MY 30TH BIRTHDAY PRESENT TO MYSELF

Once upon a time, in a magical fairytale world, I could dance.

And then ... well, then I went to college, moved away, got a job, became a big kid.

I took a few dance classes in college and then slowly, I stopped. It started to scare me. The mirror scared me, the other dancers scared me ... but mostly I scared me. I would look at dance studios online and then just freak out. Mostly, I was too busy trying to pay rent to be able to do something so obviously just for enjoyment.

To be honest, I was never a great dancer. I was never the kind of ballerina that could partner or the kind of hip hopper who could make your head spin ... but I could dance. I could follow along, I could pick up choreography ... and in my own way, look good.

I turn 3o this week. A couple months ago the one thing that I never really thought would happen before this age happened ... the C word. Again, to be honest, I always thought the word melanoma would at some point be stamped on my medical history. I have red hair and live in LA ... it was bound to creep up on me sometime. So here I am - turning 30 with a nasty scar healing on my leg. And you know what I want to use my leg for again?


DANCE. Dammit, I will learn to dance again. I will use my dumb cancer leg to pointe and flex and turn and leap. And by the time this scar fades to pale, I will be a dancer again.