Every Dancer's Journey | The Odyssey Online
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Every Dancer's Journey

From the wings to the stage and back, a marvelous endeavor.

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Every Dancer's Journey
Loren Holmes

You don't just go to dance class once you've caught the addiction. Growing up, dance was so many different things to me: exercise, an outlet, my joy, my heart's home, an invigorating challenge, a lifestyle. Nothing compared with the long evenings and weekends spent in the studio rehearsing for Nutcracker or a myriad of other shows. After a long week or a rough day, I was able to get away, to become the most joyous version of myself, just by stepping up to the barre.

Dance allowed for potential tears or anger to be transferred into a composition of movements. It was a graceful output of complicated emotions, and still is to this day.

There is a whimsical moment that occurs while you are standing backstage, waiting to enter the wings, and before you present yourself to the audience under a cascade of lights. I can picture it now, my hands are on my waist, resting just above my tutu. My feet are treading back and forth, making sure my pointe shoes are just right. I am zoned out to all but my thoughts that are filled with the choreography I am about to perform. I lift up a short prayer, one I consistently pray before every piece I perform. As the time for my entrance gets closer, I remove all my warm-up layers. Although my body is warm from class that day, a familiar shiver reverberates up and down my spine. That shiver represents a thrill and a healthy wave of nervousness. My stomach has a million butterflies. You know how people get butterflies when they are in love? I must be in love with dance because that feeling never goes away.

There is a grand pause and I hear the whisper "places" from my stage manager. I silently enter the wings. The lights are cued and illuminate the stage with the intensity of a million stars. As the music begins, the sound pours into my chest. 5,6,7,8. I enter the stage. I walk regally, with a confidence I am only able to channel under the warm lights. When the music begins to swell, my limbs waltz gracefully. My arms transition through each movement as though I am dancing through thick air. It is here that I feel most beautiful, most vulnerable, most alive.

I am aware of the audience seated before me, but the lights blind my view of them. Dance is the one place where the audience is in a posture to be captivated by what they see before them. I am able to be a little taller, stronger, raw. My soul, on display, but entirely safe, entirely free.

The last crescendo of the music approaches with a unique tenacity. I allow myself to embody the instrumental tapestry and I glide across the stage. Now I am flying, soaring above the black surface of the ground below and when I land, I am sturdy. The piece comes to a close and I walk gracefully, regally to center stage. I place myself in the position to acknowledge my audience with my arms placed gently out to the sides of my tutu. A generous applause fills the theatre and my heart swells with gratitude. I smile, chin lifted, and then I curtsy with a nod.

As the final lights fade I rest assured, I am alive and I am home.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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