Leaving a tap class in tears wasn’t exactly on my bingo card, but it happened. I’ve danced since I could walk, and tap class is my happy place. But now, at 44, it’s simply… not the same. My brain doesn’t hold on to choreography quite the same way it did at 18. My feet don’t move as quickly as my mind asks them to each time. Trick steps can cause injuries that my younger body never even contemplated. I’m not as good as I once was, and that’s much harder to digest than not being as good as the 18 year olds in the class.

What does this have to do with money? Well, we can start with the fact that I’m paying good money to a dance studio for the experience of crying in my car on a Tuesday night. I’m literally paying for this, and not a tiny amount. Dance is expensive, and not only did I dance my whole life, but so did my sister. My brother didn’t dance, but he had plenty of expensive extracurriculars too. 3 kids in lessons for dance, gymnastics, voice, theater, baton twirling – this was my mom’s whole world for a number of years.

So through my tears, I started to think about what a real privilege I have. Not only do I tap dance, I spend on my gym every month. I never balk at an extra $50 to do a challenge or run a race (it’s the running part that I balk at). Also, my kids are in dance, and gymnastics, and theater. I have never actually added up what I spend monthly on these “extra” activities. What. A. Privilege.

The reason I don’t add it up has changed over time. When we first started River in gymnastics at 18 months old, and this is still true now, activities like this are a reflection of our family values. My husband and I agree completely that kids should have a balance of structured activity and boredom. Whatever hobby they pursue, hobbies are important. We started with what we loved and have been building that experience for them. So to me, the money was just part of it – a nonnegotiable, a sunk cost that would just need to fit in the budget somewhere.

For my own hobbies and activities, the same holds true, though it took me far too long to understand this. For so long, I identified myself mostly by my career choices. I know now that I am so, so much more than this. That my identity is so much more unique and ever changing. I know that things like the gym, like tap, will keep me not only physically active, but will keep me connected to the parts of me that I enjoy. Just like reading books, crocheting afghans that my grandma taught me, and writing far too much of my inner monologue in a stack of journals, these things are who I am. I want this for my children, too.

And so I never add up the monetary cost. However, I now see that my mom had to scrape up every dollar and sacrifice so much of her own comfort, her own identity, to give me mine. The money isn’t just for the lessons – you have to cough up for costumes, show fees, photos to commemorate the recital or competition, never mind all the accessories. Tap shoes aren’t cheap! It never, ever ends, and I had no idea what deep stress that must have put her under. I might not buy a certain top I want one month (at least, I shouldn’t), but I don’t worry about my cash flow. I don’t have to skimp at the grocery store to make room for Reagan’s $100+ costume for recital that she will wear one damn time. Money has afforded me a level of freedom, and the ability to pursue happiness with fewer constraints. Money may not buy happiness, but it absolutely helps mitigate stress and sadness when you have some.

So here we are, back to my parking lot tears outside of the dance studio. What a privilege those tears are, because they come with a cost, like everything else in life. To have the opportunity to safely fail at anything is not universal, and it should not be taken for granted. I can’t wait to dance on a stage again, in a hideous costume (that also cost >$100), with a giant smile on my face and my family watching in the audience. And for that, I have only gratitude.