My hands shaking, palms tightly clutched around my silver pom-poms so as not to let go, I peak, for just a quick second, from behind the curtain and into the audience. The girls in front of us are just finishing up their routines, the bright lights glowing on their shiny but gorgeous faces. My stomach leaps into my throat.

The music stops, the girls pose, and the audience stands, cheering and clapping in amazement at what the performers had done.

I want to join the roaring crowd. Those dancers had been that good.

However, I have a show of my own to perform. My class stands in two lines, getting in formation. Our dance instructor straightens and finalizes us, tells us “Good luck!” and “Do your best!” and before we knew it, we're walking out to the stage ourselves, hands on our hips, chins up, bright red lipsticked lips smiling and letting the crowd know that they are about to see the performance of a lifetime.

Or at least, my lifetime.

Let’s get one thing straight; dance was never my entire life. I was never the most athletic, the most flexible, or the most polished. I had other interests and hobbies that I wanted to pursue, and it never really interested me to join a traveling team and give up every weekend of my life. I always respected the girls who chose to. It was just never my thing.

However, recreational dance was the one of the most releasing and fantastic memories of my childhood.

It was never a competition. In recreational dance, Dance Moms-type scenarios weren’t part of the regular routine. (Pardon the pun.) I never felt like I had to measure up to somebody else because we were all there to just have fun, get exercise, and do something that we loved together. I never felt like I didn’t hit the bar because, at least competitively, there wasn’t really one to hit.

I felt at home when I went to my once-a-week class. All of the girls knew each other and hung out on the weekends. The conversations sometimes went to dance, but not always. We had other things in our lives and we were content with that. Those girls became my best friends in the whole world, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Those end-of-year recitals were the greatest part. It was our time to show off what we had been working so hard on all year long. It was our chance to dazzle, to entertain, and to become one as a family on that stage. Getting fitted for costumes and going to the dance store to buy tights was the biggest thrill. It made a girl feel special, almost like a princess, as cliche as that may sound. I felt so proud when I put on my very own pair of black jazz shoes.

Dance was expressive. Dance was freeing. It didn’t constrict; it helped me to let go. For that one night a week, I could be myself...and it was absolutely fabulous.

As an adult, I am looking to get back into my tap shoes. I have learned so much through my time at my dance school and there is nothing better than getting your feet on that hard-polished wood floor. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

So, this one is for the rec girls. Keep dancing, my beautiful, wonderful friends, and don’t ever let anybody tell you that you aren’t as good as somebody else. Keep those lips red and your hair sparkling! You just may be the best in the show.