The glistening lights lick at my feet as I step next to the curtain, anticipating the sound of my name over the booming speakers. With each passing second the bright beams attempt to reveal me to a waiting audience, and they frantically crawl up my body as I step onto the stage. The adrenaline rushing through my veins has my heart beating in my ears and beads of sweat forming on my palms. The music seems unwilling to release its first note, leaving me face to face with the audience, alone. I wish desperately that I had made a different decision, and fight the urge to scurry back into the safety of the curtains on the side of the stage. Suddenly the familiar sound of a piano envelops the theater, and I’m moving. The faces staring back at me are no longer daunting. I demand their attention, filling the stage with my presence. I’m gasping for breath as I complete the last sequence of movements, and then it’s over. I leave my gaze with the audience until the last possible moment, when the lights release their hold on me and I disappear.
As a dancer, I live for those few opportunities that allow me three minutes to showcase myself. Following months of intense training and choreographing, the stage reveals evidence of my improvements, my strengths, and my weaknesses. Countless hours of hard work culminate into a brief performance, and those hours become worth it. At times, I wish to be a different kind of artist, for dance allows you no mementos. I have no sheets of music, no paintings, and no sculptures. I only have the exhilarating feeling that consumes me when I am onstage, and eventually that dissipates. It is impossible to capture the true essence of dance outside of those theater walls. It isn’t tangible, and it can’t be contained in a book or a drawing. It is merely a succinct state of being that keeps dancers coming back. It is electrifying and entangling, drawing me back every time.
I choose to devote a great deal of my time to dance for those micro-moments. For the opportunity to remember why I’ve continued to dance for so many years. For the opportunity to push myself further every time. For the opportunity to relish in the blindingly bright lights of the stage. For the view of a crowded theater. For the feel of the worn, Marley flooring underneath my feet. For the opportunity to make someone else feel something. For the opportunity to better know myself. And for those moments, I am forever indebted to my art form. Those moments inspire me to push myself harder, both physically and emotionally. They motivate me to devote more hours to perfecting my craft. But mostly, they flood me with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment, and for that, I know that I’ll never stop chasing those moments.