Dance

Dance. It's been a part of my life back to since I can remember. I have always loved everything about it. The way I would take a breathe and dance would flow out of me. The beauty of emoting music through dance moves, the challenge of perfecting a new skill, the thrill of finally completing a graceful quadruple pirouette or finding the perfect balance for a soulful panche. I was elated anytime I was fortunate enough to be able to dance in front of an audience. I both adored and loathed my dance classes. Performing was where I got to fly, so to speak, classes were for learning new tricks to take to flight.

I adored myself when I danced. The feeling I got when my muscles had been worked to their limit to achieve beautiful grace was exhilarating. I miss the daily challenge to see how far my body can take me. I miss the rush of dancing an adagio or an allegro to the best of my ability. I miss the thrill of completing a jump sequence knowing that I gave all the power I had to that one time through and knowing that I would need to muster the same amount of power to complete the jump sequence at least 3 more times.

I started dancing at the age of 3. By the time I was 11 I was taking 5 dance classes a week. Dancing was my life. I knew that dance would be a way of life for me for the rest of my life. As all dancers know, you don't leave the dance world when you walk out of the studio, you embody dance when even not in the studio. Perfecting dance techniques at home, practicing the new routine while waiting for the bus to take you to school and working on ankle strength while doing the dishes at home.

One would think, from reading this, that I was a serious ballet dancer my entire life, yet that is not the case. I have embodied dance for my entire life but much to my dismay and confusion I was pulled out of my beloved dance studio when I was 12 years old. The exact year that I was to finally get my pointe shoes. I was devastated by this. I have never really expressed to anyone how empty I felt when I no longer attending classes regularly. Yes, I still danced, but I was never allowed to have that full on life immersion that I did before.

I realize now that I have never allowed my self to grieve for this loss in my life.

In college I found dance again. I was addicted once more. Yet, something had changed, their was a difference in me. I was filled with resentment to those who had been able to dance seriously their entire lives. I was jealous of the their skill and technique. I was angry of the fact that I never got to excel the way I knew I could have.

It's time to let the resentment of this issue fall away. It does me know good to submerge myself in these memories and feelings of the past. The past is in the past. It is what it is. I can do nothing to change what has made me into who I am. What I can do is look toward where I am headed today and embody who I am becoming.

More and more I feel the urge to begin dancing again. When I think of this I hear a voice inside me telling me I'm insane. I'm 33 years old, I can't dance at this age. Then another side of me steps up to the plate and wonders, "why not?" Where is it written that only those who are adolescents or in their 20's are allowed to dance? It's not. If I want to begin dancing again there is one simple and easy solution. I will dance.

I won't be dancing as I once did where all I did and breathed was for dance but that is not necessary for me to find fulfillment and joy from this art form. All I need to do is let go and allow my body to test itself and reach new heights, as it once did.

All I need to do is allow myself to breathe and the dancing will follow.