Category: dance

I’m living in denial that Nutcracker is already over for this year.

I’ve learned and grown in ways I never expected, and for which I am so beyond grateful.

I got to dance among legends from our company, counted among their fold. I got to hear incredible stories of the days when our guest artists included people like Julie Kent,  Paloma Herrera, and Li Cunxin. For once, I wasn’t the oldest in the group. I was the youngest, which is what I was used to growing up and which I didn’t realize I craved. Not necessarily to be the youngest, but to have someone older there to take cues from. I was around women who were also dealing with chronic illnesses. I heard stories of their experiences and was able to apply them to my own life. I was shown 9 different personifications of confidence, and realize that it’s okay to be unashamedly who you are. I laughed, genuinely, more than I ever thought I would and told my own stories to people who cared to listen to them. And not listen to reply, but listen to learn more about me, to retain the information.

We had such a good time on stage. Making each other genuinely laugh to keep the smiles real the entire scene, making inside jokes, truly enjoying ourselves throughout this entire production.

While waiting in the wings, the Party Girls started doing a little dance in time to the interlude music. It was stinking cute, so I decided to join in. They loved it, and I loved getting to have fun with them. It melts your heart, knowing these girls are having the time of their lives. They’re committed and truly enjoyed every moment they had in this role, hearts full of dreams for what their future can hold. Telling each other stories of which Clara was their favorite, and how they were somehow connected to one or another or related to one from years before. It was so precious.

Kids are my favorite. They’re innocent and pure and see life through lenses that are all their own. No one has told them who they can or cannot be yet. They love with their whole hearts and don’t apologize for it. Being with kids is healing for my heart, especially ones like these sweet girls.

I got to do the Nutcracker pass-off, which is where someone sneaks the Nutcracker to Drosselmeyer so it appears to appear out of nowhere. It was a bit of a struggle since my costume wasn’t as big as it needed to be, but I don’t think we did too badly. It was fun, too, and Drosselmeyer was so encouraging. It’s amazing how many different ways there are to mess up that hand off, and he’s really good about playing off mistakes, but I didn’t want to be the cause of one.

I also got to see some of my students in between acts, as they were Cherubs and Angels. It made me so proud to see them perform, even if their role was simple or short. They had so much fun and were so happy to be there. Seeing their passionate little spirits light up their faces brought a warmth to my heart I don’t think I could ever find words for.

On Sunday night, I got to be the Nutcracker at the end. For our show, it closes with Clara being woken up by her parents and walked off to bed, while the Nutcracker doll stays center stage and the life size nutcracker salutes in the back. It’s a simple thing, but has become somewhat iconic with the dancers. It symbolizes the very end of the show and is one that most of the dancers mimic. You don’t realize what a rush it’s going to be until you’re walking out there, by yourself, hitting these marks just right, knowing everyone is looking at just you, copying you in the wings, and that you’re closing out this magical show. It’s such a simple part, but it holds so much. My students got a kick out of the fact that it was me the one night, which made me happy.

After the show, I went out to the lobby where dancers are allowed to go out in costume. It’s one of my favorite things, but something I haven’t gotten to do this year. I made one kid cry, but the rest of the feedback was positive, haha! I took pictures with tons of people I didn’t know, and a few I did. It was cool to hear stories of mom’s bringing their daughters for the first time and hearing how much it meant to them, stories of now-elderly dancers-turned-teachers and what ballet means to her and how important it is to stay in the ballet world, even after your body doesn’t let you dance like it used to. I heard one lady say how she has come for so many years, always wanting a picture with the Nutcracker, and now she finally got one. I had Mom’s of past students recognize it was me (how??) and I got to hug my students and take pictures and just make their day. I gave out autographs, which was kinda hard because I’m not too great at signing things other than my name, and I’m really bad at cursive “n”‘s. But it was so fun.

And here we are, at the end of yet another season. My future very uncertain.

My cardiologist said my heart is just fine, but that I do have POTS ever so mildly, which tells me I can push through my heart weirdness in confidence that at least one organ won’t give out. I have to settle for that being enough, at least for now. I’m out of time until after tax season is over.

I’m nervous, but trying not to dwell on how I’m going to get through the spring. I have to just stay on top of myself and do what I need to make sure I’m the best I can be in my current state. It’s frustrating and so stupid that it’s come to this, but here I am. I have to do what’s best for me.

My heart is so full from this year’s performances. I miss my friends already, even more since I don’t really get to see them in classes. I’m excited to get to choreographing over Christmas break for my baby ballet recital pieces. (and my not-so-baby’s.) I’m hoping I have time to get them all completed before we go back. January signals the beginning of the madness, and I don’t want something like this to get pushed to the side.

I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and Happy Holiday’s, whatever it is you celebrate. I hope you are surrounded by people you love, and that you know how much you matter in this world.

Thanks for keeping up with me and my stories. Please remember that your story matters and is ever so important to tell. No one else has your story, and no one can tell it like you do.

I don’t have as many pictures to post as I would like, but here are a few anyway.

I took far fewer pictures than I thought, and those I did have people in them, and I don’t want to throw them on to a blog without permission.

(I took the liberty of including the Clara’s since their moms read the blog 😊)

(Hi y’all, love you guys)

Things are always changing; progressing.

I know this. I’ve known this for a long time. But knowing it doesn’t necessarily mean you understand fully what all you will face in the progression, namely on the emotional side.

In the years past that I’ve done nutcracker, I’ve been in roles dancing alongside the company dancers that in the level classes I took. In all but one year, I was in two roles, typically one in each act. I attended warm up, strapped on pointe shoes, made sure my bun was sprayed down, tucked my ribbons, put on my tutu, and went out there and did the best I could.

This year everything is different, and I’m finding it to be rather bitter sweet. Some of it I expected, some of it I didn’t.

The Bitter:

As we began theater week, it started to sink in how different it really is. I already wasn’t at many rehearsals, I was out of the loop of the inner workings of the company and everything going on, and it actually took me by surprise when show weekend arrived since it didn’t feel I’d done enough yet.

I got to rehearsal anyway, and realized I didn’t need to be there yet since I didn’t do warm up. I mean, I could have done warm up, but if you’ve been keeping up with my posts, you’ll know why I can’t and why I’m not dancing “normal roles” with my friends.

I did my scene in Act 1, and sat and watched the rest. I realized I didn’t even really need to be there, but it felt odd to not stay.

I watched my friends dance the roles I would have danced, and some I had hoped to one day achieve the ability to dance. That’s when the most intense bit of bitterness really sunk in–I’m not dancing. If I’m not dancing, it means I’m not progressing. It means that my dance story has written as much as it is able. It means that dreaming of being any better than I was last season is more than likely a dream that won’t happen. It means I can’t watch my friends and tell myself if I just keep at it I can get there and know it to be true. Because I can’t keep at it. I’m at a completely stand still. My days of knowing the feel of walking backstage in pointe shoes, pressing my tutu down to fit through spaces it wasn’t made for, watching from the side in anticipation of my entrance, being out of breath after completing the roll, feet sore, calves burning, are done. At least, as far as I can see. I hold to the tiny glimmer of hope that maybe I can dance again, but that isn’t very realistic. Doctors don’t know what got me here, and they aren’t very keen on trying to figure out why. They tell me I just have to get used to this being my new normal but they can’t tell me how I got here. It’s infuriating.

The girls will grow on without me. They’ll grow up and graduate, and the little ones will become the big ones. And I’ll stand by and watch them, support them, offer encouragement like the cool Aunt, all while trying to process what my road is and how to walk it.

I’ve known there’s no way to eventually get to the level of those my age. That’s literally impossible. It’s never bothered me before. I guess I just realized how I don’t truly fit in anywhere, not easily anyway, so I’ve sort of carved out my own space. I’ve been accepted. I appreciate that. But all these feelings nag at me, and times like this they become difficult to ignore.

One of my favorite parts of doing the show was going out after in costume. Seeing the looks on the kids faces, especially during school show, lighting up in amazement and wonder of the ballerina in pointe shoes. They didn’t care that I wasn’t a prima ballerina, to them I was something to envy. I miss that. I realized I don’t even have to stay to the end of the show. I’m done after Act 1 Scene 1. I could literally go home. I don’t have anyone coming to see me dance, I’m not really even dancing. Not much, anyway. It’s character, not ballet. Something I could do in a play. I’m not the ballerina in the pointe shoes anymore.

The Sweet:

Even though I’m not an auditioned role, I’m not in the official company, I still get to be a part. I’m a Party Parent, which seems simple enough, but has been fulfilling in ways I never imagined it could be. These ladies have been so welcoming and inclusive to me, the newbie. Many of them have been doing this over 20 years, veterans of the trade by far. They tell stories in the dressing room of when we had Julie Kent and Paloma as guest artists, days I wish so much i could have known myself. They help me out by making sure I have all the flashy accessories I need for the role, and make sure my costume is fastened properly, even in all its complexities.

They make it fun. They make it hilarious. The smiles on stage are real because we’re all making each other laugh so much. They help me make sure I know what I’m doing and help me with things I struggle with grasping. They want to help me be my best, even as I stumble through something they could do in their sleep.

My sweet party girls are absolute dreams. I have two, and I’ve known them for a bit before the show, which made me excited to get to be their “mom” but I never realized how good it would be for my heart.

One of my sweet girls came up to me the first rehearsal in costume and told me how beautiful I looked. She told me my costume was her favorite and looked at me with eyes of wonder. I realized that I don’t have to be the “ballerina in pointe shoes” to be something of wonder. That in that moment, her eyes weren’t alight looking at the Sugar Plum Fairy, or one of the company girls. She was looking at me. It’s not my dancing that does that, it’s my example.

For so long it made my heart hurt that I didn’t get to be involved in the girls lives as much. They mean so much to me, and being there for them makes me feel like I have some sort of purpose. But in that moment I realized I still have that, just in a different way. A way that was very much so unexpected.

I may not fit in anywhere, I may be somewhat of an odd duck, I may be different, but I still matter. I’m still important. Me being there still matters, and if I weren’t there it’d be felt.

I have a lot to learn, but I’m grateful for where I am.

I hope you realize that for yourself, as well.

A few other things from this week:

We had snow on Friday! For those of you who don’t know, I live in South Texas, and snow isn’t something we see. There was one freak snow storm in 2004, which was the first time in 100 years. I never thought I’d see it again in my lifetime, let alone after only 13 years. I happened to be at a sleepover with 9 other dancers when it snowed, which made it so much fun. We thought it would all be melted by morning, but we woke up to a nice blanket covering the neighborhood. It was incredible.

We had our school performances Friday morning, but due to the snow the first one got cancelled. I was grateful for the extra time to play in this “winter” miracle, but also glad we had the second show. How incredible to get to walk through snow to get to our nutcracker performance? That’s something I never thought I’d have.

The Clara’s this weekend we’re incredible. I’m so proud of all their hard work they’ve put in. There were moments when I caught myself near tears, watching from the balcony or from backstage, so overwhelmed with pride for how much these girls have worked for this and how well they executed it all. You could tell they were absolutely having the best day of their lives. I wish I could have captured that moment and bottled it up so I could revisit it later.

We have one more weekend of shows. I don’t know if I’m ready for it to be over. Even in its differences and oddities this year, being involved fills a void in me.

Life is changing. It’s complex. It’s unclear and very often painful. But these moments where life feels sweet are coveted. I want to hold on to them while they’re here.

Here’s some pictures!

I told y’all I’d have a post of the class I took last week, and here I am just now getting to write it

My apologies.

Safe to say life has been a little hectic, but better late than never I suppose.

My back decides last Wednesday was the perfect day to hurt more than it ever has. It was so bad that I had to actually utilize the stool during my 5-6 year old class and sit while my assistants did the brunt of the demonstrating. I felt bad since they’ve been rehearsing so hard and are dealing with injuries of their own. I literally couldn’t teach without them, which is becoming increasingly clearer as each class goes by.

The kids were well behaved considering, so that was nice. Only a few kept talking, but overall they’re working so hard to be better. It’s such a big class, making it a challenge from the start. But I love them so much. They make my days better.

My friend who was supposed to take her first class that day didn’t show. I could have gone home, I had every excuse to do so, but I didn’t. Largely because I said on Instagram that I was going. I figured I had to at least try.

I did better than I expected, especially considering mental clarity wasn’t the best. It was so great to be back among my fellow adult ballet friends. I don’t think I let myself fully feel how much I miss being there. I excuse it away with optimism instead of letting myself fully feel everything that comes along with these changes. One of my dearest dance friends was next to me at the barre, like old times at our old studio. It felt so right.

I only made it through barre, and part of it I had to alter to what I was able to do. (Grand bettements on the left side didn’t exist.) My teacher was more than okay with that.

Being at the barre, going brought these fluid motions I have work hard to try and perfect for the last six years, hearing these classical renditions of show tunes and hearing my dance teacher telling us corrections in her British accent, it’s everything I never want to lose. It felt so good.

I only made it through barre, though i still managed a compliment from the teacher. I sat in and watched a bit of center, but realized my mental clarity fading in increasing measure the more I sat there. I struggled to focus, and being a full class the studio was limited on space anyway.

I sat outside in the foyer for a bit, spoke to some of the parents I hadn’t seen in so long, gave my brain a rest so I could focus enough to drive home.

I miss it, y’all. I’m grateful to still get to teach, and to pop in when I’m able, but dang I miss it.

My friend is in town for the holiday and we met up on Wednesday to work on some choreography we’ve been toying with for a bit.

It felt so good to just be there, with really good music, and good company that understands how sacred that can be. My heart had yearned for this. It seemed to soar.

We were in the studio for about three hours, much of that I wasn’t dancing. Even though my heart was on cloud nine and I longed so much to just move to the music, reality is my body still sucks, and I need to be careful.

We got a good bit of choreography down solid, which is really exciting. It’s a song I’ve had from one of my absolutely favorite artists. She sent it her demo when I was going through a really rough time and it’s just really special to me. I waited for her new album to come out so I could openly use the song, but it didn’t make the cut.

Out of respect, I don’t want to post anything from it. It’s not my song and I don’t want it to get copied or stolen off the interwebz.

But the song still moves me, and I want to put movement to it. I recruited this friend because I love her style and think she could really grasp what it is the song makes us feel and give it an image through dance.

It felt so good to move. To express. To do the little bit I could let myself do and just go for it. Equally, it was so great to see how much my friend has grown in the time I’ve known her, and to hear stories of all she’s learning and really see the development in her character and art. She is living.

I’m still struggling from the exertion, but it was worth it. I’m taking class on Wednesday since it’s my friends first class, so hopefully that doesn’t end up being too much.

It’s crazy to see how fast my life turned to this from what it used to be.

I’ve got my kids recital costumes picked out and I’m working on picking music and trying to choreograph their stuff. That should be fun.

I’m currently wearing a heart monitor for the next two days to see if it picks up anything weird. I’m glad it’s only two days but also wish it were longer. I don’t know if anything will show up on my two most laid back days of this entire month, but oh well.

I’ll keep y’all updated.

In an effort to try and keep myself centered with all my usual methods having to be halted, I have begun meditating. Not extensively, just 3 minutes a day to sort of refocus my mind and keep myself out of the “dark place” as much as I can.

I’ve found it beneficial to the anxiety I’ve been feeling in increasing measure since being diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and also while trying to find a doctor that can tell me what else is wrong with me. It helps me to remind myself of the good things in life. That I may not have control of anything whatsoever, but that I’m alive and that is something. It helps remind me that I’m not alone in this fight, but that other wonderful people fight similar battles as me, and if they can fight so can I.

The other day, the person who leads the little sessions made a comment about the importance of beginnings. The irony of the timing was not lost on me, and I loved what he had to say. He mentioned that in meditation, the further people get along in it, the more difficulties they can find in focusing their minds. The way they remedy that is by remembering what it was like to be a beginner. To go back to when they didn’t know what to expect, when everything was new.

It’s like that in ballet. Sometimes you get past the “beginner’s rut” and start to get the hang of it all and you find yourself getting discouraged. You feel like you hit these plateaus and can’t get any farther. You start to doubt and struggle in a new way, thinking you’re not advancing fast enough or that the others around you are so much better than you. That you’ll never be that.

But you have to remind yourself of what it was to be a beginner. Of course when everything is new you’ll see improvement more often. It’s logical. Similar to babies seeming to grow so fast since there are so many milestones to be reached in the first few years. It can give the appearance that they don’t grow as much as they get older, but really it just isn’t as visible. Part of the growth comes in the enduring, sticking it out and not giving in or making rash decisions just to feel like something is happening.

Take a second. Remind yourself of what it was like to begin. When everything was new and exciting and also terrifying. Don’t forget how far you’ve come, and set goals for things still ahead, even if it’s something as seemingly simple as committing to a certain amount of classes a week or holding a releve passe for x amount of seconds.

This is what you dreamed of. You’re living it. It’s reality. Don’t let yourself forget how magical it al really is. ❤️

I wasn’t sure if I would get to post a blog with this title.

Yet, here I am, albeit very different from years past.

I hadn’t been in the downtown studio since the “great flood of 2017.” It’s known by many other names, most of which I won’t name here. Essentially, there was a really heavy rain back in June that inundated the sewers and flooded downtown in a few different ways. Our studio fell victim, and we ended up having to replace the floors and much of the furniture. Two rooms were spared, though we aren’t sure how. (No costumes were harmed.)

The new floor is incredible. Perfectly sprung and smooth, the creaky floors we used to know are now gone, and the different holes and divets have been removed and replaced.

It made me wish even more that I was able to dance the roles I could have had if my body wasn’t rejecting me, knowing that pirouettes would be perfection on this floor. On the same side of that coin, I am so grateful to be back in the company studio, a place that has begun to feel more like home than I ever expected. Especially since so much of what I know to be familiar has been destroyed or broken beyond repair, having these studios be exactly as I know them to be (or in this case, better, but with the essentials the same) has been good for my soul.

Much is different, though; I’m no longer considered company, many of my friends have graduated and aren’t there, I’m rehearsing with adults, some of whom have been doing this role since I was the age of the youngest party girls. I’m not in program pictures, the costumes actually fit me without alteration because they’re made for adult bodies, rehearsals are shorter and less than what I’ve been used to, dressing rooms will be different.

Yet, I’m still here. I’m still involved. I’m still getting to do something I love so much, in spite of the blows my health has thrown at me. I still get to put on a costume, get on stage, and perform. To say I’m grateful is such an understatement.

I have two party girls in my “family”, both of which are two of my “babies.” It makes me so happy getting to do this role with two of the younger girls that have already stolen a piece of my heart. I’m so excited.

We aren’t allowed to take pictures of rehearsals, but if I could have, I definitely would have gotten a picture from my perspective during the end of the scene when all the party girls dance a part with Clara. The girl that was running Clara that time is one of my assistants, and also has a piece of my heart. I’ve heard her tell me how she used to look up to the older girls, and how now she’s the older girl, and how she wants to be nice to the younger ones since she remembers what it was like. And I saw it. There was this moment where it hit me like a semi-truck loaded down with emotion. These younger girls, watching this beautiful, confident older girl, doing the same moves she was doing, but as different roles, in different shoes. Their eyes alight with the dreams of doing what she’s doing, her memories reflected in theirs as she truly lived in the moment.

And this was just a rehearsal.

I don’t cry, but if I did I would have been a blubbering mess in that moment.

I didn’t get any pictures of my costume, or anything from rehearsal except for the one with the puppy, Riley, that one of the other Party Mom’s brought.

When I walked in to the costume room, he was in his little bag. As soon as he saw me, his tail wagged like it would fly off his little body, and he was so excited he almost couldn’t stand it. At this point, I didn’t know who he belonged to, and I said, “Who’s puppy? I’m gonna pet it before he explodes!” and then when I found his owner and got permission, I picked him up as he licked my face and I melted into a puddle of cuteness.

I thought I saved the picture, but I guess I didn’t 😭

Instead, have a completely irrelevant, shameless plug for my shirts. 

Thank you to those who have placed orders already! This has been such an exciting adventure so far. Y’all make my heart so happy. 

Hopefully I’ll have pictures from rehearsal soon. I don’t believe I have rehearsals this weekend due to program pictures, but I need to look at my schedule before I miss something. That would be bad. 

The idea of making shirts and selling them has been something in my brain for over a year now. 

At first, I kept it to myself. I thought I was crazy. They’re just shirts, who would want these? I put it to the side, tried to put it out of my mind, but it kept coming back. 

Then I tried to convince myself out of it. Tried to tell myself it’ll never work because i don’t sell anything else that’s Ballet related and popular to sustain the shop. 

Still, this idea of a shirt about beginning was in my brain. It was important to me. Time and time again I hear of adults nervous to begin. Time and time again I remember how absolutely terrified I was to begin. And time and time again I was reminded of how freaking glad I am that I did. 

Beginning literally changed my life. I step back and think of what I would have if I didn’t dance, and I can’t imagine life without it. I have made some of the greatest friends through Ballet. I’ve learned so much about myself, about life, about interacting with people. Not to mentioned how much teaching the babies means to me. I’ve gotten to do things I never even dreamed would be possible, like perform.  

It started with a little dream that wouldn’t shut up. A dream I couldn’t ignore that has turned into everything I know now. And it all started with a beginning. 

A scary beginning. A beginning that made me shake. A beginning that held more happiness than I ever expected. A beginning that has left me with zero regrets. 

So whether this takes off and is super successful or whether it’s a casual thing, that doesn’t matter. 

It’s worth it. 

This shirt is for you. To remind you that beginnings are worth it. That if it’s not scary then it doesn’t hold as much value. If you’re afraid of it, you’re doing something right. 

I’m so proud of you all. 

And I am so grateful to have y’all as part of my life. Thank you for your support and faith in me. 

❤️❤️❤️

I had my appointment with the surgeon for my back on Friday. It was a 2 1/2 hour drive up there and equally as long back. The surgeon spoke to me for ten minutes, where he told me how I was too young and my body could fix itself still and how if I were his sister i wouldn’t suggest having surgery. 

I was prepared for him to say no, to say I was too young, but it was the way he spoke to me that made me choke up and lose my words out of panic and frustration. It’s as though someone took an eraser and wiped out my brain and all the words I had prepared. Fear came in and reminded me how I pressed for a surgery before and where that got me—permanently on medication just to be able to eat and function like a normal person. He told me that he was on opinion and if I wanted to push for the surgery he’d do it, but he did not recommend it. 

I did ask him if I spoke to my referring doctor and he wanted me to pursue surgery, would I be able to come back. He said no bridges were burned and he’d definitely operate on me. That we would have another meeting like this, regroup, and then schedule the surgery. 

I had my chiropractor appointment where I upstated my doctor on everything that went down. I told him what was said. I told him how I was frustrated. I told him how I got in my car, called my general practitioner, and made an appointment to try and get a referral to a cardiologist and see what I need to do about a rheumatologist. I told him how symptoms that seem to point towards POTS have been getting more defined, and how the more I look into it, the more I wonder if that’s where this chronic fatigue is stemming from. I told him how I’m not convinced i don’t have hEDS, even if it’s not as extreme as some others. I told him how my cousin has POTS, and I’ve confirmed two more relatives to have symptoms like we have. I told him how I wondered if it’s all related and if so would surgery actually make it worse if it’s caused by something like one of these things or something similar. 

He got silent, face lined as one is when deep in thought. Said a few “hmm’s” as he mulled over everything in his knowledge base. Then he replied with, “I’m going to have to ponder on this one.” 

I appreciate this. I appreciate that he didn’t just shoot out an answer to pacify me. That he’s going to dig more into it before replying. That how these things could possibly all be connected is something to consider. How he believes me. He hears me out, weighs it against the science, and then responds. 

Brain fog has been the realest it’s ever been the last few days, and heading into the baby class today had me a little nervous. I love them so much and I was hopeful they would behave. 

Most did, but enough of them were distracted and talking that it made the class more difficult than it needed to be. A few even got on to the “sad face list” where if you get your name on this list and gets two marks beside it, you don’t get a sticker. It makes it difficult to have to repeat myself, to not have the whole class keeping up with what’s going on, to lose their focus and end up having to show the same thing numerous times. The class is big and we’re still trying to find what fully works for us. 

At the end of class, I had them sit down in their lines and I got real. 

I asked them if they wanted to know why it’s so important that they follow the rules. Besides what it does for them, if they wanted to know why it’s important to me. I told them, “I’m really sick. I have a thing called chronic fatigue syndrome, and it makes me really tired all the time. That feeling you get when you’re really tired at night and just want to go to bed is how I feel when I wake up in the morning and have to get through the day. I explained how teaching is hard but I love them and I love to teach them. I told them that when they follow the rules it doesn’t make me feel as tired, but when I have to get onto them over and over it makes me more tired and makes me feel worse. 

By this point, they were all silent. They were actually listening. Every one of them. And before I could even finish one of them, the sweet one I made cry a few weeks ago when her name got put on the sad face list for talking (and who wasn’t talking this time) ran up to me and just hugged me. Her precious little heart couldn’t take hearing about me being sick without doing what she could to make me feel better. One by one, other girls stood up and did the same, their hearts overflowing. By the end of it, we were in a giant, 20 person group hug, one of them commenting at the end, “Ms. Emilee! We broke rule number three we were all touching each other! That’s not keeping our hands to ourselves!” High five, little one. I explained that at that moment it was okay and allowed. 

I love these kids. These 5-6 year olds are full of life. They’re funny and charming. A good deal of them are really focused and work hard, many of them are naturals. It fills my heart to overflowing to see them remember things I’ve told them in weeks past, in their “ready position” at the beginning, smiles on their faces. It makes me melt when they come up and I think they have a question but they just want to give me a hug. These kids keep me as well as I am. They give me a reason to get out of bed and keep trying. They keep me in the studio even if I can’t really dance. 

I hope they know how important they are, how loved they are. I hope they know the world is theirs, that they can dream big and achieve those dreams. That sometimes life is hard, but if you look around there’s reminders of how it’s still beautiful. I hope coming to class is something they look forward to, something they enjoy. 

I love these kids and how they’re so full of life. They’re fresh, they see the world in the best way. Even if some of them have had the world hand them a hard deal, they don’t hate it. They find the beauty through the pain. They feel the pain. They process it. It’s admireable. And I hope as they grow they remember how wanted and loved they are, how important they are. How they have something to offer the world. How their story matters. 

They remind me of why I’m still here. Of what part of my purpose, my story, is. 

I could never thank them enough for that. 

My first dance teacher, Jilissa, puts on an international dance festival annually. It’s hosted at our local university, growing and improving every year.

They have three nights of performances, Thursday’s and Friday’s being adjudicated for the gala performance on Saturday. Companies come in from all over to perform as well, and the adjudicated performances are for the choreographers, making it an exciting weekend of dance. We also have all types of dance styles, from the typical to the traditional to fusions of everything in between.

Continue reading Bailando International Dance Festival.