College Can Wait

I was a college-bound girl. School brochures were tattooed on my walls, and my high GPA hung on the refrigerator door. I had been college-ready since junior year, and was class president as a senior. So it came as a shock to many that I wanted to major in dance. My dreams of ballerina-hood started in high school—just a year or two after I began to dream of going to college. I never worried about the two desires conflicting. I knew the perfect college dance program was out there.  Sticky notes soon covered the already tattered pages of my Dance Magazine College Guide. I spent months preparing variations. I was soon taking modern classes to prepare for my auditions and my parents were flying me all over the country for college visits. My first two auditions were in New York for SUNY Purchase and NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts—both during the same weekend, a schedule I would not recommend. The audition at SUNY Purchase was a marathon. The first part consisted of a three-hour technique class, scrutinized by the eyes of current staff. Then came a cut, followed by a solo section, then another cut, and an interview section. After the grueling technique class, I felt sure I would show my variation. When my name was not posted for the next round, I felt my heart sink into the depths of what I thought would be someone else’s sad reality.  With a tear-stained face, I barely made it back to my hotel room. Even an afternoon’s worth of shopping couldn’t fix my sadness. The next morning I pulled myself together and made it to the checkered halls of the Tisch School. The dance department is on the upper level of a building that looks like it was made for a carnival’s hall of mirrors. Black and white squares cover the ceiling and walls of an oval-shaped room; the shape makes the colors contrast even more. Ten minutes before the audition, I burst into tears when I looked in the mirror and saw a reflection of an inexperienced dancer—a distorted image of me caused by the trauma of the previous day. After coaxing from my father and another auditionee, I stepped into the hardest audition I have faced. My self-worth, shattered from the day before, made it almost impossible to get through and this time my cut was not a shock to me. I left in tears of anger at myself for allowing my first audition to hurt my self-esteem. When I arrived back home, I knew I had to pull myself together emotionally before I could audition again. I did so only by surrounding myself with my most supportive and honest friends, which included many late-night calls and cafeteria chit-chat. My friends helped me battle my frustrations and they kept the demons in my head at bay just by listening and believing in my character. Three weeks later, I arrived yet again in New York for an audition at Juilliard, one I attended more for the experience than for serious enrollment. Although I was cut after the first round, the experience was worth the audition—and a current Juilliard student even told me I was a good dancer. After coming home from Juilliard, my self-esteem pieced together, I had three weeks to prepare for my final college audition at Butler University. I worked hard on ballet, but more importantly, I turned to my friends for guidance. They all believed in me because I was still playing the game. So instead of pressuring myself for perfect technique, I worked on dancing with my heart. I figured my love for dance was my true advantage, and no matter what the outcome, my love for the art would be stronger than any possible failure. I have never danced with more emotion than on the day of my Butler audition and I came home believing I would be asked to go back. A few weeks later the letter came. As I opened the envelope with my best friend on the phone, I saw those letters that were all too familiar: “We are sorry.” My life stopped with that letter, the second hand on my clock held its breath. At first, I didn’t know where to go or who could take the burden off my heart. But then it came to me. I hung up the phone and went to my school where I knew a musical rehearsal was going on. Walking through the halls, I saw my friend’s brother. I told him what happened and he gave me the greatest gift: genuine empathy. He held me in his arms for as long as I needed, and standing there I realized that somehow I would survive because I would always have people who would be there to celebrate my successes and comfort my failures. As class president, I was ready to bravely face graduation without knowing where I’d go for college—of having to hear “undecided” ring out at the commencement ceremony instead of the name of a university. But then, I got an unexpected opportunity to study at The Joffrey Ballet School. It’s not a college program but at Joffrey I can continue my dance training and use the experience I’m getting the next time I apply for university. That day at graduation, when the principal announced “Elizabeth Haskins, The Joffrey Ballet School,” I received more than applause; I received the crowd’s cheers and awe for having the courage to travel down an unexpected road. That’s the thing about the dance world; there are so many opportunities waiting that are unimagined and undiscovered. Try everything and don’t be afraid to jump into whatever life brings you. Stay focused on the reasons you dance, and the right program—whether it’s college now or college later—will be found.