There's always that moment.
Right before the music starts and you stand… still… ready. That moment of uncertainty where you heart beats so loud you wonder how the audience can't hear it, palms grow sweaty and every piece of clothing feels so heavy that it seems odd you don't hit the floor.
It doesn't matter if you face the audience or stand to the back, on stage or off… it's that moment that makes you wonder why put yourself through this. Through physical exertion that makes wrestlers seem like they have it easy, through teachers that can put the fear of god in a five year old with a hair out of face, through the risk that you can slip and fall and most importantly through the possibility of rejection.
Every dancer feels this. Anyone who tells you different is lying. But this moment… the one of fear, uncertainty and all consuming panic; it isn't really important. It's the split second after where your heart stops and lights come on with a blinding intensity that you realise what dancing means. The curtain may rise and the audience may applause, but that split second changes everything… where the music starts… and the world grinds to a halt.