Dance owns so many parts of my life, going back as far as I can remember. I can still recall my very first dance at 3 years old, tapping around on the stage in my feathery, yellow chicken costume that stayed extremely itchy in all the wrong places. Riding in the car with my mother to my very first dance class 13 years ago, I looked out of my window at the humble, tucked-away dance studio. I never expected that walking inside that little glass door would change my life forever.
Opening the door to the old, dusty studio did not convince me that I would enjoy going through with this, but then I met my dance teacher, Ms. Sarah. Her vibrant reddish-brown hair cut into a bob, round blue eyes and comforting smile welcomed me as the click of her tap shoes filled the cool tile hallways. She walked me into a smaller dance room that had yellow, popcorn-ceiling walls with old ceiling fans that moved at the speed of a sloth. This room had four walls with a couple of mirrors, it was not anything out of the ordinary. The class filled up with other little girls my age, and the room conveyed an upbeat atmosphere. The rest of that class becomes history, leading to the spark of a passion that would last a lifetime.
I began dancing competitively at the age of 9, in fourth grade. That year, I had a tap and jazz dance. I became so excited to wear my brand new dance gear (that turned out to be two sizes too big on me) that had my name proudly embroidered in our studio colors, orange and teal. I have always been known as the quiet and shy child at school who stuck close to what I knew and what made me comfortable. The change from recreational dance to competitive dance seems drastic, making me have to leave my comfort zone. As a dancer, you have to perform to an audience and sometimes pretend to be somebody that you aren’t. Having to act like somebody I would not be did not sit right with me and made me feel frozen in place, not knowing the next step to take.
Toward the start of middle school, I decided to take dance seriously. I advanced into the intermediate teams at my studio and started working on my skills outside of dance. Every school night after dance, I ran my dances in my tiny carpeted living room upstairs, the thumping of my feet annoying my tired parents. Replaying the music as strands of sweaty hair constantly fell out of my ponytail, I practiced until my parents forced me to call it a night. Smacking my foot on our navy blue couch caused black and blue bruises to show up the next day and the aching of sore hamstrings took place every evening. At the studio, I put 110% effort into everything I did, using most of my time that I had available. Listening to the music, the beat flowed through my veins and commanded me what to do, improving the quality of my movement. Every time I ran my dances, I went as full out as possible, not holding back. I wanted to be the best I possibly could. Not only did I progress in maturity as a dancer that year, but I progressed in maturity as a person. Listening to my teacher’s lectures about life impacted me daily and I learned how to respect others from them. They remain the people who taught me how to face the real world and the rawness of it. My teachers were committed to everything they did and helped me realize that if I put my mind to anything, I would achieve it.
During my eighth-grade year, I remained in a state of poor mental health. Being in my final year of middle school, schoolwork piled up more than I could bear and dance progressed to a level I could not keep up with. I felt like my troubles engulfed me, making me drown and leaving me with no energy to swim to the surface for air. Coming home every single night at 9:30 p.m. after long rehearsals to heaps of homework made me want to have a time machine to go back to the time when life stuck to being simple. I dreaded the fright of my alarm each morning, urging me to get out of bed and keep moving, even when every movement degraded me. The thought of what I had to complete and what I had to live up to rang as a reminder in my mind. The continuous cycle of waking up, school, dance and little sleep made me lose hope for a change in my life. Being an older girl at the studio, I now had to act as a role model. I forced myself to show up every day with a smile on my face, even when smiling caused pain, because I didn’t want the younger girls to see what challenges remained ahead of them. With every practice, my eyes grew hazy and the circles under my eyes grew darker. My muscles hurt with every movement and begged me for rest. I felt dizzy and fatigued during my dances from the lack of sleep, my heart growing heavier as I saw other teammates feeling the same way. I didn’t know if I could ever make it out of this hole that kept digging itself deeper. My anxiety climbed to its highest point on my mountain, about to cause an avalanche.
Now, in February of my freshman year, it became time for competition season again. The rehearsals that week continued to be exhausting and contained long hours of sweat, skinned knees and usually, tears that dropped onto my wrinkled T-shirt. That year, my team went through so much, including injuries, reformations and drama that divided us emotionally. In the air, a feeling of uncertainty and a lack of motivation lingered. Getting ready for the competition that weekend, I saw my reflection in the mirror as I finished off my slicked hair with multiple puffs of sticky hairspray. I saw that little girl I knew 12 years ago who danced around on stage in her feathery chicken costume, who giggled with her friends and spun around in circles in the yellow, popcorn-walled studio, who put her biggest smile out there for people to see, no matter what. Something clicked. From there, I decided that no matter what I felt, I would stay that little girl who loved dance. Who loved her team. Who loved to perform.
At the competition, my team worked hard to rehearse our dance beforehand, making sure everything reached its full potential. Our team connected as a chain reaction of motivation flowed through each of us, one by one. As we waited backstage for our dance to be announced, my dry throat closed from the fluttering butterflies and my nerves shook from the bass of the competition’s speakers. Right before we went onstage, we came together as a team to share our final remarks, all realizing that we desired the same goal. We wanted to win. We wanted our hard work to pay off. Hearing my entire studio scream and chant our names as we walked into our beginning poses made me more ready than ever to show what I could be capable of.
My heartbeat echoes in my ears rapidly as I wait for our music to start, increasing by the millisecond. My nerves completely dissipate as the music starts, and I give it my all. I danced with every ounce of energy that I had left in my body. When those bright, blinding stage lights hit me, all I feel seems to be electricity flowing through every part of my body, from the top of my head to the ends of my toes. My body buzzes with energy, assisting me in executing every movement with precision. I can feel the passion and motivation moving through each teammate as we danced our hearts out, helping us cross the finish line. As we melt into the end pose of the dance, our entire studio leaps up and gives a standing ovation. Feeling the bright stage lights, everything my team and I endured to make it here felt worth it.
Waiting at the awards, we held hands tightly as the feeling of hope transferred through us like a circuit. We went through unbearable rehearsals, leaving different colored bruises on our bodies, emotionally challenging situations that separated the team and moments of being lost in the unknown, not knowing what was ahead of us. The competition’s announcer moves into our category and I clench my hands so tight that my knuckles turn white. We listen and watch anxiously as he moves down the placements and dancers from other studios claim their well-earned awards. third… not yet. Second… could this be it for us? I squeezed my tired eyes together tightly and bowed my head, holding my breath for what felt like an eternity.
“And your top overall high score of the weekend goes to… STAGEDOOR DANCE CENTRE!”
We did it. The entire team leaped up and screamed at the top of their lungs until our voices began to give out. Feelings of relief, pride, and excitement cycled through me as we jumped around in complete celebration. The audience consists of proud parents and teachers, the people who helped make this happen for us.
Nothing feels better than achieving something you thought was out of reach. Although my dancing grows as I get older, I myself have grown as a person along with it. Being in dance taught me how to balance adversity in life and how to deal with it. It taught me where to find the true people in my life who will always be there for me, who I can lean on no matter what. Most importantly, dance showed me who I truly am. Without dance, I wouldn’t have my confidence or my fight to work for what I desire. Being able to express my thoughts and ideas through movement is the biggest blessing in life, bringing me a sense of calm during storms. Dance remains my refuge and I know whenever I go there I am safe to be who I happen to be. Not only do I win many awards and dazzling trophies with my dance team, but I also win in life.
