feels like home to me

Moving home for the summer is definitely not an easy adjustment to make overnight, and while it’s commonly overlooked, I think it’s more than deserving of some recognition.

First of all, it’s hard to go from working like a maniac for nine months out of the year, to then all of a sudden in a matter of days be expected to go back to functioning like a normal, valuable, contributing member of society (or at least pretend to be).

But…then reality sets in (…apparently for me, reality’s been on a two-week delay…)

What, I have to go get a job?…but I’ve never worked anywhere that’s not dance related!!!
What, I’m not going to be taking dance classes for the next three months?
What, I’m not going to see my friends for at least 12 weeks?
What, I have to keep my parents in the loop as to my whereabouts at all times???

Whatthe hell?!?!?!

I always feel like such an alien when I come home, even when it’s just for a long weekend. Most people from Michigan don’t know or understand what I do in NY, and while I know that they care about me, that doesn’t necessarily mean that they care about the advancements I’ve made in my movement efficiency (oh hey there release technique!). Most importantly (according to my family), the hardest thing to understand is how my work in school will ever lead to a well-paying job, or even (gasp!)…a career?!?!?

Mom & Dad

Mom & Dad: “Show us how you twirl!”

While I can muster up an impressive handful of reasons to justify what I ‘do’, when nothing I can offer offers enough legitimacy for wanting to major in dance, the people who don’t understand are likely the people who will never understand, and frankly, that’s not my problem.

It’s tough to go from an environment where you’re told to “slosh around” on a daily basis, to an environment where you’re asked three times in a day what you want for dinner, why you refuse to wear real clothes, and what time you’ll be home.

Dear Mom and Dad, my schedule is comfortable, your schedule is not. Also, you should know that I hate showering. Sorry I’m not sorry.        Love, Nicole

Again, I think it’s more than necessary to validate the struggles of moving home for the summer, so here are a few words of confidence that those struggles are real, and they suck. Consider this validation-post a shield of glitter and rhinestones to take with you as you embark on the oblivious terrain of summers back at home.

So when you find yourself laying in bed at 3pm (…this is my life…) actually wishing for a treacherous paper assignment from Dumbledore, or even an assignment exploring Laban effort qualities…essentially a PURPOSE in life…just trust that you’re not alone, and that there are a million other dancing feet out there in the world feeling the exact same way.

(And when you’re truly fed up with trying to explain what ‘you do’, go ahead and send this link out to anyone that needs a friendly reminder of why and how dancers rule the world. Thanks Huffington Post!)

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