When I was three, my parents enrolled me in a dance class. I, along with a dozen other girls my age, would spend 45 minutes each week learning the fundamentals of ballet and tap. Now, when one is three years old, dance classes typically revolve around fun games and songs, not dance. Of course, I had a knack for dramatics at the age of three. I would spend the beginning of class in the corner, giving my teacher the silent treatment after my parents routinely pushed me out into the studio. Eventually, I would be coaxed out of the corner and encouraged to join the class using various techniques of persuasion. Once I was immersed in the crowd of pink tutus, I always enjoyed myself, and slowly, I learned to adore dance. By the time I was 12, I had tried every style of dance my studio had to offer. Dance filled my free time and ended my nights, and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Now, I am 18. My years and years of dance have dwindled down to two final weeks. My closet is full to the brim with endless dance costumes, and I could probably put my parents into debt from the years of tuition, shoes and apparel that I have accumulated. As I walked out of my last ever Monday night classes tonight, I couldn’t help but feel bittersweet. While I have come to terms that I am about to embark on a new chapter in my life, I can’t help but feel sentimental about the one that is ending. Over the years I have made my closest friends at dance, ones that I can tell anything about and hold my most cherished memories with. Nights filled with memories of us laughing so hard that we tear up and our ribs get tough and ones of us tearing up from pure exhaustion and frustration. My dance friends have been with me in every growing phase of my life. From our first day of high school, middle school and elementary school. From countless injuries and difficult days, we have confided in each other for a shoulder to cry on.

It is through dance that I found the most cherished people in my life. Slowly as I aged, my dance teachers turned into secondary maternal figures in my life. Day after day, class after class, I would look up to them and the loving way they projected themselves through teaching. Somehow, they touched the lives of each student they came across over the years with poise and grace. Not only were they my teachers, but they were my friends. They were the ones I confided in when my day went sour or when I needed a little encouragement. They were the ones I would turn to when I felt lost on my path in life, and they would always redirect me. It is because of them that I have found my way through my life thus far.

It is through dance that I found a family. A feeling of home. No matter where I am, I know I have my people in my corner, being my best motivators and my hardest critics. Without dance, I wouldn’t be who I am today. Every day, I am thankful that my parents pushed the dramatic three-year-old me out into the studio. While it may have seemed absolutely world-shattering to me at the time, it is probably the best thing that has ever happened to me. I spend every day, being endlessly thankful for dance, the life lessons it has taught me and the friends it has brought me.