In life we all have our personal heroes: movie stars, athletes, ballroom dancers- and other such idols. My idols, my deities, were the marvelous Fred Astaire and the exquisitely charming Ginger Rodgers. When I was knee high to a grasshopper, most girls my age wanted to be a princess- not me though- I wanted to be a ballroom dancer (or Batman). My beloved grandmother would acquaint me with anecdotes about Astaire and Rogers; while Astaire would lead Rodgers would simulate his movements backwards. In high heels. In sound congruity. From those anecdotes I discovered what kind of woman I wanted to be. Strong, passionate, perfect, and above all else a ballroom dancer.

In December of 2008, I finally worked up the courage to peruse my aspiration and began ballroom dance lessons. The Paradise I started venturing to (in order to compete at Colorado Star Ball) was christened “Booth’s Ballroom Dancesport”. My instructor Merodi was a diminutive, slender twenty-something with a loving disposition. When she would instill the methods of each dance, I would give ear to her words- just as a devout Catholic would do during Mass. By the time June came about I was apt to handle Colorado Star Ball.

Normally the idea of competition makes me squeamish; however, when the divine sound of waltz music penetrated the ballroom I was dauntless. Beginning my methodical movements of the waltz (as I had done innumerable times prior). The world and all of its restrictions melted away as I danced. It became the two of us- the waltz and I in perfect harmony. The music ceased and reality shattered the barrier of my mind. As I went to await the judges’ summation of my performance, I prayed to Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers to at least place in the competition.
After an agonizingly long, brutal half-hour the results were unraveled.

I had acquired first place in my division.