"People dance because dance can change things. One move can bring together. One move can make you believe something is more. One move can set a whole generation free."

Dear dancer,

Picture this: It's 10 years into the future. You walk into your parent's house and go to your old room. As you walk in, you see the ballerina knick knacks, Degas paintings, and stacks of DVD from previous dance recitals and performances. That room you've spent your life in is still perfectly intact.

You open your "ballet drawer"- which was specifically designated to dance attire. It held your snagged dance tights, black company leotards in a sea of brightly colored ones, and most importantly, your pointe shoes; rimmed of holes and wear on the platform of the shoe- a sign of graceful artistry and strength.

You sit on your bed with those pointe shoes, holding your long lost best friend, and you close your eyes. Your mind starts to race, and within seconds, you embrace your memories.

You realize you spent your life dedicated to dance.

When you were young, you would beg your dad to go see a ballet, and you would watch the graceful dancers flow on stage. You were in awe of the seemingly magical sets and props, and all of the colors souring on the stage from their costumes. You gazed at them with wondrous eyes, knowing that you aspired to move like them. You finally locked eye contact with one of the dancers, and from there, you were inspired to impact others in the way that that one dancer did for you.You started dancing as a child, and you kept going.Your parents, of course, started you young to have some time to themselves, or for you to acquire a talent. You may have done piano, cheerleading, modeling, tennis, really ANYTHING else, but every week, you look forward to that 40-minute class. That was the highlight of your week.

You met your best friends - aka your dance family. You started with them from four years old and lasted until the teen years. Some came and left, but nonetheless, they remained lifelong members of your extended dance family.

As you got older, dancing became more serious for you. You dropped all other extracurricular activities, and you took dance more seriously. You got cast in better roles, the competition itched a lot more than ever, and you started to live and breathe dance.

It started to consume your life; the challenge and the thrill of performing was the only thing to comfort you.

It became a drug that triggered your addiction.

Dance pushed you to your highest limits, both mentally and physically. It was so time-consuming, it became a full-time job. Your daily schedule consisted of working out, going to school, practicing, taking multiple ballet classes, rehearsing, studying, another working sesh, and sleep. Rinse. Repeat. Six days out of the week, every week.

Free time? Social life? A myth. But you didn't care because you didn't want it. You wanted to dance.

Any sadness and overwhelming feelings were comforted by pouring every inch of heart into the routines. Dancing became your voice whenever you felt voiceless or unheard. The choreography would help string your words into a flowing sentence; a swift move of the hand and a movement of the hip told the whole story.

Your body was the instrument, and you were the musician, playing the elegant music.

Then, one day, you grow up. College is the game, and you have to broaden your experience. Dancing got pushed to the side, and other priorities became of you. Dating, working actual salaried jobs, college applications, high school activities; dancing became a lesser priority.

Leaving dance doesn't mean you aren't a dancer. You may have left dance, but the dancer in you will never leave.

Plus you took all you learned and applied it to reality. Dancing taught you discipline; you can thrive in constructive criticism and turn out better than ever before. Dance gave you strength; you were a warrior, fighting your body to make it move a certain way, and training your mind to be boundless. Dancing gave you passion; it taught you to express yourself through your body and to work towards something that seemed impossibly possible.

Dancing gave you a way to impact other's lives. You have dreamed of inspiring others and seeing the audiences faces beaming back at you after you poured your soul into the piece. At that moment, you changed their life for the better, and there is nothing more passionate than that.

So, dear dancer, promise me to remember the hard work and love you put into your dancing. Your bones will wear and you might lose muscle, but I can promise you will never forget the steps to the combination. You will never forget trying on your first pair of pointe shoes, dancing with the older girls as an apprentice, and dancing a solo on stage for the first time.

Don't forget the hardships either. Don't forget not being able to turn 32 fouette's; remember that you practiced your ass off to get them the next time. Don't forget that you didn't get that part you wanted; remember the roles that you made yours.

So, open your eyes, and smile. Keep all the pictures around your room- those you will cherish with your families to come. Save that ballet attire in that drawer; the recital tutus, the cheap props used, and the mountains of bobby pins and gel. One day, you will want to look back, and relive your memories.

You, dear dancer, must remember that you were once, and will always be, an artistic warrior.

Whenever life starts to overwhelm you, or you need a pick me up, remember that you were a dancer.

Remember running on to the stage, the warm lights on your skin that glistened your bedazzled tutu, and the rush of the applause coming from the hundred and thousands of audience members. Remember that smile on that little girl's face? You created that. At that moment, you brought people together and brought the utmost of happiness.

Dear dancer, remember that three-year-old doe-eyed girl that would watch from the audience in awe, and vow to inspire others in the same way? Remember that you succeeded.