I have been inspired.

I have been inspired.

Yippey, right? Actually, yes.

Tonight I hopped down the stairs, waddle-teetered across campus (pulled inner thigh + pumps = waddle-teetering), climbed aboard a big yellow bus and rode through cornfields for an hour and a half (you know you live in Northfield when it takes you an hour and a half of corn to get to civilization). I disembarked from the bus and waddle-teetered around a building as fast as my zombie/duck/stupid girl gait would let me. I waddle-teetered myself to the bathroom, and "rushed" to my seat.

Where did all of this put me? In the Rochester Civic Theater, watching my dance prof in a Stuart Pimsler Dance and Theater production.

I have been inspired.

I've never been one to have a ton of people I look up to. My littlest sister can name her idols in three seconds flat: the quarterback my junior year who happened to be her TA, my best friend, and Taylor Swift. She doesn't even think about it. I, on the other hand, have to think about it. As a freshman, I looked up to the (nice) senior dancers. As a sophomore I looked up to the (nice) senior theater kids. As a junior I looked up to the (nice) senior choir kids. As a senior? I guess I looked up to the adults in the real world (as opposed to the fake world?).

My prof drove us up to the cities a couple weeks ago for a master dance class where we  got our asses handed to us  became very intimidated lost hope gained experience. On the way up, we threw her question after question after question, and she humored our every inquiry. She didn't start studying modern - the style SPDT is based on - until college. As it turns out, she was debating between graduate school for law and graduate school for dance. Take a wild guess as to which one she chose...

While every parent (ever) does not endorse the arts path, I can't help but lean towards it. If someone asked me what my dream job is, I would immediately respond DANCER. Everyone keeps telling me to do what I love. Well, there's no doubt about what I love. So why am I afraid to major in it?

I want to dance. Dance is what keeps me going. I could honestly do it forever and ever amen. But it is not practical, in this world of entertainment and commercialism, to major in dance. What do I do when I can't get a job? When I'm injured? When I'm too old to dance? There is a reason artists are usually called starving artists.

But after tonight, I know I must dance. Seeing my prof up there, clearly loving what she does, inspired me to go for my dream. (It's cheesy but true). Sure, I'm not going to jump into it head first, blindly floundering about as I try to decide what to do with myself and what to study and how to make a living and how to provide for my family and deal with injuries and rehearsals and my love of peanut butter. That last part just snuck in there...

I'm going to make this work. I have been inspired. Really, I've been inspired all over again. The performance bug has sunk its teeth into my ass, and the only way to get it out is to deal with it. I want to do what she does; I'm truly a kid in a candy store, saying, I want that because she has it and it looks good. And I really do want it. Now it's just a process of convincing the rents, finding something else to study so I can double major, doing all of this without dying, actually sleeping, and somehow without losing my perspective on what's important in life. Ready, set, go! But I think it will be okay. Why? Four words that sum up my night:

I have been inspired.

...and remember.

Hello there.

It's been quite a while since I last posted. Over a month, actually. Yikes. I'll use this as my excuse: college?

Tomorrow is my last day of fall break. I've gone to Starbucks, Noodles, Panera, had dinner with the grandparents, obsessed over my dog, obsessed over Scrubs, driven small children places, and even visited teachers. It's been quite a break, to say the least. I've slept in my own bed - in my own room, by myself - used my own bathroom - in my own room, by myself - and gone to the doctor (shots) and the orthodontist (broken retainer). Have I done homework? Of course! Well, duh. Yup, right away. Definitely. Fosho. Ummm...let's just say that self-incrimination isn't generally recommended.

So here I am, 12:51am, in my own bed, in my own room, in my own basement, in my own house, in my own town, all by myself.

I can hear the usual sounds that I've both forgotten and grown accustomed to: the washing machine on its continual runs, the water as a random family member decides to go to the bathroom, my dog's nails clicking as she ventures to the bathroom (aka the back door to be let into the backyard), my mom's sleepy footsteps trudging behind her. Sometimes my dad is up, insomniac that he is, walking around or surfing the web or coming to check on me. In approximately one hour and thirty-four minutes, the water softener will do its thing, generally scaring anyone in the basement who hasn't slept down here for five years.

I'm so happy to be back.

But I'm also so sad.

Home is such a bittersweet place. Don't get me wrong - I absolutely love laying on the couch, falling asleep on the dog, walking around in my underwear, enjoying the familial (yes, familial, as in relating to the family. I didn't spell familiar wrong) bickering and the lack of forced conversation - but being home makes me want to stay here.

It isn't that I'm unsatisfied with college; I absolutely adore college and couldn't be happier! (Yes, that was an exclamation point. Feel free to a) chastise me, b) cut off my fingers, c) kill me, or d) all of the above. I know it's a pretty serious offense). But at the same time, I miss being able to curl up on the couch with my dog to take a nap. I miss the late night country jam sessions I have while cruising the backroads to pick up my sister. I miss the beautifully under appreciated silence of my basement. I miss launching myself into my parents' bed to watch the end of whatever show is on and the beginning of the news. I miss - WAIT WRITE THIS DOWN BECAUSE I WILL PROBABLY NEVER SAY IT AGAIN - driving to school with my sister. I'm homesick while being at home. I am literally perched on my bed, pondering my homesickness. I haven't even left my house yet.

College is basically an exaggerated form of you-don't-know-what-you-have-until-it's-gone. This is both good and bad, beautiful and heartbreaking, happy and sad. I've learned a ton about myself in the past month and a half, but I love being here, in my house, with the people who know I meow/squeal/make pterodactyl noises/cry/burst into song/bitch about life/am I dork/love them. My guard is permanently down here, and I don't want to let that go. I don't want to give up my ability to belt choir songs and show tunes and commercials in the shower, to cry when I want to cry, to climb into bed with my little sister just to annoy her or talk about boys (of course, now I'm crying. Go figure).

I guess I just miss the unconditional acceptance that comes with being related to someone (Okay, I know you don't have to love someone unconditionally just because you're related to them. But at the same time, the bond between family members is kind of like that, in its own special way). Especially my dog... (classic)

Where do I go from here? I carry this feeling with me. I use it when I feel like life is taking a shit on me. I remember to call/text/email/pray for the ones I love. I remember not to get too caught up in my own life; as I'm growing older, so are my grandparents and my parents. Even my siblings are different from when I last saw them: one is stressed as seems to be losing herself in the dangerous world of high school, another is recovering from a long year of pain, and the other is wasting away because of her medicine. Their lives are changing as much as mine, but it's something I keep forgetting. I just need to latch on to this feeling and remember.