Once you dance, it’s always in your blood. But I miss it, and that feeling is undeniable.
Doing pirouttés in your kitchen just doesn’t suffice when all you want is an empty studio and time to yourself. I miss the smell of my old high school’s theater backstage, 2-second costume changes, sweaty practices, and my screaming coach. Dancing the sidelines at Friday night football games, those were the glory days. I can still feel my nerves of stepping onto the floor of my first competition and standing spotlight on my first solo. But what’s even less familiar now, are the days of just starting out in dance. Just a naive toddler with a big cheesy smile and the eagerness to attend class. Where I was still learning all the bizarre French dance terms, where I wore cute tutus and an XS leotard, and where I saw my grandma who is passed away now, cheer me on from front row at all my recitals.
Those days are unfamiliar but somehow still a part of me.
Doing leaps across my house isn’t the same when there’s no ballet shoes on my feet and I’m landing on tile instead of Marley. The endless amount of glitter that was always stuck to my skin after a performance, that’s all gone. So is the blood from my pointe shoes and the headaches caused from a million bobby pins jabbed in my bun. The traveling involved with dance, and the hilarious stories I have of the absolute worst and best times, they’re gone, but the memories still live. The new friends I’m making now don’t compare to the unbreakable bond I had with my dance posy. But we’re all gone, and we went separate ways. We’re moving on, because that’s what life does to us.
Those friends seem unfamiliar now but are somehow still a part of me.
Songs on the radio have different meanings to dancers. Every song you hear reminds you of that certain dance, even if it was from ten years ago. You remember what costume you wore, who your teacher was, and can still even break out some of the choreography. But it’s not the same when you’re doing the choreography in your head instead of on stage. I subconsciously do “8 counts” and wish I was still that little girl in the tutu. But I know that little girl transformed into a high school girl who matured—and that girl, well now she’s a college girl who looks back and smiles. I know dance was a major part of my life, sometimes I want to relive it.
Those wants to relive that life are familiar and still a part of me.
I miss the contagious laughter of acting up in rehearsal, and the silly things I always did before a performance. The nasty smell of the football players after the game, and the nasty smell of my feet after taking off my jazz shoes. Telling people “I’ve been dancing for twelve years” instead of saying “I used to dance.” I miss feeling the music within me and being sore every day. I miss hearing my dad’s voice out of everyone in the crowd, screaming my name, my mom’s cute good luck notes, and my little sister always being there to support me.
Those feelings are familiar and still a part of me.
I still point my toes, and cringe when I see a sickled foot. I still love to stretch out of habit and vicariously live my life through every So You Think You Can Dance dancer. I still do random arabesques and get the weirdest looks. I understand all the terminology in Dance Moms and still get infuriated and defensive when I hear people mistake dancers for cheerleaders. These things come naturally because dance was a life that I was accustomed to. I have a confidence that glows inside of me because of dance. Memories that will last for a lifetime, and the flexibility of a pretzel. Nothing’s changed except for the fact that I’ve grown up. I haven’t grown out of it, because it’s grown within me. Just because I’m not performing anymore or practicing five days a week, I know I’m still a dancer. Dance is an art that once freed my soul and allowed me to express myself. It was one of the best things in my life, and I’ve realized that. My passion for it burns like the spotlight, but I don’t always need the big stage and roaring crowd. In fact, I don’t even need my ballet shoes. I don’t need choreography, my sparkly makeup, or even music. Sometimes, I just need to do it—aywhere at anytime. And dancers, present and past need to always remember;
Once you’re a dancer, you’re always a dancer. Those days will always be a part of you.