What Makes Me

When I was four years old I was introduced to a tall, petite, beautiful ballerina who spun around the room with elegance, and effortlessly captured the crowd with her stunning abilities. As a little girl, I sparkled with admiration and was inspired to be all she was, it was from that point on, that I ventured into an unknown world of art, strength and expression. Now being eighteen years old with about fourteen years of experience in the dance world, I have learned and developed the norms, values and practices of the culture, and the conflicting theory within it.

I have been dancing since the age of two. When asked about my career aspirations, there is no hesitation before saying “I want to be a dancer.” Being a dancer means putting all other distractions aside, and focusing on my craft. Currently, I dedicate over forty hours a week to dance, which is a schedule that requires sacrifice. When I am dancing, the rest of the world fades away, slipping out of my mind with relaxed importance. For that moment in time, I am completely free, wholly focused on my goals, letting me know dance is what I’m meant to do. With this realization comes a responsibility to myself and the work I have put into improving my craft thus far, and I know I must seek out the best opportunities for growth and continued learning.

My whole life has been of dirty mirrors, old ballet shoes, and ripped tights. I was 5 years old and a beginner at a dance academy. I didn’t quite know what dance was when I got in, I thought it was just a place to spend time in and just enjoy the music they played. Over the years I learned that dance is way more than just a hobby or a place to go when you are bored. It is art, you are the one making art. Your feelings are the story to your dance, and your moves are the music. People will see your pain or happiness through these ways. Dance is not just a hobby, it’s an art, it’s something that you don’t actually have to throw music at when the steps and feelings you add are the music to your dance.

Of all the values that dancing instilled within me, I believe I learned the greatest lesson when I forfeited my first love. In my mind, I rationalized that school’s importance outweighed my devotion to dance. In my eighth grade year, my studio encouraged me to join their dance company, while my school implemented an academic plan for me that met my educational needs, which included placing me in ninth grade honors courses. Faced with the truth of the difficulty of balancing schoolwork with a demanding practice schedule, I reluctantly withdrew from my dance

I 've always liked writing. Even before I knew how to write I would make up stories and pretend to write them down. Each year in high school I 've written a multitude of essays on varying topics. I have selected three of these writings from each of my years in high school to examine as part of this rhetorical analysis of my writing history. As I 've grown older, my writing style has changed and I 've learned more about the world and developed my own personal writing voice more and more.

Reflecting on my life as a means of deciding on a topic, one time period struck me as particularly important in terms of writing itself: my second year of second grade. Moving to Poway in 2007, the first class I was in was Mrs. Ramin’s 2-3 combo at Painted Rock. I had purple wire-rim glasses, a brown Hello Kitty tracksuit, two friends, and a hatred of writing. This was particularly unfortunate for young Analise, since Mrs. Ramin’s main focus was writing. She encouraged her students to write daily, setting aside 20-60 minutes each day for it. Although I hated it at first, my passion for creative writing grew as I turned my love for my sister and for Webkinz into tales of adventure and peril parallel to my then favorite series, Magic Tree House. I wrote, drew, and colored whatever my seven-year-old imagination spun for me. After that spark, the fire of writing died down to a smolder until eighth grade, when I wrote my first successful essay, “Flowers for Algernon: A Comparative Essay On How Two Versions of the Story are like

I had just moved to Washington state and I auditioned for the local dance studio’s competition team for fun. I had no idea how talented they were. And I was just an untrained recreational dancer…Not surprisingly, I didn’t earn a coveted spot on the team it the first time I auditioned. That didn’t stop me from training seriously and auditioning for the team each year until I made it. And here I stand, now starting on my sixth year on the team and as one of the last people from my original team who decided not to quit when they started high school. Dance isn’t just twirling around in pretty pink tutus. What the general population doesn’t picture when they think of dance is the tremendous amount of strenuous work and the blood and sweat and tears that goes into every performance and competition. Certain dancers can’t handle it and quit when they realize they don’t have the passion. My passion keeps me living and breathing and most importantly, dancing, when times get

The blinds on the windows are shut, it feels like a prison cell as I sit under the spotlight. The darkness outside makes me feel somber and alone. I stare at the glowing screen and think to myself, “It’s just me and this paper.” In December of my junior year in high school, I was assigned a persuasive essay on Nathaniel Hawthorne’s novel, The Scarlet Letter; it was my first academic essay of the year. My previous experiences with academic writing were both stressful and unfulfilling; when the essay topic was announced, I felt only resentment and anger, I remembered my past tribulations. With my mother’s help, this essay was different; after I submitted it to the teacher, I possessed a new perspective on academic writing. From my experience, I learned that strong writing skills are vital to communication, critical thinking, and life outside of the classroom.

Writing is often considered mundane and banal to some students. In fact, people have even written things down since the beginning of time. I dreaded writing until I had Mrs. Dunlap for 4th block English during my 8th grade year at Mount Juliet Middle. This is the story about how she made me the writer I am today with what I like to call ‘Write’speration.

One of my first literacies I learned started as a simple extracurricular activity my mother put me in to keep me out of the house and out of her hair. I started learning a literacy of dance through taking classes. At three years old I start ballet and tap combo class, from there I continued taking more classes in different styles and taking more advanced classes. By dancing for 15 years I learned and acquired extensive knowledge of the art. I started to learn and take class at Marta Jackson School of dance, I continued my training for fifteen years, until my senior year of high school. I danced on my high school dance team, at other studios, in different local productions and even in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

When I was eight or nine years old, I decided I wanted to be a writer. By this age, I had already gone through the phases of wanting to be an artist, a cook, an astronaut and was extremely satisfied with my new choice of profession. After all, I loved to read so why not write? Reading was my true love: during second grade, I conquered all of Harry Potter over the course of two months. My mom’s rule was that I had to read the book before watching the movie, so I read and read. I would compete in, and win, all the school reading competitions as well as the summer library competitions. Writing, I decided, was the next natural step.

I am Shanna Woods, a dancer, mother, life and college student, dance instructor and aspiring choreographer. I have dance before I could walk. I decided I wanted to dance after watching a video of Dance Theatre of Harlem’s Giselle in the 5th grade. At that time, I didn’t know becoming a dancer was a possible career. It was just something we all did in the community; shaking our non-hips, doing the tootsie roll, and whatever we saw on the music videos. I remember making up dances for my friends and forcing my cousins to learn routines for family reunions and other gatherings. You can say, I was always a choreographer at heart. I began serious training at Middle School of the Arts in West Palm Beach, FL. I also studied chorus. I became a dance major at Dreyfoos School of the Arts also in West Palm Beach, FL. Through Dreyfoos I was exposed to Graham with Jan Goetz, contemporary modern with Gina Buntz, ballet with Jeff Satinoff, as well as guest artists like Ben Vereen and Reginald Yates. I also trained at Southern Dance Theatre in Boynton Beach where I studied ballet, jazz, and gained my love for Bob Fosse through Dancer’s Edge Dance Company.

Dance has been apart of my life ever since I can remember. When I was young, before I officially started my dance training, I was always up on my feet and moving. No matter what hobby I took interest in (whether it was cheerleading, musical theatre, or jump rope), I would always find a way to choreograph little routines a show them to my friends and family. Even when my parents tried to put me in sports, I would do cartwheels and dance on the playing fields, completely oblivious to what was going on during the games. When I look back at how I started my dance training, I just smile and laugh because I was so naïve and unaware that it would become such a huge part of my life. In 5th grade I was put into my first dance class as a hobby. It happened because I watched the Disney Channel movie High School Musical and immediately fell in love with it. I showed the movie to my parents and told them, “This is what I want to do.” At the time I thought I excelled in both signing and acting and that all I needed were dance classes. So in 4th grade I was put into my first dance class and I began to scratch the surface of the basics of dance. What I didn’t know then is that dance would slowly but surely influence my entire life and

“When you dance, your purpose is not to get to a certain point on the floor, it’s to enjoy each step along the way.” (Wayne Dwyer) There is no description or analogy more accurate to describe my experience both watching and performing dance this past semester at Connecticut College. As a freshman, it was difficult to move forward with dance in a new environment since I have had the same dance experience for 15 years. I found myself equating movements and steps to styles more known to me; I was searching for comfort among the abundance of unfamiliarity. The challenge was to embrace modern dancing for everything it entailed. Through watching both professional dancers and other students, as well as improving my personal technique, I certainly feel that I have found a new appreciation for dance.

It has been said that much about a person’s lifestyle can be predicted just by knowing his or her own culture. With this being said it would make sense as to why my life has always been so unpredictable, seeing that I’ve never known much about my own culture. It’s not so much that I’m unaware of my African American culture, but more in fact that despite being a product of my culture, I could never really relate to or fit in with other members of my own culture. I always seem to feel out of place wherever I go, from classrooms, to my workplace and even at family reunions. I think this deep sense of feeling so out of place stems from my diverse upbringing. As the son of a military family I moved around quite frequently, sometimes changing states every other month and subsequently was consistently required to adapt to different environments & cultures throughout my life. It wasn’t so much the fact of having to adapt to new cultures so frequently that was difficult in fact it was due to this experience that I developed such a diverse personality and became so open to embracing and learning about other cultures. I believe my main issue growing up without a consistent culture or concrete background was that it seemed like I was always being forced to adapt and I always felt like the only one who was different from everyone else, even if I looked similar to everyone else.