“Dancing is the loftiest, the most moving, the most beautiful of the arts, because it is not mere translation or abstraction from life; it is life itself.” ~Havelock Ellis

The aerobics room, everyone knows it. It’s hard to miss on your way to the gym. This room is the host to many activities.

I put the latest mixed CD into the car. I turn the volume up as loud as I can. I remember the first time my parents drove me to Newport. The sun was blazing and I was a mix of insecurities. What would freshman year hold? How would my running go? Would I have friends? Even if I did, would they accept me?

How would I leave my twin? We spent 18 years together and now we would be apart for the first time.

One of the men in the audience turned around in his chair and looked at a woman surrounded by children, fidgeting in their chairs with cupfuls of chips.

“Look, he’s looking at his wife to see if he can bid,” auctioneer and Art Guild advisor Gerry Perrino said as he looked into the crowd of bidders.

The tears that pour from our eyes, fall down our cheeks, and land in our laps are the tears of anguish. The struggles we face, though some of them preventable, come as the inexplicable result of something great, yet tragic within our lives. Birds leaving the nest, never to return to their mothers; loved ones leaving our sides all too soon; the mystery of illness that plagues our bodies and baffles our minds – all share the same sorrow and longing for a second chance.

A few days ago, I wanted to write this article with ammo, unleashing a weapon against a society star-crossed, vain, and borderline obsessive in its love of the self, and for that matter, celebrities.

Today, I sit down to write this article with a bit more compassion than the angry, stubborn girl failing to see the tragedy in the loss of Heathcliff Andrew Ledger.