I cried in my car after my dance auditions last week. Not because I thought I performed poorly (I have plenty of bruises in strange places to prove that I really, really tried...), but because after the Dance Club Show in three months, I have not a clue when I’ll perform again.

Other than my family, the good Lord in heaven, and my BFFLs, dance has been the most important constant in my life. I was that little girl who dreamt of pink tutus and sparkles and spotlights who grew into a 22-year-old young woman that still dreams of pink tutus and sparkles and spotlights… Nothing has made me happier than “5, 6, 7, 8” or that adrenaline rush before the lights go on or that indescribable dancer-dancer bond. Dance has shaped me.

It has both disciplined and frustrated me. It’s introduced me to irreplaceable friends and mentors but has made me envious of others who could move in ways I couldn’t. It’s made me feel alive and beautiful and weightless but has pushed my body to its limits. But most importantly, dance has taught me that anything worthwhile is a challenge, and I feel so lucky/blessed/privileged to have had teachers and peers challenge me for the past 19 years.

Not knowing when I’ll perform again past April could break my heart into 30 trillion little pieces, BUT I’ve decided I won’t let it. For the next few months, I’m going to dance my little heart out, dance my little legs off, and cherish the shit out of “5, 6, 7, 8.” After that, I will happily dance around my kitchen while making dinner, down the cereal aisle at the grocery store, in ALL THAT open space at the bar, on the bar, wherever.

I may not have a stage past April, but that certainly doesn’t mean this lil lady will ever stop dancing.