What It Means to Be a Cloud Dancer Under Quiet Skies

At some point, we all have to learn to dance on our own two feet and move to the rhythms life sets before us.

When I learned about Pantone's color of the year for 2026, Cloud Dancer, I couldn't help but remember one particular time in my youth. The name alone stirs up a blend of wistfulness and hope, much like a dream whispered from clouds above.

For me, Cloud Dancer encapsulates the elegance and lightness I always aspired to capture in my dance, the grace of floating through life with a partner who shares in the rhythm. It's a color that evokes a canvas of quiet skies, promising yet elusive, a reminder of dreams both lost and yet to be fulfilled.

I used to be a dancer. In fact, everyone in my family dances—especially my sisters and my mom. In my case, I say I used to be because I don’t dance anymore.

All my life, there has been one thing I’ve always wanted to do: dance with a male partner. It sounds silly, I know, but it was a genuine goal of mine back in high school—and it never happened. Not even in a formal sense.

The Dances I Had, and the One I Wanted

I only ever danced during PE practices, and that was it.

For some reason, fate seemed determined to kick me in the gut by creating circumstances where school dances weren’t allowed. This was pre-COVID, which makes it feel even more ridiculous now that I think about it.

Despite all that, I still managed to participate in dances that were more performative or competitive—barn dancing, festival street dances, things like that. They were cool and all, but the kind of dance I truly yearned for was the waltz kind, where the only people that matter are the dancers: me and the person I’m paired with.

This time, I wanted to do it with my significant other. But it seems fate has other plans, and I may have to forgo this dream in favor of practicality.

Dancing Alone Under Quiet Skies

While other little girls dreamed of becoming princesses, my dream was simply to dance with someone I connect with—someone who understands my need for support and reassurance so I can perform in the most conventional, feminine way I know how.

Maybe it’s because I grew up watching Disney princesses, or maybe it’s my admiration for sway and rhythm.

But alas, I don’t have a dance partner. I think I’m cursed to dance by myself—to sway to a lonely piece of music no one can see, maybe even disappear into a colorless abyss that only the partnerless can feel.

I really want to dance.