Dear dance,
It's been a minute since I've been involved with you and let me say, I miss you dearly. You were my life for well, my whole life, especially in high school. I defined myself as a dancer and when I lost that title, I felt very lost. I remember sobbing in my dorm room my freshman year of college because I felt so empty without you dance. Then, when I tried to explain this to my roommates, the only one who understood, was the other dancer in my room.
The thing is, people don't get dance. They don't understand the addiction that goes along with it. They don't understand the absolute need to move and get your emotions out. And when that's taken away, it's like a drug addict who has been forced to go sober.
I miss the days when I would come home so sore I couldn't walk. I miss stressing over choreography before a competition or an assessment in the wings. I miss the glitter, the pretty costumes, and I, for some reason, miss the late, all-day rehearsals with my closest dance friends. We would laugh, cry and groan and it was one of the best times of my life.
The dance community is probably one of the oddest places and thing a person could experience. While everyone wants you to get better and succeed, at the same time these people are competing against you.
Then there is your teacher. Your dance teacher becomes your mom - probably because you see them more than your actual mom. They're there through your toughest times in dance, and make you believe you can do absolutely anything, no matter how hard.
I remember one time in my school's dance company, my teacher had to force me to learn how to do a front roll because I was too scared to do it on my own. And what do you know? Two weeks later I'm doing dive rolls in the gym all on my own.
Dance also teaches you a lot about yourself. I learned a lot about my physical limits and just how hard you can push your body and all the amazing things it can do. I learned how to trust partners and learned that they will catch you when you fall. I learned that sometimes you just have to go for it and not care what others think.
Dance is a vulnerable sport. Unlike painting and drawing, you're physically there, laying out your emotions for the audience. Getting past that was the hardest thing for me. I don't think I really grasped that concept until after I stopped dancing. But, at least I grasped it.
So dance, I just want to say thank you. You were there for me in my darkest times, a solstice that only I could escape to. Dance was the first thing in my life that was actually mine and that no one could take away from me. You were my first love and I will never forget the way you've impacted me, and still do today.
