I Hope You Dance

Being a parent is hard!

It’s often feels like walking a tightrope… balancing between being your child(ren)’s biggest cheerleader and a drill sergeant… between tough love and teachable moments. They grow from entirely dependent and cuddly babies, to sassy toddlers, to “me” and “mine” children full of insistent independence. Then, they become tweens and teens who see-saw between loving and despising you… one minute they need a hug, the next they don’t want to even share the same air. It can be hard to keep pace and stay sane. I know there are more stages to look forward to (and fear), but this is as far as I’ve personally made it to date.

I’ve always been an independent, adventure-seeking, “home”-is-where-you-make-it kind of gal. I went off to camp the summer after 5^th grade (~10 years old) for two-weeks. I didn’t want to go home when it was over. For the next handful of summers, I went for a month! It never really occurred to me what my parents were thinking when they dropped me off, trunk packed and bright eyed, for a month. I guess a part of me thought I was giving them a little break, a summer reprieve.

Then, after college and on the morning of my 21st birthday, my parents put me on a plane to Colorado. I was off to travel with the international organization Up With People… alone, knowing no one… and knowing that I wouldn’t be home until Christmas. I was ecstatic. They had to be apprehensive, but they didn’t show it.

But now… now I’m the parent.

I’m on an Amtrak train headed to New York City to take my oldest daughter to the Joffrey Ballet School’s SPECTRUM Jazz and Contemporary Summer Dance Intensive. She’s 14 years old and tomorrow I’ll hand her over to JBS’s care for the next two weeks in the Big Apple. I’ll give her a hug, say goodbye, and wish her good luck on the sidewalk outside her residence hall (an apartment building in lower Manhattan) because only residents are allowed to go inside the building as a COVID safety measure. She’ll greet roommates, unpack her bags, make her bed, and go grocery shopping… without me. On Monday, she’ll take the subway to Long Island City (with other dancers and a chaperone) for 6+ hours of dance instruction… and will repeat such for the next two weeks. Admittedly, I’m a ball of nerves… and yet also full of pride.

I know parents send their kids to camp and to college all the time. They put minor children on flights alone, trusting they’ll get safely from point A to B. I know I’m not unique, or special, or different. But this one is mine… my baby, my first born. She is kind, smart, fierce, and talented. She loves to dance and always has. She is a performer! This experience is an incredible opportunity… for the dance, absolutely, but also for so much more.

She’s been raised in a quiet, mostly rural, small university town. It’s a tight-knit community where it’s hard to go anywhere without seeing someone you know. She’s not sheltered, but I wouldn’t necessarily call her street savvy either. We’ve travelled a lot (she’s already been to 34 U.S. states). She’s visited NYC three times prior. She’s been on planes, trains, and boats, ridden in taxis and Lyfts, and knows how to use her phone’s navigation and an old-school map.

She’s a child of divorce, raised in a split family and bouncing between two houses for nearly half her life now… which has created (like it or not) an adaptable spirit and sense of resiliency. That said, numerous roommates will be a new adventure as she’s never really had to share her personal space. She’s capable of doing laundry, preparing a basic meal, and cleaning, but hasn’t been solely responsible for such for any significant amount of time. She’s not trained in self-defense, but knows to trust her gut and listen to her “Spidey sense.”

There are more-than-acceptable safety measures and precautions in place by JBS (and a few extra by me). Nevertheless, I’m leaving my 14-year-old daughter in New York City, largely on her own, for the next two weeks. In my head, that’s terrifying. In my heart, I am so proud of and excited for her!

I hope she makes lifelong friends and is free of major roommate drama. I hope she says, “Hello!,” introduces herself, and actively welcomes others in… realizing they may be as uncomfortable and feeling as uneasy as she is. I hope she grows as a dancer in ways she’d otherwise never be able to. I hope she embraces her independence and is bold in saying “yes” to new and different experiences. I hope she rests when she’s tired, listens to her body, and stays out of her own head (avoids overthinking and negative self-talk). I hope she “remembers who she is, where she comes from, and what she stands for”—and doesn’t change her accent, personality, beliefs, or her sense-of-self to fit in. I hope she has so much fun she doesn’t want to come home, even though I’ll be counting down the moments until she does.

There is so very much I hope for her.

But Lee Ann Womack has already captured most of my thoughts…

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,

You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,

May you never take one single breath for granted,

God forbid love ever leave you empty handed,

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,

Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens,

Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance,

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance…

I hope you dance!

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,

Never settle for the path of least resistance,

Livin’ might mean takin’ chances, but they’re worth takin’,

Lovin’ might be a mistake, but it’s worth makin’,

Don’t let some Hell-bent heart leave you bitter,

When you come close to sellin’ out… reconsider,

Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance…

I hope you dance!

Dance, sweet girl… I hope you dance!