The crush on the teacher; yes, I know this has been discussed at length on DF numerous times. I want to add my two bits. First, I admit it. She's beautiful, wonderfully talented, smart, charming; how could I not have a crush? It's an innocent thing, more like a glowing ember than a fusion reactor. And I'm not the only one. At every competition or showcase I hear comments; "she's so beautiful in that dress", "look how graceful she is", "she's unreal". Two women overheard; first woman, "her high school students just love her;" second woman, "does anyone not?" This is just to show that my feelings are not unjustified. And did I mention she's beautiful? She can make a man temporarily lose the power of speech. So what does one do? In my case, for reasons I won't go into here, no relationship is possible between us other than dancing. So what do you do with the backlog of emotional energy generated by your feelings of affection, your "crushness"? The approach I hit upon, after a period of some frustration and confusion, has two parts. The first, the obvious, is to channel that energy into dance. Translate the passion into motion. Dance for her. Not that it's easy, especially for a box-o'-rocks like me, but it's a goal. The second part takes place off the dance floor. I decided that I would strive to carry on my civilian life in ways that Dear Teacher, were she aware of them, would respect or be impressed by, even though in fact she never witnesses any of it. This does not mean I'm trying to be Joe Superhero on a daily basis. It means, for one example, if I have a choice between sitting in front of the TV with a bag of chips, or riding my bike, which would be the more meaningful choice? Daily life is full of small choices like that, and my feelings for dancing in general and Dear Teacher in particular are some of the data points I bring to bear on the decisions. Six weeks ago I took a long difficult hike to the summit of Long's Peak in Colorado; a 16 mile hike with about a mile of vertical elevation gain, most of it above the treeline. Twelve hours trailhead to trailhead. To greatly understate the case, this was a gut-buster. At the summit there is a logbook in which I wrote, "Fulfilled a dream of 24 years. But really it's for ----, angel on Earth." Vast reserves of strength come from mysterious sources. So let's dance.