Today, June 29, 2016, as of 10:25 p.m., I walked out of a place that I’ve been going to every week--excluding the summers--for the last 13 years. It is a place that has become a second home, a place that has given me more than I ever expected. The dance studio I began taking classes at when I was 5 years old is closing down. The current owner is engaged and moving to California to be with her fiancé.

I can’t say I’ve fully accepted what is happening and I don’t think I really will until next fall or winter break comes around and I don’t have a place to automatically go. The studio truly is my second home and I don’t know what I’ll do without it. Dance has become such a beacon and stress relief and I know that won’t go away, but this place gave me so much more than just that. It gave me a group of girls who will forever be my friends. Girls who took care of me when I drank just a little too much, girls who filled a group chat with joy and love whenever I was missing home, girls who I can truly call family and who I will forever trust. I know that the studio closing down won't tear us apart. It might even bring us closer, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be hard.

I’ve spent countless hours in that studio, whether it be by myself choreographing a solo or running through a dance over and over again. As soon as I started driving, I parked in a spot in a parking lot across the way and scurried up the stairs to the familiar cracking white walls and light wood floors. It gave me hope and excitement, although that may not have been clear by routine lateness. I knew that even when I showed up late to class that all of the girls would be talking about their lives and it didn’t really matter that I was technically 10 minutes late for class. My first year away at college was hard. I was often homesick and lonely coming home, and knowing if I came to this place I'd be surrounded by welcoming and love made it that much easier. Every time I was home, even just for a weekend, I’d go out of my way to drive by the studio, and the light being on gave me so much joy. When the lights were off, it was OK because I knew they’d be on again, not too far away. But now that light is off for good and I don’t really know what that means. I walked out of the building like I had many times before after stalling as I loved to do for many minutes, and I still haven’t processed that this place won’t be here when I need it. This place that truly meant so much to me even when I didn’t realize it. I came home for spring break and headed out when my parents were gone. When they called about something random like my sister’s backpack, they knew I was at the studio. If I was gone they could find me there and they knew it. I spent countless hours there during my senior year teaching, dancing, choreographing my solo (AKA lying on the floor because it’s really hard), and even though I know many of the great things about will still be there, I’m mostly just in shock.

I worked there from my sophomore year through my senior year and it showed me a love I don’t think I’d ever have found anywhere else teaching. I always knew I wanted to work with kids, but I always said I wanted to go into psychology or neurology, but that’s not true. I love teaching; I love seeing when little girls get that move that they’ve been struggling with and the relationships that can be built by connecting with students and actually getting to know them.

I guess I just want to say thank you because this studio did so much for me. It helped me discover who I am and what I love. It gave me a place to run to when I was stressed and it gave me a family of friends that I never want to to forget. I’m sad that it's gone and I’m not sure I really know how to live without it, but all the things it has given me will help me figure it out.