There will be raindrops skipping across the stage, probably with another raindrop carrying a lemon yellow umbrella. Little ballerinas/ballerinos in tutus/shorts will plié from their positions on 'this is where you stand' cut out stars on the stage floor. There will be fairies and baby birds and kittens and flower pots and ladybugs and they will all have toddler pot-bellies covered in varying shades of sequins/flowers/stars/spandex/lace/tulle. They won't know the dance, but they won't care. (You won't care.) They'll all be jumping up and down. They'll laugh - (you'll laugh) - so thrilled to feel the heat of the stage lights - they'll look over at their little friends and see how those stage lights make sequined pot bellies sparkle. Some will get tired and need to sit down on those cut out stars on the floor. They will have to be wrangled by the dance teachers. They will all leave the stage in a little train, holding onto each other's shoulders, waving with one hand to their relatives/friends. Your chest will feel lighter, your cheeks will lift, happy freaking tears may come to your eyes. (Unless you're soulless, and then, my friend, you've got bigger problems.)
Go ahead. Test it out. Dissolve that cynicism. And then, when another day sucks, close your eyes and remember back to those kids - to the joy you felt - just watching their joy. And next spring, when the memory of that has faded... find another recital. Recharge that feeling. Carry it around with you, like a picture in your wallet. When the world throws you a crap sandwich - press "PLAY"... We need more joy. Come over to the light side... we have sequins.