Coming from a small, private middle school, the transition to public high school could not have been stranger. I had never been in such a big place where people with unfamiliar faces did not know who I was or all the details of my past. If I had to describe public school in one word, it would be big. The campus was big, though somehow I managed not to get lost on my first day. The student body was big. And, of course, the football games were big. I was struck by the enormity of the crowd, the energy in the stands, and, most of all, the perfectly synchronized high kicks of the school’s Varsity dance team. I was completely in awe of them, of their dedication, of their discipline, of their adorable cowgirl field uniforms. All I wanted more than anything was to cheer on our team in a pair of white cowboy boots. From that moment on, it was clear that I would do anything to get there.

I began freshman year with no dance experience. So, achieving this dream would be an uphill battle. However, despite these daunting odds, I enthusiastically took my first steps onto the dance floor. Unsurprisingly, when I auditioned four months later, I didn’t make the cut. I was obviously out of my depth and did a poor job hiding my inexperience. Though slightly disappointed that I didn’t make the team, I had not really expected anything else. From then on, I was resolved to work harder than ever. I practiced every day, and slowly my single pirouettes turned into doubles. I told myself that the hard work would pay off because I would get it next time.

The second time I auditioned as a sophomore, I made Star Steppers, the JV dance team, not altogether a disappointment but still not what I was hoping for. I could feel the panic setting in because I was running out of second chances. I began to question whether this goal was worth all of the hard work if I may never achieve it anyway. The pain in my chest told me that giving up was easier than getting back up. However, wiping away my tears, I decided that you should never give up on something you truly want. So with a renewed sense of urgency, I spent the next year with my nose to the grindstone, and my feet on the dance floor, determined that my initial setback would not prevent me from reaching my goal. In fact, it didn’t even matter to me because I would get it next time. I remember talking to the Junior girls who didn’t make Hyline. I couldn’t help but feel bad for them. Not making it three years in a row? I couldn’t fathom it. But what if that happened to me? What if I didn’t make it next year? The muscles in my stomach tightened, and I decided not to think about it. Failure was not an option. I would not be like them.

But, of course, in one year’s time, I would be.

As my third audition approached, I had never felt more prepared. The day before tryouts, we participated in a mock audition where we performed leaps, pirouettes, kicks, and a contemporary dance in front of Hyline as they wrote notes for how we could improve. Despite how exhausting it was executing element after element, I felt good about my performance. The next day, a Hyline girl came up to me and told me what a beautiful dancer I was. Another told me that when I did my first high kick all of Hyline was really impressed. Their words made my heart glow, and I could swear I grew ten feet during that conversation. That night, I asked all of my friends to text me pep talks that I would read right before my audition. Their encouraging words gave me the strength to get up and walk into that audition room even though my nerves were screaming at me to run the other way. As I entered the gym where auditions where taking place, I recognized the familiar set up that had been at my previous two auditions. The plush, green couch that the Hyline officers lounged on was positioned in the corner of the gym. I saw that its upholstery was ripped in places, and the cushions were visible through the holes. At the center, but off of the basketball court, the judges sat at a white, plastic table, staring out with blank expressions. I walked to the red line at the edge of the basketball court, ready to go across the floor. At this point, my heart was beating double time, and my teeth were chattering as they always do when I’m nervous. From the couch, the voice of an officer instructed us to prepare for six step pirouettes. She counted off—five, six, seven, eight. My nerves disappeared as I slipped into the familiar pattern of the audition process I had done so many times before. I hit perfect double pirouettes. My leaps were sky high. My knees hit my chest during the kick routine, and the contemporary dance, while not overly expressive, was solid. The whole audition was a blur, and I felt dazed when I walked out afterward, surprised to find myself sweaty and out of breath. Later that night, I hesitated before checking the results, not wanting to shatter my last hope of making the team. When I finally mustered up the courage to scan the list of numbers under the title new Hyline members, I was shocked to discover that my number wasn’t on the list. I couldn’t hold back the tears because after all that hard work, I really thought I had it this time.

This loss wouldn’t have shaken me except that it was the last “next time” I was ever going to get. In the grand scheme of things, I can see how not making a high school dance team doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. However, I had built my identity around this dream, and after obsessing over it for three years, I didn’t know what to dream about anymore. My mantra that one can achieve anything through determination didn’t seem so valid. Why should I put in so much effort, when hard work doesn’t pay off anyway? People tried to comfort me by saying that I didn’t really want to be on that team because of how time consuming it was. They didn’t seem to understand that their words didn’t matter to me because I wanted the trouble. I wanted the early morning practices and the long nights and the sweaty dance clothes and the cult-like sisterhood. But I clenched my teeth, fluttered my eyelashes to keep the tears from falling, and nodded because maybe they were right even though I couldn’t see how. For the next six months, I was haunted by the events of that December audition. I carried my score cards around with me in my backpack, never getting up the courage to actually look at them but feeling their weight all the same. The first day back from winter break, my English teacher told us to write an entry in our writer’s notebooks about what we hoped to accomplish in 2014. The first thing I wrote down was that I hoped I was happy where I was and that I’d let go. I was quickly discovering that the strength to let go was proving much more difficult to muster than the strength I had needed to hang on for so long in the first place.

The audition song, When I Was Your Man, plays through my head all the time, seemingly stuck on repeat. The lyrics express the singer’s regrets for all of the things he should have done. When looking back on this three year journey, I can say with absolute certainty that I don’t regret any of it because even the most abject failure is better than never trying. In the words of Theodore Roosevelt, it is men of action who count because, “at worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat”. So after three failed auditions, no one can say that I didn’t try.

After dwelling on my failure for so long, I decided to make a list of five positive things that happened as a result of this experience. Five. As a member of Star Steppers, I have made some of my favorite memories of laughing at practices, football games, and team sleepovers. I have experienced completely new things and had the opportunity to get to know some truly amazing girls who otherwise might have remained strangers to me. Four. I realized how supported and loved I am and that my friends will always believe in me even when I don’t. Three. Even though I may never be the best at it, I truly do love to dance. Chasing this dream allowed me to discover a passion for something I had never done before then. Two. During auditions, I made the Hyline girls notice me and talk about how good I was. This was something that had played through my day dreams all the time, and maybe achieving this is enough. One. I realized how strong I am and how persistent I can be when I set my mind to something.

It’s easy to simply define failure as not achieving the goal you set out to achieve. However, even if you don’t accomplish your goal, you still learn and improve your character along the journey. This in itself can be considered a success. So maybe I will never be a Hyline girl, but I will always carry this character of determination with me, because the result of hard work isn’t what you get for it but what you become for it.

Even though I had come to terms with the fact that I would never wear the white cowboy boots that mark a Hyline girl, it was difficult to come to Star Steppers everyday and be reminded of the dream I had lost. Star Steppers practiced every day in the P.E. gym where auditions took place. If I was not careful, I would have run into the ghost of myself moving across the floor during her audition. I came to the conclusion that even though I love to dance I couldn’t stay in a place that felt so haunted to me.

After much deliberation, I decided to quit Star Steppers at the end of the semester and join cross country. I attended my first cross country meeting last week, and the coach said that all girls needed to be able to run a 5K in under twenty-four minutes in order to travel with the team. It looks like I have a new goal to chase. For the first time, I feel like I can turn the page and leave the past behind me.