Chelsea Kane and Mark Ballas
The end is near and I'm not talking about Saturday's supposed rapture.
Granted, I'm writing this blog three hours before the clock ticks over to May 21, so I'm really keeping my fingers crossed that the world doesn't explode just two days before the big Dancing with the Stars
finale. Wouldn't that be my luck?
However, if the Earth dose come, I can say I went out with a bang. I can say that I danced on national television and had 15,000 rhinestones on my body over a 10-week period. I can say that I had six-pack abs and that I got to shake hands with Stevie Nicks and watch her sing "Landslide" just a few feet away from me. I can say that I kicked butt with the Karate Kid, had a pillow fight with Kirstie Alley
and a shot of Patron with Hines Ward. I would leave the world with a check mark on my bucket list next to "make an appearance on The Tonight Show
." I've already died and gone to Heaven several times this week alone.
But regardless of whether the planet continues to spin, for me, the end is near.
Monday night marks the last instance I will be stepping onto the ballroom floor as a competitor. It will be the final exhilaration of being swept through the stratosphere in the arms of the multi-talented Mark Ballas. It will be the conclusive emotion of looking into the eyes of my proud family and experiencing the nirvana of this crowning achievement.
When I looked up the definition of "rapture," I came to the realization that it also describes my Dancing with the Stars
adventure: an extreme happiness and delight in something.
If you're reading this, it appears you survived the end of time, but for me the rapture is unavoidable this week – either way, it’s judgment day.