I had my first taste of dancing when I was six years old; a ballet princess birthday party. All it took was one fake crown and a pink skirt, and I was hooked. I took several classes a week in all styles of dance for the next six years. Although I tried tennis and gymnastics, I always stuck with dance, specifically ballet. As I entered middle school, I became devoted to ballet, going on pointe and switching over to a studio with strict ballet curriculum.
Inevitably, I burnt myself out. I took too many classes only not to be cast in the roles I wanted. I was told I didn't have good enough turnout. I wasn't flexible enough. My leg muscles were too big. I wasn't skinny enough. I lost my love for the art of dance. Every three-hour class became less of a hobby and more like torture. I had more joint problems than an elderly person, and enough insecurities to worry any psychologist. I would never live up to what my teachers expected of me, and I didn't know what else I could do.
The tragedy of dance is that only certain body types make audition cuts. You have to be strong but not bulky with muscle. Tall but not too tall. Skinny but not fragile. This usually takes natural genetics, complete loss of any social life, and extremely high-intensity training. And even then, there is a one in a million chance that you'll earn a reward worth all the excruciating pain and misery. Because of these stacked odds, dance, especially ballet, is a single sport. The girls you take a class with are your competition, and even your friends are vying for the same roles as you.
So, in the Spring of 2014, I tried out for my high school dance team. I was unsure about whether or not I wanted to quit ballet, but once I saw my name on the list, along with twenty-one other girls, I knew I had found a place I belonged. For the first time in my eight years of dancing, I was part of a team. No one was out for themselves and themselves only, but rather, the success, or failure, of each performance, relied on every single person. I felt appreciated and validated. Over the next four years, I reveled under the stadium lights performing with my teammates, some of whom became my best friends. And I fell back in love with dancing.
If not for my high school dance team, I don't know what my relationship with dance would be like today. Girls from my ballet studio fell victim to eating disorders so dangerous they were hospitalized for days. Many injured themselves beyond repair while vying for a solo or a specific role. Others quit altogether. My dance team showed me what dancing with passion, love and sisterhood looks and feels like. But most importantly, my high school team showed me all the good in the athletic art that six-year-old girl in a pipe cleaner crown and pink tutu fell in love with so many years ago.
Sherwood Poms, you have my love and gratitude as long as there is dance in my heart (i.e., always).
