see myself improving (I didn't think anyone had the power to help me), but I developed a confidence in my body as a whole. I've always been uncomfortable with looking at myself, so the fact that the majority of the class was spent facing an extended mirror was not exactly soothing to me. However, truly watching my body made me realize just how incredible the human figure is. I didn't have to be a graceful ballet dancer to be beautiful while moving. Movement in any body is glorious, not just if you are a professional.

I found myself looking forward to starting every morning with my dance class, learning to curve my back in a way I didn't know it could, finding new muscles to use that I didn't even think I had. I started to realize that there is so much more to dancing than what the common eye sees, so much strength to develop throughout your entire body. This is something I only realized after repeatedly falling on the floor or tripping over my fellow classmates, but I learned the lessons nevertheless.

When you attend an academic institution, your classes often involve hundreds of pages of reading or never-ending essay prompts. This class was my one break, my escape from the scholarly world. In dance, there was no impending exam date. There was no test I had to study for. There was just me, in my body, learning to move. In this way, it pushed me mentally more than any of my other classes.

Now, as the semester is coming to a close, I am craving dance class, hoping to experience every last moment that I can before it ends. I do not want to let go of the confidence and feeling of release that envelops me when I enter the studio.

By no means does this mean I am a good dancer now. My two left feet are appendages that I cannot escape, but I have learned to not even care about that. I don't have to be talented to practice, and I definitely don't have to be talented to love it.

The next step: master that jazz square.