So the curtain comes down on Romeo and Juliet and I’m sitting there with my eyes fixed on the stage and I’m thinking, I wish that was me. I’m thinking, I want that to be me. I’m thinking: that will be me.
I want to dance more than I want to do anything else. It sounds cheesy, right? But I have to say it’s true. I want to be a writer, sure, but to dance on a stage like that, with all of those people watching me … I want to be a musician, yeah, but to leap into the air and to fly as though I was weightless, that …
I haven’t taken ballet lessons in four years now. It’s sixteenth months since I took up Irish dancing. It’s six months since I regretted leaving ballet more than anything else. It’s four months since I started practising ballet in my bedroom, on my own. It’s two months since I started stretching constantly, trying to get that little bit more flexible. And it’s two hours since I decided that that’s what I want to do.
I’m not leaving Irish dancing. I love it. But I love ballet too – and I can’t take it up unless I quit something. But what? I can’t choose – there is no way I could choose. It’s like somebody asking you to choose between two of your children. One of them will go on to be a star and the other will never be seen again, by anybody. Could you do that? Really?
And then there’s my age. Is it really worth giving up everything to dance when I’m too old anyway? Could I really make it anywhere, or would it be a sacrifice for nothing? The answer? Probably the latter, for an almost-fifteen year old has no chance against those that have been dancing since they were four. Yet so have I. Albeit with a large gap in the middle.
And I’m not going to stop playing. Which means I’m stuck here in the middle, a sort of self-induced no-man’s-land. I don’t want to leave this; I can’t start that until I do. It’s unfair.
But it’s the truth.
I dream of dancing. My wall is covered by photographs of dancers, cut out from the About The House magazine and stuck onto coloured card. But it’s not just when I’m at home that I’m dreaming …
And now, when I want it more than anything, yet when I’m just getting somewhere with everything else … well, why now?