One Last Dance

Imagine if we truly danced each show like it was our last. Our very last show ever. And if we performed with everything we had TODAY because at that moment it was truly the only thing we wanted to do. If we actually loved what we did, instead of simply saying we loved it on social media. If the photos we rush to post were actually snapshots of the best memories we held close and embedded in the most special places of our hearts and minds.

Imagine if every single day we came to work with the drive and excitement you had on your first day of work. And for one single weekend, you go to live your absolute biggest dream. For 48 hours. Imagine how much more it would mean… how much harder we would try if your last dance was your last dance.

The Mouse House has always severed as a place to escape the real world. But the last year has proven more difficult, heavy, and more real than ever. I hope, all things considered, we never lose sight of what we get to do there. Sometimes our new hires are the best reminders of why we auditioned and came in the first place. Before we knew about standbys and gridded days, before our worth was decided by casting directors and choreographers, before we found more faults than fun, we simply wanted to make magic at the happiest place on Earth.

I'm not big on "Disney Family’, not because I’m a grouch but mostly because we tend to only say “family” when things are going bad. But I am big on community and shared experience. Communities are filled with different and diverse individuals who bring a bit of themselves to the group. We each play a part, no matter how long we've been there.

Our community has suffered a loss in the first weekend of our Christmas run and our foundation feels rattled. A light has burned out before we even make it a full weekend. And now our hearts are heavy, yet again from losing one of our own. Over a loss that was preventable and unfair. And much like just one year ago, a piece of our show is missing.

The mouse (and life) has a way of throwing you around, slapping you and putting you through the wringer, and then humbling you all at once. It is not lost on me that the very same weekend new opportunities were given, a life was taken far too soon from someone who would have been thrilled to receive ANY role in the next season. Disappointed. Celebrating. Frustrated. Happy. Hurting. Yet Hopeful.

I can't say I understand it all but I do know that grief, in any form, and in any proximity, has a way of making you pause and really think about what's important in life.

I wish Hannah's story was different.

I wish Sirosh's story was different.

I wish my father's story was different.

I wish everyone who has lost someone unexpectedly had a different story.

But how lucky am I? To be here TODAY. Getting to do the thing I love, one more time.

…oh how lucky am I?

Blessed because so many people did not see this very early and slightly annoying daylight savings morning and 5 pm pitch black evening.

How lucky I am to be stressed at work today. And get frustrated. And annoyed by my residents. And run out of paper in my printer.

How lucky am I?

To have friends I love so much I want to strangle them. And go to three Targets in one day for one item. To see my family, laugh with my mom, and run from my dog. Lucky to be able to get lost in a good book or film, hear my favorite song one more time or simply take a walk.

How lucky am I? To celebrate birthdays. Weddings. Love. And baby showers. And to go to too many Friendsgivings. To laugh until your stomach aches. And be around to go to Wakanda one more time.

How amazing is it that I get to have bad days, tough conversations, and moments of uncertainty? And how fortunate am I to know that even with all that storms pass, and things become lighter and that I will always be ok…

And oh, how lucky am I to get one more chance to dance down Main Street and do that thing I love from gate to gate. Because for over ten years it has been my favorite thing…

We are so lucky. Each person reading this. No matter what you are going through. You are here, living, breathing with a chance to do it one more time.

Life is a gift that has a very limited warranty.

And with all the magic in this world, only a few of us know what it's really like to work there and be a part of something that often feels so much bigger than us. Even with its flaws (and boy the cracks and flaws are busting at the seams this year), we are literally the reason people smile. Honestly, we are kind of a big deal.

And I hope we never forget that. Never forget the feeling of standing in those god-awful audition lines, pinning an un-sticky number on our tank top to box step across the floor at our dream gig. Because this job will not make you rich. This job will not cure cancer. And in forty years no one will care if you were a canopy carrier or a standby.

But they will remember that you made magic. That you were a part of making magic, for ten years or for one single weekend. The magic will still be there, inside of each of us. So hold on to it, as hard as you can. For yourself, and for all of those that no longer get a chance to.

Let's all put some extra bells in our ACF this season.

For Hannah.

For ourselves.

In whatever we do in life.

For always.