Senior Moments: A Pie Chart Life

I’ve devoted hours I have no memory of to a hodge-podge group of hobbies and passions — some of which have become somewhat central to my identity throughout the years. I think this happens to everyone: As one aspect of your life gains more and more importance, others have to take a backseat. These changes have been happening slowly and steadily as I’ve gotten older, but recently — especially during the last two years of high school — that shifting has accelerated.

If my life was a pie chart made up of dozens of little colored wedges that started out all symmetrical and perfectly proportional, the last couple of years would have sent two or three of those pieces eating up more than their fair share of space, leaving others to shrink or disappear entirely. It’s not easy to let these things that used to be steady parts of my life go. It feels like they’re taking a tiny piece of me with them, which I guess they kind of are, highlighting all of the ways that layers of my former selves are being shed.

This is especially true of dance, which has been a constant in my life since I was barely three years old, and will probably turn into something I used to do once I graduate high school and go off to college. Not too long ago, I had to write a literacy narrative for school. In this essay, we were to share a type of literacy that caused some profound pivot in our lives. My first thought was that this would be easy; with all the books I have read and the time I spend writing, literacy plays a huge role in my life. This train of thought was almost immediately curbed by the fact, however, that there was no revelational moment to it. The books and journals type of literacy hasn’t changed my life because it has always just been my life to begin with. What about dance? my brain said, but I shot it down, because at the moment, it seemed too frivolous a topic for a paper about a life-changing moment.

When quite a long period of trying to come up with any other topic ultimately led to nothing new, I was forced to fall back on that first intrusive idea about dance. My expectations may have been at the lowest they’ve ever been as I began to write the narrative I had been continuously pushing off. I had been instructed to find that moment of epiphany, so I pushed back my memory as far as it would go. Back to a 14-year-old pulling on a leotard and tights under my school uniform during lunch and a 12-year-old getting pointe shoes for the first time. Back to being a 9-year-old cast as Clara in the local production of the Nutcracker and a 6-year-old twirling in a peach-colored tutu covered in marigolds. A 4-year-old who wore white socks with lace ruffles under ballet shoes and a 3-year-old who simply wouldn’t stop talking during ballet class.

I actually ended up quite liking how the narrative turned out, and writing it established something in my mind I was only partially aware of: For the rest of my life, I’m going to fall in love with the things this life has to offer — there is no shortage of them. Thinking about a future version of myself where dance isn’t part of my daily routine makes me squeam with the feeling this person is a stranger. But loving something and having to let it go doesn’t make it any less important to you or the person you’ll become; it just opens the door for new experiences, new encounters and the growth we’re all meant to have.

Mia Timlin is a senior at Notre Dame Regional High School. She's lived in Cape Girardeau for five years and loves reading, dancing, watching movies and the Beatles.