The curtains open and my heart is about to beat out of my chest. I’ve been doing this since I could walk but my stomach still turns before going on stage. I am unable to make out faces in the audience and my palms are sweaty as I hold my position in complete darkness. The suspense builds as I wait for the music. The lights come up, the music begins and I’m faced with the reality of my last performance. I tell myself, “This is it,” holding back my tears.

The start of my journey began with dance teachers yelling the choreography to the class backstage while the audience laughs because we looked adorable in a tutu not knowing what to do. Now the end of my journey is seeing the same teachers backstage watching me dance while smiling because they’re proud. They have watched me grow into the dancer and person I’ve become. They’ve taught me life lessons and passed their passion down to me.

How did time pass so quickly from little ballet slippers and moms helping us backstage to running around with my head cut off because of the nine dances I’m in. How is it that graduation is around the corner and my last dance is nearing?

I’ve poured so much sweat and effort into my passion. I’ve missed out on school dances, family parties, sleepovers and other opportunities. Standing on that stage hearing the applause made it easy to miss all those things. I have no regrets of missing other opportunities because if I hadn’t I wouldn’t have fallen so in love with dance and made the memories I did.

There have been countless tears of frustration and stress. I am so burnt out from fifteen years of dance but I’m so devastated for it to come to an end. I’ve learned so many life lessons from how to find rhythm, being able to pick things up quickly, deep life lessons and so on. The list is endless. The memories are endless.

Dance has always been an outlet for me to express myself and escape from everyday life. As soon as I entered the classroom, I was able to forget about everything outside the room and if I couldn’t, I used that time to work it off. No matter what was on my plate, dance had always held and supported me. Dance never let me down or hurt me. It was the backbone of my happiness.

All the costumes, the music, the trophies meant absolutely nothing up to this point. The ending is coming to a near and all I can think about is the lifelong friends I’ve made standing next to me on stage and the memories I’ll take with me. Suddenly the place where I’ve spent countless years, hours, minutes, and seconds will become distant and in the past. The road is coming to a near end and my heart aches. What will I do without dance? Who will I be?

But this doesn’t have to be the end. When the lights shut off and the curtains close, I don’t have to say goodbye. I don’t have to stop dancing in my kitchen or down the grocery store isles. Who says I can’t tap dance while waiting in line at a store? Who says I can’t continue being the 12-year-old girl dancing ridiculously in her room? “My dance journey doesn’t have to end,” I tell myself.

I’m out of breath and finally, my movement stops. The audience applauds and tears roll down my face. The curtains close and my journey has come to an end, except it’s really just a new beginning.