tiny dancer

Well, I’m ready to go. Leaving the city for the evening, I’m homeward bound to see my former students perform their dance recital. It’s official. This is the first night in my lifetime of dancing I’ve ever watched them as a member of the audience and not side-stage, headset on, manning last minute costume alterations and lipstick catastrophes. Oh yes, I will sob like a proud mama from front-row-center.

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It hurts to remember where I was exactly one year ago today. Weak, worn, crumbling – waiting for the phone to ring. Even in the throws of it, dance was the only thing that transcended and made me feel alive. Powerful and freeing, it kept me in a forward momentum when the force inside was threatening to tear me down completely. I miss ballet, I really do. But I don’t feel sad. I refuse to give it that merit. Nothing was stolen from me and everything happens the way it is supposed to. No number of pirhouettes can compare to the literal and figurative gains I have made this year. And in my heart I’ll always be Miss Alex – student, teacher, ballerina.

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