Someone very wise once told me that dancing without your whole heart is like getting the chance to eat dessert without calories and not taking it. If there’s one thing I believe without a shadow of a doubt, it’s that I was put on this earth to dance. I feel like the purest form of myself when I’m dancing. Now that I’ve left high school and the competition every weekend environment, there is so much that I miss. I miss the smell of hairspray in a dressing room, the long nights spent with my family doing what we love, the feeling of routine and comfort I feel driving to my studio, but most of all, I miss being able to step onto a new stage every weekend and showing a new group of people my passion, my soul and my heart. Dancing is just like this electrifying, magical experience that you can only experience once you let all of your inhibitions go.
I’ve always loved to dance. I’ve been in the studio since I was three years old. I always knew what I wanted out of life was to just be the best dancer I can be. But there comes a moment in a dancer’s career, some get there and sadly, some don’t, where someone says something to you that just allows you to let go and the results are extraordinary. I remember my moment clear as day. I was in the studio at around 10 p.m. We had a competition that weekend, and everyone was exhausted, but my teacher didn’t think we looked ready and we were most likely going to stay until she did. She said something to the effect of, “Just let it go. Stop thinking about what comes next. Stop placing your movements. Stop thinking. Just let go and dance.”
And in that moment, I realized I did think. I thought about where my feet were and how my arms were supposed to move and if I was in the right spot and a lot of things. So, as I was standing in my place to go on, I closed my eyes, shook out my arms and legs a little bit, took a deep breath and just said to myself, “Don’t think. Just feel.” After you finish a piece that you just felt all of your dancing and didn’t think once is one of the most indescribable feelings. It’s like a high of emotions and energy and adrenaline and passion and happiness and just everything. It’s the best feeling in the whole world, only second to actually dancing.
That moment changed me, not only as a dancer, but as a person. It showed me that I really did have a purpose. Knowing you’re meant to do something is very powerful and comforting at the same time. I can’t describe to you how at home I feel when I walk into a studio or a theater or backstage, or sometimes it’s not even a specific place -- it’s just wherever I’m dancing. One thing you have to realize when you have a passion like mine is that there are always going to be people better than you. But here’s the catch: it doesn’t matter. I dance because it’s my passion, because I love it and I love the way it makes my body and heart and mind and soul feel. It’s like my only salvation when everything is going wrong and my release of emotions when things are going right and my escape from reality to this world where everything is good and perfect just me and the floor, and I’m dancing and everything is just right. Nothing matters when I’m dancing. Nothing invades my mind. Dancing is my heart and my sweat and blood and tears. And how lucky do I feel to have had the opportunity to facilitate my passion in the way that I did throughout my whole entire life? Infinitely. I’ve never felt more grateful for a single moment in my entire life.
