You know how when you meet someone, one of the first questions exchanged is: "So...what do you do?" These days, I'd say I'm a freelance writer. But for the first 22 years of life, I would've answered that question differently: "I do ballet," I'd say. It was how I was defined by others and how I most frequently defined myself. I loved how dancing made my body feel, how it challenged my mind. I'm a social person, but I think deep down, I was drawn to the quiet nature of ballet. How, when you dance, you don't actually say a single word and yet you say so very much. And because this part of me was so precious, when I graduated from college (where I was a dance minor/company member), I left it behind. I knew I didn't have the chops to be a professional dancer, so I figured it was time to pack up my dance bag for good. When I met Andrew, he asked me, "Oh, so you like to dance?" And whether my excuse became my grueling work schedule or my own self-consciousness, I stayed away. Even when I had access to some of the best studios in the country. What a shame, right?! Well, thanks this whole challenge thing, I recently shimmied back into a leotard and tights for my first ballet class in eight years. My turnout sucked, my mind felt all jumbled by the fast combinations, and I was far from being the best in the class. But I wasn't the worst! And I loved it. As I thanked the teacher for class on my way out, I couldn't help but tear up a little. I was proud, exhausted, and energized. And I hadn't felt more like myself in a long, long time.