It's been over three years since I last left the mirrored studio and brightly-lit stages that felt like home for so long. Three years since I last slipped my feet into a pair of worn ballet slippers and plastered my stray hairs into the perfect ballerina bun. I miss it. From the time I was 3 to the time that I turned 18, I had the privilege of being a dancer. Three years later and I'm definitely not as flexible or as strong as I once was, but a familiar tune on the piano or the habit of spotting my head when I turn or the sharp pang of bobby pins digging into my scalp can still bring an unwarranted smile to my face.

Looking back, I can fully appreciate the devotion and sacrifices that my family made simply for the sake of something that I loved. My father will still remind me to this day that dancing isn't an inexpensive hobby. The studio that I attended was a 30 minute drive from my house and my school (there's not too many options in rural Nebraska) and my mother would make countless trips, at most three or four times a week as I grew older, for my dance lessons. My younger sister would do her homework in the lobby of the studio while I went to my lesson and, when she was much younger, would even get ready for bed and sleep in the car when I had late evening classes. My extended family would suffer in silence through one dance after the other during company recitals just to see me on stage for 10 minutes. It couldn't have been fun watching groups of three year old children of no relation wander about on stage in spangly outfits and too-big tights for their "routine" year after year. For fifteen years.

I grew up used to rushing home from school so I could go to dance class. During years when I was most invested, I'd be spending 3-5 hours a week at the studio. So it's no wonder that the people there became a second family. My friends and I would sneak in conversations between barre exercises. We had our own inside jokes and we knew each others' strengths and weaknesses out on the dance floor.

Dancing is a privilege. It has taught me so much about myself. It made me a confident and creative person. It taught me discipline and perseverance. It reinforced my ideals on the importance of teamwork and supporting one another. Performing in front of others gave me a sense of confidence that I wouldn't have found anywhere else. I still consider myself a painfully shy and awkward person, but dancing gave me the opportunity to become someone new if only for a few minutes. I could light up a stage or share a story with my movements. I could put on a mask and live in a fantasy world, even if it was just until the music faded.

Dancing brought out a creative side to me. When it came time for routines and recital dances, it gave me such a thrill to be able to visualize movements of an entire group just by connecting with the music. I was incessantly bugging the instructor with choreography ideas and even did my own "creative research" outside of class by obsessively watching other performance videos. Dance gave me a creative outlet growing up to express myself through music, momentum, and movement.

As you might assume, ballet is a very disciplined art. Every movement is precise and intentional. Every step of the foot or sweep of the arm is controlled. Dancers have to know and understand their bodies and how it moves. I loved the feeling of complete strength and control that dancing gave me. I could be poised and elegant. I could be firm and strong. I could be wild and carefree. My favorite part of ballet class was when we would practice jumps. Jetés and sautés and chagements and soubresauts. When it came to jumps, I would disregard the tempo of the music and fling myself in to the air. My competitive nature would emerge and I would jump higher or further than my classmates. Pushing into the floor to propel myself into the high vaulted ceilings. I'd always land, breathless, with the most ridiculous grin on my face.

The nights where my legs were so worn out that they trembled or when my arms were sore for days after an intense practice were the most rewarding. I took pride in the feeling of utter exhaustion. It showed that I was working hard. It went on like this for fifteen years. Fifteen years of sweat and tears (but no blood, thankfully). Fifteen years of perseverance. My junior year of high school, I found out that I had rheumatoid arthritis after enduring months of pain in my joints. Having arthritis is something of a defining moment in my life because it has changed me in subtle ways. It broke me to tears on several occasions after the realization that my body was essentially turning against me. After years of dancing, it pained me to the point of tears to do that things that I loved. I still made every dance class, but there were days that I would just have to it and watch on the account of barely being able to walk correctly. Pointe shoes weren't even a distant possibility and I spent the last year of dance lessons in my flats. Despite that, I endured and I am ever so grateful that I didn't quit and that my family make me quit. They knew how important dance was to me and they that I would persevere.

Dancing is truly a privilege. I am so honored to have had the opportunities that I had. To have family, friends, and a community that supported me and helped to grow in more ways than one. Although I don't don tutus or tap shoes or tiaras anymore, being a dancer is something that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. I only hope that I can inspire someone else to embrace the world that I continue to love and that I could never really leave behind. Maybe someday, should I choose to start a family, I'll be blessed with a child who wants to know the privilege of dancing as I did.