She as eccentric boots and chaotic moods; She is the ocean and the stars, head somewhere with the moon. Her clothes are wildflowers and weeds; she takes what others don't need. One man's trash is another man's treasure, her prize. Gold is worthless as dirt, and things go missing, and she's the culprit. Her hair is messy and wavy as the sea, something wild, something free. She has no anxiety. She dances for the sun and sleeps on the grass, she doesn't mind those who pass, secretly they're jealous because she's zealous as they wish they could be. She dies on hills and hasn't any plains of compromise. Her eyes are fire and passion, nothing is a passing fancy or fashion. Her mind is a maze; her mind is an abyss. She gets lost there yet knows her way around. Her thoughts twist and turn and dive down deep, a brutal pace no one else has dared to keep. Her home is cozy and chaotic, just messy enough. She creates with her hands and innovates through her days, keeping storms at bay. She loves as big as the sky and as deep as the ocean. You will always be wanted, always cared for. There's music in her heart and soul like a siren's song. She plays her music from her heart. She writes poetry as her soul on paper. Those who pass think she's something strange, she needs to change. She ought to brush her hair and tame the fire in her eyes. She's tried that. The fire in her eyes keeps her alive. Her dreams are defiant and far away, filled with adventure. This young woman wants to see everything, learn everything, be everything. She wants to be someone, but not just anyone. She wants to be her, to inspire, to spark wonder. She wants to be a legend. She wants to be normal and have a little cottage and garden. She also wants to be a mermaid and a pirate and queen, someone's dream. Many say she's weird, in a good way, in a bad way. Doesn't matter. She's young, she's old, generic, strange... Doesn't matter. Anything but average. Average, mediocre, it's all the same: not destined for greatness. Let her go, let her float away in dreams, in her mind, weightless. Let her soar, let her fly, let her explore, let her be more. She runs with the currents and the breeze, climbing limbs and topping trees. The ocean is her friend and forest is her brother. Freedom of birds... her ultimate dream. A life of color on a blank canvas, never average, never a black and white existence. Clean lines or paint splotches, just never a black and white existence, never mind the shadows, they're a part of life, same as the light. Use all the colors, the whole palette, never mind the mistakes, they're part of life, same as the light. Let her go with the breeze and the birds, let her swim against the current. She loves this freedom, it's part of her fire. She is different, but alas, to be different is to be free. And this woman, she is me.

I have autism. I didn't know until I was 17. From a young age, I couldn't speak in certain situations, typically when I thought I might get in trouble. Making my face form words was impossible. If I did speak, it was the faintest whisper. If not speaking, it was a nod or even sign language. Shame keeps my mouth shut. If I might get in trouble, it's best to be invisible so says my nervous system. Around new people, especially people in positions of authority, I can only whisper or nod. I've always been shy, and I do have anxiety, with freezing being my default response. Being autistic, I know I'm socially inept. I'm far better writing than I am speaking. Additionally, eye contact is diabolical. It is one of the most uncomfortable things I know of, especially with strangers. I can make some eye contact with people I know, but it still feels vulnerable. Since my first year at college, I've become more assertive and let go of some of the shame that keeps me silent. In my life, I will have to speak up and stand up and have confrontations. For most of my life I have been a doormat, partially due to my selective mutism. Now, I am completely and utterly done with it. Fear still tries to keep my mouth shut, but I am pushing back more and more. I am not powerless. High education is the key to this world. If you want to go far, you have to be educated in something and educated well. Operating at a high level is essential as there are thousands of other people who do what you do, and you have to do it better in some capacity, because it is a competition. Competition is something I get honest, and it does get me out of my shell and overcomes silence. More than likely, I'm the competitor people won't see coming. I am generally quiet and keep to myself, but I am an academic weapon. Education breeds confidence, the confidence necessary to conquer silence. This combined with my neurodivergence means I have the potential to be disgustingly educated because it's more than just classes, I need to know the why's and how's and in's and out's. I adore learning. I need to know; it keeps me awake at night. On top of this, I love teaching. In order to teach you have to speak up. And for that, one needs confidence, and confidence comes from education. Education has the potential to push one out of silence. Knowledge is in fact power.

This past January, in the late hours of Wednesday 29th, a plane flying from Wichita, Kansas to Washington, D.C. crashed into a helicopter over the Potomac River. No one aboard either aircraft would survive, including my late uncle, Brian Ellis. At 53, he was still fit and healthy and should have lived many more years, but life dealt him a cruel hand. Seconds away from landing, the helicopter collided with the place, killing everyone instantly. Knowing where his seat was, I at least have peace of mind that he was almost a far away from the collision as he could have gotten, and death was swift. No one froze or drowned. A quick death is a strange mercy, but one I hope we all get. Though Uncle B's death was premature, but I have comfort in knowing death's action was swift. I learned of my uncle's passing the following day, around 5:23pm. I was getting ready for salsa club; it was a normal day. I'd seen the news earlier, but only thought, "oh, gosh, another tragedy." The moment I answered the phone, something seemed wrong. I asked about my grandparents, my siblings, the dogs... It was my uncle. Of all people, it was my uncle. Grief clocked instantly. I don't much remember the walk from my dorm to the student rec center across campus. These deaths shouldn't have happened, was the only thing I thought at first, and still what I think now, though now, it's not the only thing. Now I know, truly, that we cannot predict the future. We do not know how much time we have and have left. Every single one of us is on the clock, and at some point, that time will run out. Life, whether you like it or not, is fleeting. With that being said, what we do matters. How spend our time matters. People say time is money, but it's so much more than just coins. Your bank account doesn't follow you to your grave, neither does your car, your accolades, your job, and everything else. Life is worth living. A 9 to 5 is not all there is. A nice car is not all there is. Everyone asks "what is the meaning of life?" but the answer to that is easy: love. We do things because we love to do them, or we love doing them for people we love. The meaning of life is love and all there is is this moment. We have only this moment to live and also to love. There is no fasting forward or pause button, it's just now. Just now to love. My uncle lived a life in love. Despite, his early departure, I have no doubt his last seven minutes on this earth, when his life flashed before his eyes, he saw love, from his sons, from his brother and sister, his parents, his nieces and nephews, and his friends. Everyone may say 'carpe diem': seize the day, but I say 'carpe momentum' and 'carpe armorem.'

High school is hard. I made it harder. At the end of my junior year of high school, I experienced honest to God burnout. That word gets chucked around quite often and had become synonymous with general fatigue. This was not that. I had lost weight, about ten pounds by the end of the year, mostly during April and May. My head hurt; my body hurt; my mental health was in shambles. During the year, I was pulling eighteen-hour days just to get everything done. This was the hardest academic year I'd done to date, and on top of that, I am a serious dancer. Many, many hours outside of school were spent at a studio. I was also a band kid. The only junior in a section full of freshman. It was not uncommon for me to leave the house about seven-thirty a.m., come back briefly to slip into a leotard and tights, go to class, and come home about eight-thirty or nine p.m. The breaking down portion started in late March. My stamina started failing the week before spring break, and I found myself sitting down for the last part of class. This would occur more before the year finally ended. I do not remember much of April, mostly just prepping for the AP Language exam. May comes with testing season, and I barely make it out alive. I had four consecutive days of testing: English Part 1 and 2, Algebra II, US History, and the SAT. At this point, my mental health was really beginning to suffer, and depressive episodes were frequent. My anxiety was also obscenely high, which curbed my appetite, hence the ten lost pounds. The second week of May was the last week I had anything to do, just the AP Language Exam and a culinary presentation. The exam was Tuesday, May 9th, and I woke up at five-thirty a.m. instead of my usual six a.m. stressing about pencils. What if all of them break during the exam? What if I run out of eraser? WHAT IF I RUN OUT OF TIME??!!?!?!?! We ended up writing the essays in pen. Of course. An odd little side story, probably worth being struck out, however, this is where my mental state was. Anyhow, I passed with a 4 on the exam. My culinary presentation should have been a breeze, and it almost was. I had all the ingredients that I could prep at home ready to go in advance. However, when I got into class to actually start cooking, I found out my flour mixture had been left at home. A slip of the mind: not common to me. I started crying and prepped the flour mix at school. Crying: also not common. In the end, everything turned out fine and dandy. I finished the year with all A's, as usual, yay me. I was not out of the woods yet, not even close. My mind was shot. My ability to care had been completely annihilated, and my mental health was the worst it had ever been. I was completely exhausted in all capacities. That summer was straight hell, and I don't mean the temperature. I look at the drawings of that time, and I see suicidal ideation. I wanted the pain to stop. I saw death as an out. I am just now realizing how bad this actually was. Now, I say, "Never again." Never again will I sacrifice my health in any capacity just for the "almighty" A. No part of me is worth a 4.0. No job, no test, no grade. Never again.

In my elementary school gym, there was a sign that said, "Everything I learned in life, I learned in PE." That sign is wrong. Everything I've learned can be accredited to my various arts education, from middle and high school band to ballet and poetry. Most of the way I am is due to the arts, starting with band and moving to dance. I will ever out do my fundamentals. It started with scales and Remmingtons but quickly expanded to plies and school. Basic math, grammar, technique in anything is the foundation. You can't build effectively on an unfirm foundation. Consistency is the highest form of excellence. Anyone can do anything good once. A truly great technician will be able to replicate results again and again. Consistency is also the key to growth and the afore mentioned excellence. I didn't go from barely touching my knees in a forward fold to putting my palms on the floor by magic or overnight. It was work. Embrace the suck. Attending marching band rehearsals in July and August with the heat and humidity sucked. But I became a significantly better musician. Going to ballet classes sore and tight from the day before, blisters from pointe shoes, and long hours after school and work sucked. Anyone who has ever pursued ballet with the intent of going professional knows how grueling the dance world is, even in a healthy environment. Ballet can and does break people... But it's part of the process. I have logged over one thousand hours in the span of three years, and my growth has been tremendous. Perfection is our standard; excellence is our goal. Perfection is impossible to reach. It just is. There's always something that could be done better: more dynamic contrast, crisper transitions, more this, better that. The list goes on. We know perfection is unreachable, so the goal is excellence. We train as if perfection is attainable. We reach higher and higher, aiming for that flawless performance, ending up with excellence. Everything I learned in life: discipline, quality work, patience, tenacity, determination, and perseverance, I learned in the arts. These pursuits have shaped me into the person I am today. Even if one does not make a career out of it, the lessons learned can be applied wherever your life takes you. The arts build the most tenacious and ambitious people on this planet, and I am ineffably proud to be one of them.

I am a business major, however my passion is dance. I did not start ballet until I was sixteen. That is egregiously late. Very few who start that late will make it professionally. In this case, I'm with the majority. I will not make, so I'll teach instead. Kids like me often get pushed to the side and treated as we're less than just because we didn't start "on time." With my business degree, I want to create my own program or have my own studio, for ALL who want to dance. Whether you're four or forty, skinny and long limbed or stocky and short limbed, white or dark skinned. Age isn't the only limitation plaguing aspiring dancers. The ballet world is seemingly stuck in the past, but there's hope for it yet as it is evolving slowly. In many places, there's a "correct" body type and skin color. It's not uncommon to see and hear of dancers counting and curbing calories to achieve the rail-thin body that's held in such high esteem. Dancers of color are both loudly and quietly discriminated against. "Have you ever seen a black Clara in The Nutcracker?" All of these dancers deserve a chance. They deserve performance opportunities. They deserve to put on a tutu, stage makeup, and wait in the wings. They deserve to glow in the stage lights and feel like dancers. Personally, I didn't consider myself a dancer until I'd been dancing, quite seriously I might add, for three years. I didn't feel like I was good enough. I couldn't get my leg high enough. I wasn't flexible enough. My technique still left quite a bit of room for improvement and still does. All dancers deserve to feel like they're actually dancers. It is my aspiration to give all these dancers an equal opportunity to achieve what they want, including a professional career. The only thing I expect of them is that they show up, stay consistent, and most importantly, try. The ballet world is a grueling place, and I'd like to make it slightly more welcoming and warm. To be a great dancer, it will take everything you have and then some. Certain days, putting on your leotard and tights will be the hardest thing you do. But if I can smile, give good corrections and encouragement, give them someone to believe in them, then my dancers will be unstoppable.

Everyone wants this world to be a better place. Everyone thinks that it takes something big to change the world. I find this to be partially true. Sometimes, a big movement is needed to facilitate change, but this is not often the case. J.R.R Tolkien wrote, "Some believe it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. It is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love." We've heard it so many times, I fear it's a broken record now, but it's the small things. It is. Small acts of kindness to others have the potential to completely turn someone's day around. It becomes a domino effect, and your kindness will eventually find its way back to you. I operate by the phrase 'don't pay it back, pay it forward.' I heard this from a lady at the DMV while getting my learner's permit. There was a ten-dollar fee, but my mother found herself unprepared (for reference, I am a triplet) as she was paying for three. The lady paid the leftover ten and refused to be paid back. It was a small thing, but I remember. Between this and my own experiences, especially working in retail, I have decided to care about people. The word sonder comes to mind. Sonder is the realization that everyone around you is living a life just as complex as your own. Everyone is stressed. Everyone has their plate full and needs a little more sleep. My personal mission is to see the person in front of me, regardless of how they treat me. I see invisible people. I try to ask the underpaid cashier how they are before they ask me. I say good morning, good afternoon, good night, enjoy your day. I say hello and please and thank you. As I'm writing this, I realize the world would be a better place if everyone used their manners and depended less on emotion. Being angry or upset doesn't give you the right to treat people poorly. Another bit of this, aside from just being a decent human being, is accountability. NOT turning a blind eye when one person treats another unkindly. Calling people on their nonsense is nerve-wracking, but it's something we all ought to get over. Offending people is not that big of a deal if it's done in favor of kindness. Another piece is compassion. Again, sonder, there's a human being in front of you. As previously stated, everyone is worried about something and has something going on. We need more empathy and compassion and patience with each other. Don't give that food service worker flack because they ran out of ketchup or your food is taking a while to come out because of the dinner rush. So many things are not worth the emphasis we put on them because they're THINGS. The emphasis should be put on the person in front of you. Care about and respect them as human being because at the end of the say, we're all just trying to make it in this world.

Kindness is a luxury to some. Love is conditional to some. A good performance is a must. Every human being has limitless intrinsic value, yet we seldom believe it. We take our worth as how we are treated, usefulness, if we please people, etc. We are not another person's perception. Every human is worth more than I can possibly put into words in an essay. Every human has a spark and these qualities that are all their own regardless of how others feel about us. I'm dragging myself out of the hole that is people pleasing and placating. I'm finding myself for the first time, seeing myself without judgement and guilt and the lenses that were forced on me. James Baldwin puts it best, "It took many years of vomiting up all the filth I'd been taught about myself, and half believed, before I was able to walk on this earth as though I had a right to be there." I believe that others have intrinsic value, but I don't believe it about myself. I am worth the dreams I aspire to achieve simply because I am a human being. I am unique. I am the only one of me that has ever and will ever exist. No one will see the world as I do, think like I do, have the same sense of humor. In the words of Lin Manuel Miranda, "I am the one thing in life I can control... I am inimitable; I am an original." I am the only thing I can control. Other people's opinions, perceptions, and thoughts are out of my wheelhouse. If they think me of lesser value, that's their prerogative, and I'm not responsible. There's only one of me, and I have my own dreams. No one has my dreams but me. I am worthy of them simply by being human. Humans are amazing. No other species on earth can do what we do. Animals are intelligent, but they can't reason and innovate like we can. We are all brilliant in our own ways. Someone had to think of everything around us. Someone had to come up with an idea. Are dreams not just ideas? I have an idea. I have so many ideas, ranging from the simplicity of poetry lines to my dreams. These dreams are not simply a figment of my mind; these are yearnings. These things are in my soul. I had to let go of my initial dream, so my new dream is to prevent that from happening to others. I want to turn yearnings into reality. I am worthy of them simply by being me. I am also worthy of them due my unique experience and motivations. No one can tell me I am not worthy, especially of my yearnings.

I think I've always had anxiety; I stressed about all different things since I was little. I was scared of the weather and my mom driving fast (the speed limit) on the highway. Upon discovering the existence of black widow spiders, I hardly let my feet touch the ground for days, tossing and turning in bed to "keep an eye out" for it. Anxiety runs on my mother's side of the family; I have it, my sisters have it, my mother has it, her mother has it, and so on. Despite growing up with these experiences, I wasn't officially diagnosed and medicated until after my junior year of high school. I really didn't want to have to be medicated, however, it ended up being a wise choice. Junior year had done a number on me, most notably causing me to lose ten pounds over the course of year. My stomach had been messed up for years, and I'd seen two doctors for it with less than satisfactory results. Upon being medicated, my symptoms just vanished. As far as social anxiety goes, I don't like people as a whole, and I am not terribly social. I have my circle of close friends, but I'm on the shy side as well as neurodivergent. I don't generally give out hugs much unless I'm quite close with the person, needless to say family gatherings can be a bit of a burden as I'm hugging and talking to people I've never met. I hate it when people force themselves on me in any capacity. A side effect of the neurodivergence is I can be varying degrees of awkward in conversation, say things that are inappropriate in one capacity or another. Unfortunately, I'm not so awkward so that I don't know how awkward I am, so I can feel the shift in the mood when I say something wrong. Generally, I have a decent knowledge of what should and shouldn't be said, but there's a lot of gray area that I'm not sure about. When I say something wrong, I want to take it back immediately. Worse, the people who know I'm not normal don't have grace for it. The moments like this live in my head rent free. While my anxiety can make it hard to live life, I have to overcome it to be successful. I have to meet people, make phone calls, speak up for myself, etc. This is part of getting a college degree whether I like it or not. I want to tiptoe, walk on eggshells, try and be invisible, be the quiet good kid, but that's not going to get me anywhere. I need a college degree to do what I want to do and to learn the hard and soft skills that I'll need for life. I've actually enjoyed college and meeting other people despite the stress. College is more than just passing classes; you learn things about life in college. To let anxiety rule my life would be doing myself a disservice now and in the future. Anxiety or no, I want to live my life.

Chappell Roan fits no mold. Being a queer woman from a small, conservative town, she knows what it's like to not fit the mold of the perfect, feminine, church girl who makes her parents proud. I was that girl. Born in Georgia, most of my relatives and family are conservative Christians, which isn't necessarily a bad thing... until we start condemning people who believe different than us. I am the golden child, and I have tried to fit this mold until it broke me in the aftermath of junior year high school. My give a fig (RIP 2005-2024) had a very limited time on this earth after that. Going off to college also proved to be a formative experience when my cares officially kicked the bucket, and I found my voice. I know my mind plenty, but after shoving my heart into locked box for years, I've let it out. I'm trying to get to know my heart and let it heal. Being from a southern conservative family, there are things we just don't do, don't associate with, etc. There is a very defined mold that I have forsaken fitting. I am southern, and I love my roots, but I will not let myself be defined by a mold again. I want to be myself. Chappell Roan is herself. I love the song "Pink Pony Club" because the person in the song is breaking this stereotypical mold of what his/her thought they ought to be. She still loves her family, but she has to be herself. Chappell Road is breaking down barriers like nobody's business. She sets boundaries with fans unapologetically. I love the way she presents herself with the bold makeup and bushy flaming red hair. Her makeup looks like the Mad Hatter in the 2010 movie, and I mean that in the best way possible. He's one of my favorite characters. Chappell Roan's music in and of itself is fabulous, but it's also unlike anything I've ever heard before. She is undeniably herself coming from an environment where who she is isn't ok, and that makes me feel brave, like maybe I can be brave enough to be myself regardless of everyone else. Maybe I can be brave enough to just exist as myself and let myself be.

I am a dancer. I didn't start until I was sixteen, though. Originally, I was supposed to major in dance, but I have since swallowed the pill that my going professional is not in the cards. Instead, I wish to help the kids like me succeed whether it's joining a professional company, freelance, or teaching. Ideally, I'd like to create a program specifically for kids like me. It'd be grueling, as the dance world is, but it will be worth it. I will believe in the kids that no one else will. Weakness is something I hate. It's something I'm not allowed to have. I am to be pleasant and energized in all manners at all times. I cannot have a bad day or be fatigued when I don't work a nine to five. Fatigue has qualifications. As does rest. Junior year of high school went something like this: wake up at 6A.M., leave for school about 7:30-45, get home from school 4:15ish, dance at 5:00 or 5:30, home between 8:30-9:00P.M. Eat dinner, homework, shower, fall into bed around midnight. Turns out eighteen-hour days aren't sustainable long term, especially when you're not eating because stress is curbing your appetite. The term "burnout" gets thrown around a lot these days, but this wasn't a casual "I just need a day" or "I just need a good night's rest." Going into the first week of April, my body started signaling me that this was not working. I couldn't make it through a ballet class, and I'd already lost about three pounds. The fact that it was last ballet class before spring break should have been a good thing. I should have been able to rest. Nope- college visits. I did enjoy them, and I now attend one of the colleges I toured, but at the time, it's not what I needed. I don't remember much of April, just that I got through it and the fatigue was hitting hard. May hit like a ton of bricks. The first week was testing, and I had four consecutive days of testing including the SAT. The next Tuesday was the AP Language exam that I was supremely stressed out about. At this point, I really started to spiral. My head hurt; my body hurt; I couldn't make it through a full ballet class; my mental health was declining rapidly. The last thing I had to do for the year: a presentation on South Korea including food preparation for my culinary class. After preparing everything, something went wrong, causing a minor breakdown in class. I don't have breakdowns in class. The fragility of my emotions was another signal that things weren't working. I looked up the symptoms of burnout: anxiety, depression, headaches, body aches, poor sleep, changes in appetite, I crossed off every single one. I made it through the rest of the year, but I was nowhere near out of the woods. I still continued on, as a shell, trying to rebuild. Almost two years later, I'm still feeling the effects. The ten pounds I lost are still off. I'm now on anxiety meds, one of the few good things to happen afterwards. I have no more cares left to give. The worst part of the aftermath was the loss of my faith. It crashed and burned, and I haven't any fuel to feed it. Now, all I have are cold ashes, not even a flint to start another fire. Suicidal ideation was my companion that summer. I'm in a better place now, but I'm still recovering. I guess it's a good thing I'm stubborn.

My why is everyone who hasn't started YET. Maybe they're ten and just discovered ballet. Maybe they're fourteen and think it's too late. Maybe they never tried. My why is for them. I am my why with them. I didn't discover ballet until thirteen and didn't get into a legitimate ballet class until sixteen. At eighteen, I swallowed the pill that I would never go professional. It broke my heart. Sometimes it still does. I wanted it beyond words. I wanted it with something so deep inside, I'm not even sure what to call it. I wanted it ineffably. Now, I'm doing this for the thirteen-year-old me and every other child who discovered dance, especially ballet, late. I'm minoring in dance and majoring in business for all of the kids like me. I want to create a program for all the late starters. It will be grueling, but it will be worth it. It's mentally in the works, but I've imagined it like this thus far: three hours in the studio on weekdays to start, ballet, strengthening, and stretching to get their technique up and get their body used to it. They will be consulted one on one for their individual journey, whatever that looks like. Wellness will especially be taken into account. I will teach them how to move and use their bodies, but also care for them, fuel them, and recover. Ultimately, what the students will need is consistency. Consistency is the highest form of excellence. It truly is key. The students need hours and hours in the studio doing basics before they can do anything. Basics are monotonous and boring, yes, but that's the foundation. I wouldn't be able to dance at all if I couldn't do a plie or a tendu. It also has to be enjoyable. After mastering the basics of ballet, I want to keep building on that but also branch out into other styles: jazz, contemporary, musical theater, improvisation, etc. I want all students to experience everything, and I want them to choose their paths, whether that's joining a ballet company, a contemporary company, freelance work, teaching... That list could quite literally go on forever. The dance world has so much to offer from formal dance to social dance to competitions to companies to culture, and I want them to have it all. Over the years, I have done jazz and contemporary in addition to ballet. After going to college, I found salsa, bachata, and merengue, and I am IN LOVE (again). The world is their oyster, and I want to crack it wide open for them and give them every opportunity from performances, competitions, private lessons, coaching, and just someone to believe in them. A little encouragement can go a long way. After every class, I will always tell everyone, "Good job today." They are putting in time and effort and that is worth more money than this world can offer, and I have to acknowledge that. I want to give just as many compliments as corrections. Last, and most importantly, I want them to enjoy it. The dance world is brutal, and many environments are unhealthy. Even in a healthy place, some days are going to royally suck. Somedays, it's going to take everything you have just to get dressed and do your hair. I want to give them my best always. I want to create combinations they like doing that are good for their technique. I want to take a few minutes here and there to goof around and joke for a second. I want them to just dance on the days that they're stressed and trying too hard. I want to tap into themselves and get their hearts involved. I want to see smiles as they're airborne in a saut de chat or watch them hold their balance after a pirouette with an amazed look on their face. I want to see their faces light up with every accomplishment, big and small, from splits to first place to contracts. I want my studio to be radiant with joy. Dance has been one of the greatest joys in my life, and I have to share it. I will share my dream and give every dancer, big and small, one of the greatest pleasured on this earth.

Ballet chooses you. It's statistically impossible to become a dancer, yet we all believe we're the exception. I know I'm not the exception. Thirteen-year-old me wanted it more than anything; fourteen-year-old me got started; fifteen-year-old me held on to a dream; sixteen-year-old me fought through the thick of it; seventeen-year-old me made a choice. Eighteen-year-old me accepted reality. I would never become a dancer. It just wouldn't happen. I learn fast; I have natural ability... but it wasn't enough. It broke my heart. Sometimes it still does. My dream won't come true, but I can help others' come true. Since swallowing that pill, I switched gears toward teaching. I have a knack for it. Kids who start late often get shoved to the side, pushed into adult classes and so on. There were principal dancers among those kids. If they had been properly taught and nurtured, they could have made it. There is no doubt in my mind. Being in their shoes, I am the best equipped to teach those kids. I can give them the chance I never had. My desire is to see dreams come true. It's a cheesy line, yes, but there's a dreamer in all of us. Artists are proof that dreams do come true AND you can make a living doing it. It's obscenely hard. My students will know that, but I will give of myself and everything I have to offer to see their dreams through. Everyone ought to have someone who believes in them. I will believe in the kids like me. I will create a program dedicated just to them and their success. I am college student. There's no portfolio as I haven't accomplished anything yet. Yet. I'm dedicating my future to those who haven't started yet.