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Throughout my life, May has always meant dance recital time. From the time I was three and taking ballet to now when it's my daughter's turn to live the ultimate dancer's dream: a night of ballet on the stage! Throughout my life, that one night of the year was always so special. The costume(s), the lights, the audience, the butterflies, and the true glory of feeling like a real ballerina; it is the pinnacle and culmination of a year's worth of learning, hard work, and {in the later years} blisters and tired muscles. I loved those blisters. I loved those aching muscles. My body loved dancing.

Now, as I watch my eldest daughter embarking on {what I imagine will be} her long life as a dancer, I'm so excited for the discipline, courage, joy, and pride she will get from her journey. But also, I'm jealous. And I mourn a little for the young dancer that I used to be.

I'm not certain why I ever stopped dancing. Perhaps it was just time to move on. But I will always think fondly of my dancing years; like one of those great all-encompassing loves that was beautiful and special, and ended just before it ever got complicated. It is one of my purest loves and one of the only ones from my past that does not have some hurt attached.

Me & Ballet; what we had was so real and so profound. I will never be able to watch my children dance without remembering {and longing for} what once was mine. But I can take great comfort in knowing that I'm offering them an opportunity to find that same great love.