The Words Still Move Me

When I was eight years old, there was no doubt in my mind: I was going to be a professional ballerina. Buns and leotards, studios and stages, costumes and makeup, all of it made me feel important, talented and part of something bigger. I loved it when my toes would wiggle their way out of a worn technique shoe--evidence of my hard work. The glorious, constant ache of sore calf muscles, the hard earned blisters I equated with battle wounds and the lingering smell of sweaty studios were things I cherished. Even now my heart has begun to glow over the memory of the exuberant joy that accompanies a perfectly twirled triple pirouette. Whether in the cool morning of a Saturday rehearsal or under the lights of a final performance, there is something undeniably sublime about dance. I wish you could feel how fast my heart is beating just sifting through my memories alone in my bedroom.

I am in the middle, and Jess is on the right. Those velvet green leos were awesome.

As time passed, my determination to be a ballerina held strong. My young mind didn't once consider any sort of practicalities. I had no notion of tuition fees, audition requirements or proper body types, I just knew I loved to dance. It wasn't until high school that I began to realize how far out my dream really was. There was no great defining moment that I can recall, rather it just slowly settled in that my dancing days would most likely close with my graduation. My ballet career ended up closing even sooner than that. I couldn't tell you what pushed me in, but I found myself in a rut at the opening of my junior year. Overall, I was still a happy, bubbly teenager, but something about ballet just wasn't the same. My enthusiasm for the art waned as I felt I was digressing rather than progressing in my abilities. Pirouettes became near impossible, I couldn't remember position names and I felt like the bottom of my class. Bad dance days were normal, but I was having weeks of them in row. Then it all came to a climaxed with Nutcracker auditions.

Despite my rut, I was fairly confident walking into the audition. My placement in the upper level class was promising and I had enjoyed a role en pointe the year before. So when Golda texted me to ask if I'd looked at the casting list yet, my heart shattered as I had to text back and say I had, but my name wasn't on it. Even once the tears stopped, there was an aching throb in my chest for weeks. Perhaps my reaction seems melodramatic, but I was crushed to not be apart of the pure magic of the Nutcracker. Not to mention the humiliation of having to face all my dance friends the next day and then week after week as they prepared for the show. Any mention of the performance felt like a knife in my chest.

I did my best to smile and be happy for my friends. And really I was. I held no animosity towards them, they deserved all the glitter and adoring audiences coming their way. It just really hurt that I wouldn't be apart of it. I worked hard the rest of that dance year, hardly ever missing a class despite how many times I cried in frustration on the way home. But I knew I was done. The decision to quit my senior year was not without some pain, but it was easy.

Besides ballet classes, I was luckily enough to dance with the Davis High Dance Company my junior and senior year. What a life molding experience that was. So many beautiful moments backed by stressful rehearsals and long hours. The climax of this experience was much more pleasant than at Clytie Adam's School of Ballet(who I still love and recommend wholeheartedly by the way:)). Our Spring Concert was one the most emotion packed, beauty riddled, exciting nights of my life. To dance along 29 of your closest friends to your own creations is its own breed of exquisite joy. I wrote a 'Dancer's Note' to be put in the programs accompanying the performance. These passages are something I don't ever want to lose. I've posted them below as I feel they are the best, most genuine expression of my feelings as a dancing senior.

A Dancer's Note

I have repeatedly stretched my mind trying to write a few lines that could adequately describe to you the process our Company underwent as we sought to discover tonight’s concert. I quickly realized, however, that this endeavor of mine might be near impossible. After all, this evening’s performance is the culmination of months filled with near breakdowns, confusion, and exhaustion. But before you get too concerned, please note that each of those breakdowns led to new breakthroughs. That confusion fostered creativity. Our exhaustion was fashioned into enlightenment. Those experiences will now be conveyed to you, as we present the results.

Our theme tonight, as I’m sure you are aware, is Words that Move Us. Each choreographer was assigned a quote and then asked to study it. Each was able to establish a personal connection within their quote and then worked to sculpt that inspiration into movement. Because of this, our pieces’ this evening are not composed of dancers moving to words, but rather words moving dancers. These phrases have us lightheartedly twirling through Paris one minute, and struggling through heart-breaking trials the next.

We, the Davis High Dance Company, now invite you to add your energy and experiences into this theater for the next 2 hours. As we let words move us, please let us move you. Let us move your emotions in way that will be memorable long past your exit from this auditorium. Let our art, in the words of Pablo Picasso, ‘wash away from the soul the dust of everyday life.’ And, if (or when) that dust again beings to settle, we invite you to remember the words that moved us. 

Those words still move me.

Photos taking by the fabulous Kelly Oram during Junior year