As “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” blasted throughout the auditorium, my four year-old arms performed a port de bras with as much ardor as a principal dancer. I stood on stage in my little ballet slippers and bright blue, sparkly tutu, commanding the audience and the sea of camcorders before me. Many of my classmates reacted to the blinding stage lights as any typical preschooler would- stopping, staring, and standing still- but I was different. I twirled and swayed around the floor with a goofy grin on my face, and that was when my parents knew I was destined to be a dancer.

From then on, when not in pink tights and a leotard, I did not recognize myself. The phrase “I can’t, I have dance” came from me so many times that my mouth ran dry. I lugged a dance bag half the size of my body to class every week, hair donned in bobby pins and barrettes, ready to answer the question of if I was “willing to accept the challenge” my teacher asked every week. Each class was a new adventure, and I have never been able to get enough. As I grew, the bag on my back grew with me. I incorporated more dance styles like jazz, hip-hop, modern, and contemporary. The once-difficult moves I spent rehearsing at home became warmups. Teachers had me experiment with partner work, dynamics of movement, technique, and improvisation. An onstage performance occurred every other year, and I thrived when the lights shone down on me and I relived the same experience that impassioned me years ago.

Dance has not always been the rainbows and blue skies Judy Garland sang about. Lemon drops reverted right back into troubles as the anxiety of competition seeped in and the catty girls whispered on the sidelines. I became ostracized from my classmates, afraid to express myself, and the rainbow of my past seemed to be somewhere out of reach. I started questioning my every step and staring at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, wondering why I never felt enough. My drive to continue faded, and I almost gave up. But, without dance, I knew I would not reach my potential. So, I reflected on the negativity of my peers and decided to be their opposite. I made sure that no one would feel like an outcast, warmly welcoming newcomers and turning them into friends. I put on a facade of confidence that eventually materialized into the truth. Most importantly, I stopped letting others define me or how I danced. Since then, my experiences have only been positive, minus the occasional bruise from attempting something new. Those troubles I had once been enveloped by melted into lemon drops again.

If not for my parents enrolling me in dance classes for fourteen years and counting, I would not be the same person I am today. Each class I have taken has provided me with a different life skill- the discipline of ballet, the free expression of modern, and the perseverance of hip-hop- that I can apply to daily life. Most of all, it has given me the gift of happiness, which is all I could ever ask for. Dance serves as my creative outlet and something that I can instantly bond over. I still keep in touch with some of the girls from that very first performance, whether I see them at the barre or in a high school classroom. Whenever I waltz back into the studio, I remember the girl who wandered the same halls over a decade ago. I know she would be proud- she finally found the land over the rainbow.