Editor’s Note: The following essay is one of five winning submissions selected for the 2025 Showstopper Day Essay Contest. In her essay, “I Started at 17,” Kamori Dillard responds to the prompt “How has dance shaped your confidence or sense of self?” She thoughtfully explores the challenges and anxiety that come with learning to dance “too late” and finding her love of dance despite the expectation that there is a right time to first step into the studio.
When I tell people I started dancing at seventeen, their reactions are often surprised. In a world where dancers usually begin before they can tie their shoes, my journey might seem late, uncertain, or unconventional. But for me, starting at seventeen wasn’t a setback. It was a call finally answered. I didn’t grow up in studios or costumes, nor did I have childhood solos or years of competition experience. But what I did have was a desire to move, connect, and express. When I finally found dance, it was like exhaling for the first time.
Walking into a studio for the first time as a teenager, surrounded by dancers who had spent their lives training, was humbling. But I was never deterred. I watched. I listened. I studied not just the choreography, but the intention behind it and how they breathed life into movement. I went home sore, discouraged, sometimes angered—but always determined. I knew I didn’t have time to waste. I had found something that awakened me, and I was going to push for it.
I come from a town where dance is seen as a pastime, not a sport. Where football gets the lights and cheers, and dance is met with silence. For a long time, I had to advocate for the legitimacy of what I was doing—not just to others, but sometimes to myself. It’s hard to keep going when your discipline is mistaken for a hobby and your bruises go unnoticed. But it made me fight harder, dig deeper, and carry my love for dance with a fierce kind of pride. Because even if no one else understood what dance meant to me—I did and I still do.
Dance is only one part of my life—though it often feels like the nucleus of it. I’ve juggled rehearsals with essays, late-night practices with early-morning exams, competitions with club meetings, and volunteer hours. I’ve chosen to keep dance in my life in addition to everything else, not in place of it. And through it all, I’ve remained a scholar, not because it’s easy—but because the discipline I’ve learned through dance has extended into every part of who I am. Dance taught me how to show up, to push through, to manage time and emotion, and to strive for excellence—onstage and in the classroom.
But dance hasn’t just been about awards or skill-building. It has been my therapy. It has given me a way to process grief, celebrate joy, and understand parts of myself I couldn’t articulate with words. In those quiet studio moments, alone with the music and my reflection, I have found strength in vulnerability. Dance has taught me that perfection isn’t the goal—presence is. That dancing from the soul is more valuable than flawless technique. And that there is power in starting late, in loving something deeply enough to chase it regardless of the odds.
I want to keep dancing. Not because I’m chasing trophies or recognition, but because dancing keeps me grounded. It makes me feel alive. It keeps my mind healthy, my body strong, and my spirit full. I want to continue training, learning, and evolving. I want to explore new styles, challenge my limitations, and keep showing up for myself through movement.
I may not have had the earliest start, but I dance with a heart that’s made up for lost time. Every step I take on stage is a piece of my story. And while I might not have decades of experience behind me, I carry a love for this art form that’s deeper than years. I’m not here just to perform—I’m here to share, to connect, and to keep becoming through dance. It’s never too late.
