In the life of a performer, there are two worlds: the world you inhabit, and the world you create.
The world you inhabit is the world we all inhabit together. We know this world. We see its rules, its emails, its concrete, its billboards clamoring for our attention. It's the world in which we all avoid eye contact on the train, dress like everyone else, and wait in line at the store.
The world you create is the gift you spend years or decades to bring to life. It's the world where you dress to stand out. Where the colors are brighter. Where all that matters is the simple yet profound act of sharing an emotion.
This is what it means to be a dancer: to embody emotion itself. When you set foot upon that stage, one world vanishes, and tens of thousands of eyes turn to you to create a new world.
In that moment -- in the heat of the lights, on that stage -- there are no emails to answer, no bills to pay, no dishes to wash; there is only the moment itself, brought to life by you.
It takes years of hard work and sacrifice to earn the right to step onto that stage and create that moment, in search of the ultimate achievement as a performer: to *become* the moment itself.
You know when that happens. You feel it. You become the moment, and the dance is dancing you.
The audience feels it too. Because that's what they're hoping for. Into you they pour their hopes for that one moment that makes them forget *their* world and be completely drawn into yours. When it's done right, and the moment is concluded, they rise to their feet because they cannot help themselves. The *truth* of what they just witnessed -- of what *you* created -- speaks for itself.
This is the magic of Lord of the Dance.
And it will happen again.