In order to achieve a consummate education we are required to take cultural classes. I chose dance appreciation, and on the first day of class I determined that my dance professor was certifiably insane. She stood on the top of her desk and spoke sharply into the microphone as she summarized the syllabus. She told us to consider dropping the course if we missed more than three lectures. Yes, she was nuts.

We were required to attend three performances for the course. At the second I spotted her greeting people. She was in a black dress and she seemed to float from one corner to another, shaking hands and laughing. For some reason I could not stop staring at her. She just seemed so happy, so at peace, and because she was so happy I had no choice but to be happy for her as well. A glow was pouring from her skin. When someone is so purely overjoyed their radiance fills the room, and I remember feeling hers that night. Dance was her passion. She lived, breathed and ate it; it was her existence, her currency and her dream.

Every so often a moment in time catches me in an unusual way and makes me think a little harder than all of the surrounding moments. This was one such instance. Seeing my crazy dance teacher in that way reminded me that true happiness is not purchased, nor is it made of plastic or expensive. I'm having a hard time learning this lesson but I'm getting there. Sometimes I feel that what would make me happy would leave me cold and hungry, that it would require great risk and I am scared of risks. Often times I think having a nice home, a car and financial stability would bring me peace, but would I really be content?