Prompt: What matters to you and why? (2000 character max.)
Hello (: My original essay was much longer, but to adhere to the maximum character count, I nearly halved it. I'm not sure if it is as cohesive and makes as much sense now as there are literally chunks missing. Please tell me what you think. Thank you!
At 5'2" and weighing 90 pounds, I was one of the most petite dancers performing, and it seemed I was destined to be one of the girls used as a flyer to be lifted into the air. Once suspended by a single leg, my other leg would transfer to the 2 rows of steps, formed by the hands of 10 girls, their arms fully extended and above their heads. The girls had to watch and follow my feet, so that when it came time for me to take a step, a hand would suddenly be there, holding my foot, acting as a stepping stone. But what if there wasn't a hand there when my foot was? I couldn't look down, as with dance, I had to make it look effortless and beautiful. I had to keep my chin up, twist my neck to face the audience, have a huge smile to mask my horror, point my toes and kick my knees, land properly, and get into position to join in the dance routine of 100 girls seamlessly. As my steps lingered, heavy with worry, I could hear their grunts of pain beneath me. I stepped, and there was only air. My leg plunged downward, and I fell to the ground, landing on my still-extended leg. Their voices of concern reinforced that I could trust them, and if it took a brutal fall to do it, so be it. Ignoring the pain, I got back up. But for the next few weeks, practice hardly improved.
On deck behind the curtains, I could feel the anticipation from the audience's voices. I told myself that I was light as a feather, that I was invincible, and no one in that audience was going to see me fall or even falter. Over 20' in the air, I delicately extended my arms outward, smiled at my audience, and sassily kicked like any true '20s flapper would.
After I learned to trust the girls when I fell on my leg, there was still something missing - a trust of another kind. If I did not have it, I would have been stuck, weighing down on the people relying on me, and life's stepping stones would prove to be too daunting. That day, I told myself to fly, and I did. What matters to me is trusting myself.
1994/2000 characters
Hello (: My original essay was much longer, but to adhere to the maximum character count, I nearly halved it. I'm not sure if it is as cohesive and makes as much sense now as there are literally chunks missing. Please tell me what you think. Thank you!
At 5'2" and weighing 90 pounds, I was one of the most petite dancers performing, and it seemed I was destined to be one of the girls used as a flyer to be lifted into the air. Once suspended by a single leg, my other leg would transfer to the 2 rows of steps, formed by the hands of 10 girls, their arms fully extended and above their heads. The girls had to watch and follow my feet, so that when it came time for me to take a step, a hand would suddenly be there, holding my foot, acting as a stepping stone. But what if there wasn't a hand there when my foot was? I couldn't look down, as with dance, I had to make it look effortless and beautiful. I had to keep my chin up, twist my neck to face the audience, have a huge smile to mask my horror, point my toes and kick my knees, land properly, and get into position to join in the dance routine of 100 girls seamlessly. As my steps lingered, heavy with worry, I could hear their grunts of pain beneath me. I stepped, and there was only air. My leg plunged downward, and I fell to the ground, landing on my still-extended leg. Their voices of concern reinforced that I could trust them, and if it took a brutal fall to do it, so be it. Ignoring the pain, I got back up. But for the next few weeks, practice hardly improved.
On deck behind the curtains, I could feel the anticipation from the audience's voices. I told myself that I was light as a feather, that I was invincible, and no one in that audience was going to see me fall or even falter. Over 20' in the air, I delicately extended my arms outward, smiled at my audience, and sassily kicked like any true '20s flapper would.
After I learned to trust the girls when I fell on my leg, there was still something missing - a trust of another kind. If I did not have it, I would have been stuck, weighing down on the people relying on me, and life's stepping stones would prove to be too daunting. That day, I told myself to fly, and I did. What matters to me is trusting myself.
1994/2000 characters
