HAYLEE MATECKO

Insecurity is common among teenagers. It’s difficult when you’re unhappy with yourself and you recognize that, but it’s even tougher to realize that your lack of confidence has taken over your life. And the moment I realized that, I knew my lack of self-esteem had to be conquered.

 

All I was trying to do was choreograph a dance solo for my color guard captain tryout. It should have been a simple task, but I was letting my quest for perfection get in the way of my assignment yet again. I told myself, “Remember the steps. Get each one perfect – but remember to dance.”

 

As I danced, I kept trying to express the emotions the song was portraying. I tried, but I focused so much more on getting each step right.

 

My friends would watch, and the only critique they could come up with was “You’re just a little stiff, that’s all.”

 

However, one friend in specific stuck out to me. He didn’t just look at me as an awkward dancer. He understood how my mind functioned. “You just need to let go of your anxiety,” he explained. “Like everyone has said, you’re stiff- but it’s more than that. You’re insecure. Whatever you’re insecure about- your body, your dance, your life- it’s showing. Your technique is spot on! You know exactly what to do and when to do it. And your musicality is great. But you aren’t relaxing and truly becoming part of the lyrics of the song, and that’s what needs to be done.”

 

Others had always said that they could see a lack of confidence in me, but it never occurred to me that it would show through my dancing. So for the next two weeks, I choreographed to not only the musical beats, but also the lyrics. The words my friend had given me had quickly become the resource I needed to push me past my insecurity. As I continued to rehearse, I found myself taking a completely different direction than I had imagined. I listened for the message, for how I could convey the lyrics through the movements of my body. Dance needed to be the creative art it was, not the technical perfectionist sport I had turned it into. I knew I needed to relax- that concept wasn’t new. But the idea that the cause of my stiff awkward dancing was from letting my insecurities from outside activities shine through my dancing? That needed to be fixed.

 

People always consider the perfect “cookie cutter” ballerina to be graceful, poised, and smooth- but one day, I decided to rethink the idea of dance altogether. Who decided that all dancers had to be like that? Why not create a new style of dancing that was choreographed according to the type of body the dancer already had, instead of trying to make someone into something they’re not? If this were the way that all dancers danced, then people would be less intimidated by the art. People might enjoy the actual dancing instead of focusing so much on the technicalities around it. It was an ingenious thought, and I was proud of it. I worked at putting my heart and soul into everything I did, as well as pushing myself out of the stereotype mindset box.

 

Two weeks later, captain tryouts rolled around. It was time to see if I truly had what it took to be a leader.

 

I walked into the room at auditions, hoping my presence would be enough to at least grab the attention of the judges long enough to show them what I was capable of. When the music began, I felt like I truly loved who I was. I was not the girl who was struggling to hide her insecurities behind her pointy elbows or long, gangly arms. I was not the girl who lacked emotion in every performance and only succeeded in technique. I became the girl who was proud to be lanky and awkward. The girl who danced with such a passion, such zeal, that nothing could stop her.

 

Before I knew it, the routine was over. My moment to shine had ended. Everything I had worked for those two weeks was now in the hands of the judges to critique.

 

Sitting in the foyer, my legs shook from the nerves of performing and anxiously awaiting the results.

 

The list of new captains was posted, and my name wasn’t on it. It was a crushing blow. Of course the captain position was what I was working for, but when we received the judges’ commentary sheets, being captain didn’t matter anymore. What they had written was incredible. “Outstanding, beautiful, stunning… She’s created a new style of dancing that works for her body and she pulls it off well.” The judges saw that I was a mature young dancer with a new confidence that nobody could take away. Although the other factors of my tryout may not have been strong enough to land me a captain position, my routine was strong. I danced like I loved everything about myself, I accepted my body, and the judges saw that. I had overcome my insecurity of being different- I changed for the better- and that was all that mattered.