dancing on the dusty ground of the town’s bullfighting stadium with my classmates.Had I told my 17-year-old self that in several years she would find herself here, studying abroad in Northern Spain, dancing in a bullfighting ring, she probably would have scoffed in disbelief.At that age, I really believed that I couldn’t dance, that I had no rhythm or coordination.
When I wasn’t at field hockey or lacrosse practice, my body was just an awkward vehicle to carry my brain around.Ironically, I had grown up dancing.
From ages three to 13 I took intensive dance classes—tap, jazz, hip hop, but mostly ballet.Most afternoons after school I was at the dance studio.
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