Where My Heart Soars
- Submitted by: KierraWenzel
- Views: 138
- Category: English: Creative Writing
- Date Submitted: 12/02/2015 07:12 PM
- Pages: 4
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Abstract
The dance studio felt like home, it was where I felt most encouraged and successful. I could be fully me and go for gold every time I danced across the floor.
Where My Heart Soars
It’s my turn next in line. I can feel my heart pounding like a base drum, and my stomach feels like butterflies are bouncing off the walls, like they are on a sugar high. I want to get this so badly my heart aches.
I’ve grown up dancing for fifteen years. It’s something that truly only spills from the deepest part of my heart. I love the familiar feeling and smell when you walk into a dance studio. Walking into the lobby there are always little girls running around in their poufy tutus, playing make-believe princesses, and moms talking to the perky receptionist about costumes and volunteering, while the one awkward dad sits in the corner on his phone. In the bathroom, it is so foggy it looks like a smoke bomb of hairspray went off, while the older girls are trying to squeeze their muscular thighs into tights that almost cut off their circulation. Standing in the hallways you can hear the humming and pounding of music leak through the bottom of the sound proof doors, with the occasional sound of teachers screaming, “5, 6, 7, 8!” Even though the various smells throughout the building aren’t the best because it’s a mixture of sweat and hairspray, every time I walk into the dance studio, my heart soars.
On this particular day I was feeling very determined. My other classes had been frustrating because they didn’t come as naturally to me. But jazz was next, and it was my absolute favorite class to take. I didn’t have to worry about turning my feet so far out I thought they would break, like in ballet, and the music was so much easier for me to count and feel. Jazz was where I belonged. I love turns, turns are my jam. I get such a thrill going across the floor turning and that’s what we were doing for the whole hour of class that day. After a little warm up with some...
The dance studio felt like home, it was where I felt most encouraged and successful. I could be fully me and go for gold every time I danced across the floor.
Where My Heart Soars
It’s my turn next in line. I can feel my heart pounding like a base drum, and my stomach feels like butterflies are bouncing off the walls, like they are on a sugar high. I want to get this so badly my heart aches.
I’ve grown up dancing for fifteen years. It’s something that truly only spills from the deepest part of my heart. I love the familiar feeling and smell when you walk into a dance studio. Walking into the lobby there are always little girls running around in their poufy tutus, playing make-believe princesses, and moms talking to the perky receptionist about costumes and volunteering, while the one awkward dad sits in the corner on his phone. In the bathroom, it is so foggy it looks like a smoke bomb of hairspray went off, while the older girls are trying to squeeze their muscular thighs into tights that almost cut off their circulation. Standing in the hallways you can hear the humming and pounding of music leak through the bottom of the sound proof doors, with the occasional sound of teachers screaming, “5, 6, 7, 8!” Even though the various smells throughout the building aren’t the best because it’s a mixture of sweat and hairspray, every time I walk into the dance studio, my heart soars.
On this particular day I was feeling very determined. My other classes had been frustrating because they didn’t come as naturally to me. But jazz was next, and it was my absolute favorite class to take. I didn’t have to worry about turning my feet so far out I thought they would break, like in ballet, and the music was so much easier for me to count and feel. Jazz was where I belonged. I love turns, turns are my jam. I get such a thrill going across the floor turning and that’s what we were doing for the whole hour of class that day. After a little warm up with some...