the feeling.

The feeling is still the same: standing backstage in the dark, behind thick velveteen curtains, pacing back and forth barefoot on creaking wooden floors. There is nothing to guide one’s way but the glow of neon green tape along the floor’s edge and the varied hues of stage lights hitting black marley and smiling faces. The feeling is still the same, looking on from the wings, feeling the warm heat of huddled, nervous bodies, then a rush of cool breeze from an opened door off stage. It’s a little bit anxious, a little excited, and a little bit magic. Yes, magic.

And I can’t say it’s about performing. I can’t say it’s all wrapped up in whatever it is to step on stage and into a costume and partly outside of ourselves. But there is something about standing backstage. There is something about being a small part of this grand experience that is still the same, whether you are the dancer or the choreographer or the teacher standing on the sidelines letting a class of 5 year olds see how proud you are.

The picture may look a little different now. Now, moments of elation are wrapped up in small ballerinas saying they love you more than the universe, tossing glitter in your face, telling you you’re the best dance teacher in the world. It's pinning broken straps and tossing hair into perfect buns moments before the lights come up. It's reminders of smiles and energy and fun. It's leading a warm up for a bunch of young performers thinking you're out of your mind crazy as you scream about sending positive energy into the space and leading with the pelvis.

And it’s nothing profound. It’s not changing the world or altering life as we know it. It’s small. It’s just enough to put in your pocket and hold onto. It’s a precious reminder that even as things change, they remain exactly the same. And some experiences, some moments, even as we grow, still offer just as much delight and joy and wonder as ever. The feeling is still the same.