Returning to the dance floor
Reflections from my years of dance training
I helped teach a few dance classes this past month while my sister was on maternity leave. Something about stepping back onto the dance floor brings quiet reflection. The memories of the dances before come back. I remember.
For eight years, classical ballet was my thing. I was going to classes three days a week. I won’t pretend I was an expert or a rising star, but training was a bit more than the average, “I go to class once a week and buy an $80 costume for the performance at the end of the year.”
I started when I was five, and from what I can tell, it was because my older sister was doing it. If she was doing it, then it was the thing to do. At thirteen, I was confident I knew how things would go. I would keep dancing up through my senior year of high school. I hadn’t thought much about what life after that would look like. But all the senior students got to have a special solo in the recital. I already knew what I wanted my music to be.
Click here if you want to listen to it. (This link will take you away from the Medium site). The world was predictable, and I had a plan.
But then it all changed. My predictable ballet world got turned upside down when my dance teacher decided to leave. No one could blame her. She…
