This weekend was CRAZY. Friday entailed celebrating a friend’s birthday at Bombay house, a treat with my family after half of them went to see The Nutcracker, and getting to bed SUPER late.

Saturday, Randy and I went to go see The Nutcracker put on by Clytie Adams School of Ballet.

I feel like I write the same thing about this every year, but I really don’t care.

I’ll keep it short and sweet. Basically, much of my childhood and teenage years were spent in one of four little dance studios. I can’t honestly put into words what that ballet school means to me. I knew every picture on the wall. I had a spot on the little bench where I would put my things. I learned how to fail, and how to succeed. I learned that correction comes when teachers care, and that I could do things even if I wasn’t sure that I could. I learned that hard work and practice pay off.

I started out every holiday season wearing curlers to school and running around the Val Browning Center, buttoning up costumes or pinning in hairpieces.

I know nearly every step to every dance in that whole show. I know every note, every crash of the cymbal. I know the moments in dances where you gasp for breath because you are SO exhausted. I know the fear of slipping on a fog-covered floor and the loudness of the downstairs dressing room.

When Clytie came out this year and talked about those feeling nostalgia, remembering putting on their makeup and worrying they’ll someday forget the dance steps, I lost it.

I will forever be so grateful for the years I spent in those dance studios, and on stage doing something I loved. And I will forever be so insanely grateful for teachers, and Clytie, who made ballet so much more than just an extracurricular activity.