Growing up as a competitive dancer, I got used to the feeling of having to fight to be the best. To train harder, stretch further, and jump higher. There’s an unattainable goal looming over every competition dancer’s head; that goal’s always two points ahead of you. Turning something that’s supposed to be passion over pain and twisting it. Doubt comes in; chronic pain, long days, and imposter syndrome infect daily routine until rehearsal starts to feel like a chore instead of a privilege. So, what do you do when the thing you love starts to tear at your heart, and stepping into the studio chips away at your morale? This is where I found myself during my junior year of high school. Drained, in pain, and devoid of inspiration. Feeling lost in the studio I knew blindfolded. I had to rediscover the love I once had, and luckily enough I found myself along the way. Early into the year I was offered the position of choreographer for a local high school’s spring musical. The director knew I had experience teaching and needed someone who could manage leading a heavy dance number. I said yes, and we began the working process. It was a big change for me; working in a group where dance was solely to entertain, not win. I adored it. We started small, making the choreography for auditions and filming practice videos for the performers. Then it was my turn to roam free, creating to my heart’s content, and meeting with the director along the way for approval. By the time we got to our first choreography day I felt electric- an amalgamation of nerves, excitement, and caffein buzzing in my chest. Sadly, I didn’t leave that initial rehearsal feeling as successful as I was hoping. The nerves made me shaky, and I worried what I was doing wasn’t good enough. That it didn’t look like winning material. Because of that though there was a new fire within me. I wanted to get back to rehearsal, to do better- not for the sake of winning but for the sake of putting on an amazing show. Rehearsals continued, and I found my footing. I kept pushing the performers to try new things and to find confidence while doing it. I saw them mess up repeatedly, but I also saw their determination to get it right, and the glowing joy when they got to dance on stage. It made me reevaluate my mentality when dancing. When did dance stop feeling like freedom, and start to feel like a cage? When did I start limiting myself to what felt safe? These thoughts inspired changes within me. I went into the studio hell-bent on finding my joy again, and I realized it came through choreography. Getting to experiment with movement, create without rules, and see my work on stage inspired and influenced me to go into the studio every day and give it my all. The freedom to experiment, mess up, and find what works; as well as the glow I felt when performing came back to me. Dance felt like flying again, and I loved it. Getting to work in choreography changed my entire view on dance and gave me new purpose within it. Every time I work as a choreographer, I remind the performers that every struggle leads to success. That if you slip and fall, you don’t quit dancing. You find what went wrong, stand back up, and keep moving. It’s just as much a reminder for me as it is for them.