Recital 2017 (The One where I Graduate)

Even after weeks of careful planning, I still don’t know how to sum up this year… especially Recital. It came as it always does– with great anticipation. And it left as it always does, too– with many tears. For most of an entire day, I actually allowed myself to believe that my life post performance could go on as if nothing had changed, but as I watched my extended family and family friends drive away from their first trip to Colorado in years, I realized that my “normal” is no longer mine. It doesn’t even exist in my world anymore. For 12 years, minus summers, I’ve woken up to school. For several years, I’ve chased that with work. And for nearly 14 years, I’ve danced. And while I will no doubt continue to learn and grow, while being a productive member of society is important to me, while I will still dance–always–these things will never again be what they were before I graduated. Scary, huh?

It’s been a hectic, wonderful, exhausting, glorious month of dancing… and some other great stuff, too, which I’ll talk more about in a different post. I’m so grateful to my family, friends and teachers who unfailingly show me love, grace and support. Without them [and as generic and cheesy as it sounds], I would not be the person I am today. My parents have consistently taught me that change is inevitable, and even though it totally freaks me out, I’m glad to be entering this new chapter with 17 years of real life experience. So, thank you, Mom and Dad, for showing me what it means to keep moving forward and make a life.

Recital itself was, as Moriah put it, “anointed.” Strength and Dignity was the best it had ever been on Friday night. Pulling off such a hugely intricate dance always feels like a divine miracle, and this year was no different. As for Advanced Modern, people are still talking about the sheer lack of bamboo staff-dropping that went down in hushed, reverent tones. Darkness is Losing had the auditorium in tears during Intermission.

And my senior solo happened.

I think I expected to cry. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. It would’ve been too real. Instead, I relished in the intensely unfamiliar feeling of being onstage alone, of telling my story without speaking. I think I was glad when it was over, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to listen to “Welcome Home (You)” again, but I’m just so happy to have done it.

So, all in all, it was a fantastic weekend. But we called it “Show Week.” Yes, dress rehearsals. Yes, Recital. But the stuff in between is what turns friends into family and moments into experiences. On Tuesday, the seniors got together to create our senior gift– decorations for backstage and a note for each person in the Beauty in Motion Showcase. On Friday afternoon, we found out that our studio will be moving to a gorgeous new location next year and threw ourselves a party. Then, the seniors lead a worship time for anyone willing to participate. We prayed, and we cried, and hugged and cried some more. And then we danced, and sang, and screamed and cheered.

After the shows, my family turned my house into a flower garden and stuffed me full of cupcakes. *bows*

I honestly have to wonder, though, why anyone would not choose to dance. At least once. Just for that fraction of a second when time stops, and the whole world is alive with music. Just to be a part of something so different and so moving. That love is ingrained in me; I can’t get rid of it. So, even though I’m cutting my hair short on Thursday because no more ballet bun, I have just one thing left to say.

The next time you get a choice, I hope you dance.

Aquinnah