The End of an Era

I received news today that the Ron Trell Studio of Dance would not be reopening this fall.  I instantly was speechless.  I wanted to cry.  How could this be?  I know that places open and close all the time.  And I knew that Ron couldn't keep going forever, but I was so sad to hear it was over already.

I started dancing at the studio when I was 10.  I had just entered 6th grade, which is late to be starting to dance, and my mom asked if I wanted to give it a shot.  Sure!  Why not?!  I was in beginner ballet and had to start in a class with girls who were years younger, but I was okay with that.  I worked at it, learned the basic moves, and by the next year I was in ballet class with my friends and also started learning Character (like Broadway musical dance/Jazz/Hip Hop).  I loved to dance.  Was I any good at it?  Nope, but I liked doing it anyway.  I continued dancing all through middle school and through high school.  Recitals came around every other year, and on the off years we participated in a benefit show to raise money for the nearby Barbara Bush Children's Wing of the hospital.  There was something about going out on that stage and performing.  The butterflies in my stomach were intense, but I could hardly wait for my next chance to do it.  I graduated high school and continued on to college, but would return home and attend dance classes.  After college graduation I found myself back in Brunswick, feeling like I had no real direction.  My college friends were off still in college or doing other things and here I was working and finishing up my internship, but not quite knowing what to do in this adult world.  So I started taking classes again.

It was different this time around.  Ballet and Character had a different spot in my life when I was younger.  I liked to perform, but the work ethic wasn't there, nor the desire to make a huge fool of myself.  Now I found myself wanting to go to class because it gave me an opportunity to push myself in a new way, and I could show off my ridiculous moves and fit right in.  I started making life-long friends on those crazy Thursday nights.  The kind of friends that are there for you on your toughest day and to remind you that you deserve your shining moments.  The friends that don't disappear when you move 3000 miles away.  We would dance our asses off for hours, laughing at each other most of the time, and then follow it up with a cold beer and scrumptious food at Joshua's or Pedro O'Hara's.  And the laughs never stopped.  Somehow 10 o'clock would roll around much too quickly, and we would be heading home just counting the moments until Thursday rolled around again.  Dance class was the last place I went while we were packing up for our cross country move, and it was the only place where I really broke down and started crying about leaving all my friends and family.

Was it dance class or my friends that gave me the confidence I continue to possess today... I can't be sure.  Does it really matter?  I can only imagine how awful my girls must be feeling knowing they won't have classes to look forward to and this break from daily life that was devoted to doing something just for ourselves.  I think perhaps my personal sadness comes from the fact that when I'm able to return home for visits, I won't be able to stop in to say hello or sneak in a class.  And that down the road another girl like me, who is feeling lost, won't have this inspiring place to find herself.