Disappointment happens, this is a simple fact of life. I have suffered disappointment, I have even suffered the ultimate sadness with the divorce of my parents, but that affected my whole family and we all had similar feelings, we turned to one another and we all could relate to one another’s pain. But for me, my first experience of solitary disappointment happened at the end of my sophomore. After being selected as a member of the spirit line my Freshman year and my Sophomore year, I found myself cut from the team. I was eye to eye with disappointment and I only had myself to know and understand the empty spot in my gut. Sure, I had family and friends to give me a hug and love me through the pain, but they did not truly understand the emptiness I felt deep in my core. I had two choices, I could choose to be angry with the world and let the bitterness of unfair politics affect me negatively, or I could pick myself up and find a way to do what I love in a positive way. I chose to turn the disappointment into a positive experience in my life.
I chose to start with Monday and Wednesday nights. I remember the different thoughts racing through my mind; “maybe I just wont go, what if I can’t keep up with the other girls, is my favorite coach still there?” my thoughts were abrubtly stopped when relized I had made it to my destination. As I pulled up the old building was exactly as I remembered it. The sandy, beige exterior walls with the little wobbly black bench in the front still remained the same. I sat in my

car just reading the pink sign over and over again, the three words “Dance!Dance!Dance!” filled my heart and soul with so much optimism and joy that I felt paralyzed, all I could do was smile and it was such a relief to have all of the uneasy anxious previous thoughts I had disappear. As I walked in, I heard “the mothers” whisper, “I remember her, I wonder if she is going to be in performance?” and “where has she been?”; but their tainted cackling did not make me feel uneasy nor uncomfortable. I felt at home although my “home” looked drastically different on the inside, the plain pure white walls were now covered in vibrant hues of lime green and violet. Pictures of the past as well as the present hung upon the wall. But a remodel could not change the sound of a very familiar voice; “well, look who it is, we sure did miss you and I hope you’re here to stay this time around.” It was the owner and all I could do was smile and give her a giant warm hug. It was now five o’clock and class was in session, or as I would say therapy was now in session.
The smell of the wooden floors and hot lights sat well with my body and emotions. I could hear the loud booming music and I could hear a new instructor saying “push yourself guys! C’mon now! More emotion!” Throwing my body across the floor and making a move every half of a second never felt better. I knew that this was my real home. Spending forty hours a week here was not a horrific idea. I could free my mind and let my artistic interpretation flow freely. Sweat was now drip, drip, dripping down my whole body and my muscles were screaming with the irony of pleasant agony and pain. Her voice came over again “don’t give up now!” That was it and those were the words that ignited my fire. As I looked around the room at the other girls dancing, I realized I was not that far behind them, yeah I had the technique, but I also had a wild amount of passion. I did want it, and I did want to be in this wonderful place. It was my passion,

a passion that began at age 4, and I wanted to prove that I belong again, just like the little girl performing, “I’m a ballerina doll” for the first time. I felt nothing but love in the room. Awake my Soul and Lover of Light by the band Mumford and Sons played and I could feel my mind slipping into a different dimension. All I could see was myself moving powerfully and gracefully with a purpose through a flower field. Every single person in the room started to disappear one by one until it was just myself, the music, and the hot lights
that was now dimmed down to almost nothing. The words “thank you everyone class is now over” snapped me back to reality. At that moment something in my brain clicked and I realized that I made the right decision by picking myself up after I was disappointed and moving on to this marvelous place with so many beautiful people both inside and out I have never felt so instantaneously welcome in my life. Today was only Monday and class was over, Wednesday could not come fast enough. The adrenaline that pumped through my veins would not stop. All I could think about was going back to my paradise. Doing something for myself never felt better.

My mom explained to me that things happen for a reason and not all things are bad. This was so true. My heart was broken on that fateful night in May when I open my drab pink letter in the parking lot of the school stating the I had been cut from spiritline, but on my first Monday back at dance practice, I realize that pink letter was a new beginning. I could see the hopes and dreams of a true artist emerge and the simple choreography and crowd pleasing simplicity left as I realized the meaning of being a dancer and a performer for me and not for the crowd. When the door of high school spirit line closed, the studio family of dance welcomed me home with open arms. The artistry was waiting for me all along and I could be more overjoyed to let it unfold.