A lot of my childhood memories have to do with being at a dance studio, where I awkwardly stepped and tumbled my afternoons away. And while I don’t dance anymore and haven’t since I was about 12, I am constantly brought back to those days with dreams (and sometimes nightmares) of being back in the studio, dancing a dance I’ve never learned.

I was the type of kid that went to dance class because my sister did too. I don’t think I ever really wanted to, but it was just something my parents could sign me up for to get me out of the house for a couple hours after school. I often dreaded the prospect of getting my dance shoes in my bag and heading off to dance class.

First things first, there’s the universal smell of dance studios. It’s the mixture of bare feet, sweat, and the material of those black jazz shoes. It’s always the same.

And being in class, I was the kid who constantly watched the clock. I wanted to go back home to have a snack.

And then there’s that stress of never getting the steps right while you watch the more adept kids get it right away.

Because this is what your teacher wants to see her students doing:

And this is what you want to do:

Basically, you spend the whole class checking yourself out in the huge mirror.

And then when you start paying attention again, the rest of the class learned eight more counts of the dance, and you’re totally lost.

Then there are those dance cliques. You know, those cliques I wasn’t ever apart of. The group of girls in class who were all really good and their moms were friends and they always had sleepovers with each other and you always wanted to be apart of their group but they were just too good for you….

Or was that just me?

And I just had that one dance friend that wasn’t actually my friend, I just talked to her because her first name was my middle name.

I think that one is just me.

And with those many cliques, there is BOUND to be some dance drama going on in between classes, which is always fun to watch.

Then, the most EXCITING part of being in dance class. Finding out what the costume for the recital looks like.

Your teacher brings over the catalog and she has it circled in marker what your fate will be come June. Then some lady comes in and takes your measurements and you feel all special and important.

Then, finally, when you’ve got your act together and learned the dance (including those eight counts you missed), it’s time for the end all:

THE RECITAL.

It’s the big moment- when you show off your amazing dancing skills in front of a crowd of people. Somehow you have to memorize a two minute dance while lights are shining on you, and you don’t even have a huge mirror in front of you to check yourself out in.

You wait backstage and the nerves start to set in.

Meanwhile, there’s a frenzy of lipstick and blush and hairspray going on, and while you choke in the haze you try to get your legs through your fancy, sparkly costume, realizing it’s really uncomfortable and it scratches you as you move.

And you feel all squirmy inside your stomach when your group gets called to the wings, because you’re on next.

You try to think of any excuse to get you out of this horrible situation.

Suddenly you forget the whole dance as you stand in the dark behind the curtains. You take your place, trying to remember even the first step, but your memory fails you.

Then the curtain opens, and the music starts…

And muscle memory just kinda kicks in. And you rock it.

The audience claps and cheers, you hear your mom screaming your name in the most embarrassing way possible, and the curtains close.

You’re so proud of yourself for remembering and not running off stage, and suddenly you can’t wait for the next dance season to start.

But really, you walk out of there with your family like: