You've been waiting tables for years while trying to make it as a dancer, but you never made it. Now you're thirty-five and have no real job skills—looks like you'll be hearing "check, please" until you're old and gray.

You just got your first big break with a small company, but on the first performance, your dance partner neglected to catch you after he threw you in the air. One shattered pelvis later, your dance career is over before it began. You should've known better than to dance with a guy nicknamed "Butterfingers."

You're strutting your stuff with a couple small companies around the city, you've got a lot of fun dancer friends, and you're cool on the scene. Unfortunately, 99.9% of the time, you're dancing for free. Every time you go in to babysit those rich brats, you look around their parents' penthouse and wonder if you should've done something else with your life.

Things aren't so bad; you land paid gigs pretty regularly, and in between, you teach at a studio to make ends meet. You've got no reason to complain, but every time you see Allesandra from college who made it big, you think about burning her leotard.

Every day of your life is pure, unadulterated joy. You're the star of an international company that wows the world with its mind-blowing techniques. Most of the time, you feel like you're walking on air, and sometimes you literally are.