For the majority of my life, my sport, dance, was one of the biggest parts of my life. Not only did my schedule revolve around it, but my family's did too. I can't tell you how many times I ate dinner out of my lunch box in the car as I drove from one rehearsal to the next, or how many times I missed out on things with my friends because I had practice. But it was all worth it. I loved my sport. I loved the people that it brought me, the mentors it gave me and the chance to get up in front of crowds and show off my talent.

When I got to college I was faced with a decision: I could continue my sport, or I could take a step away and get involved in other things that had always taken a back burner in high school. I decided that after 15 years of constant aches and pains, the overly used excuse, "I can't, I have rehearsal" and the late nights of doing homework that I didn't have time to start until ten o'clock, that I would finally "retire."

At first, I was happy with my decision. I was finally able to spend my afternoons and evenings with friends. I had time to do my homework and to sleep. I still felt like my sport was a big part of me, it just wasn't consuming my life. I realized, though, that when I told people, "I used to be a dancer", that it meant nothing to them. They couldn't see how it shaped me into the person that I am today and how much time I still spend thinking about everything it did for me. So,

To the sport I quit: you're still a part of me.

My ears still perk up every time I hear the mention of dance. My bedroom walls are still filled with pictures of me in costumes. I can't go to a dance performance without critiquing the choreography and the outfits. I may not be able to tell people that I'm a dancer anymore, but I feel like dance is still a part of my identity. I'm still good friends with the people I danced with and I'm a much stronger leader and team player than I would have been otherwise.

To the sport I quit: I miss you.

I miss the family that my sport gave me. Although I still have the relationships that I made, I am no longer spending every day working together with them. I miss the identity that it gave me and the ability it gave me to connect with so many people. When people say to me, "Oh, it's such a shame that you quit, you were so good," I reply with something along the lines of, "Yeah, I miss it, but now I have time to do more important things," but really I'm thinking, Maybe they're right, maybe I never should have quit. Although ultimately I decide that, yes, I did make the right decision, it doesn't mean that I don't miss the sport.

To the sport I quit: I love you.

I love the memories of my sport. I love remembering what it was like to be up on stage under the lights, with all eyes on me. I love the memory of my friends and family coming to watch me and hearing them cheer my name. Despite what other people see, I love that my sport made such a big impact on my life that I still consider it a huge part of me.

I can't go back and undo my decision to quit, nor do I really regret my decision (at least most of the time). That doesn't mean, though, that I just left my sport behind and have forgotten it. I am so thankful to have had the opportunity to devote so many years to dance and for all that it gave me.