I am standing in the freezing cold backstage of the Peter Jay Sharp Theater, attempting to keep my ankles warm and muscles malleable despite the puffs of chilled air circulating through the lower level of the theater. My first performance on the big stage is about to commence; it’s December of freshman year and tonight is opening night of New Dances. The energy I feel as I’m on the verge of performing for the first time with my 23 classmates is both thrilling and nerve-racking, as I am on the precipice of the complete unknown. My nerves are an unfamiliar presence; I recollect that it has been years since I have felt shaken prior to stepping on the stage. I force my eyes shut and take a couple deep breathes, and I realize that these nerves are nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, they are a mark of my passion and dedication to the art of performing, and that the stakes I feel are at hand are ones of hoping my classmates and I succeed in sharing a beautiful moment onstage all together. We are given the cue to take our places on stage and we huddle in a group hug, sticky sweat on cold skin mingles with words of affirmation from each of us to the other. It’s time to dance with my new family, and I am excited to celebrate the art of performing in this ephemeral moment.
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It’s December of senior year, closing night of New Dances. I’ve learned to warm up wearing many layers in the warmth of the dance studio, and head backstage with enough time to mentally prepare to perform with my classmates but not enough time to feel stagnant or nervous. We are given our five-minute call, and we seamlessly magnetize into a very familiar huddle. We connect the speed of our breath with words of love and words of wisdom, and we connect to our humanity with laughter and a loving rub on the back of the person next to us. We close our eyes for a few final breaths, and time seems to stop. Nothing could ever be more important than this moment right here, right now. I separate my eyelids and steal glances at the beautiful faces of my family surrounding me. I see serenity, I see individuality, I see safety in each of them. We may be on the verge of our final New Dances—and one of our last times performing all together forever—but it is without doubt that our bond will never be broken. We disperse and storm the stage, our energy reverberating off the walls and curtains as we finish warming up on a stage now very familiar to our bodies. Being here with this family feels like home. We are given the call to take our places for the start of the piece, and I take one more look around. My friends’ eyes glisten with the beginning of tears commemorating this final performance. The nerves are long-gone. All that courses through my body is love for dance and love for my Juilliard Dance 2020 family.